The daysthat followed blurred into a routine of morning visits to the hospital, then helping Felicity, who was recovering from childbirth while trying to be strong for her daughter. I ran errands, got food, and tried to be useful in whatever way I could.
How’s the wine?I texted Snapper one evening.
Good. Bit says we are on track.
I should be there.
You are exactly where you need to be.
He periodically sent photos of the wine tanks with their blinking monitors. His truck parked at the winery. Normal things. Reminders that life was continuing without me.
I sent photos back. Beatrice improving, growing. My parents smiling. Felicity holding her daughter.
We talked every night. It was the only thing that made the separation bearable.
“I wish you were here,” I said one night, lying in bed.
“I wish I was too.”
One afternoon, I was alone in Beatrice’s room while Felicity napped and my parents grabbed lunch. I sat in the rocking chair, holding my niece for the first time since her surgery.
She was so light in my arms. So fragile. The incision on her chest was covered with gauze and surgical tape. She made little snuffling sounds in her sleep.
I started humming without thinking. An old lullaby my grandmother used to sing. The melody came back to me like muscle memory.
Beatrice’s eyes opened, and she looked up at me.
“Hey, sweet girl,” I whispered. “You are so brave.”
Her little mouth opened wide, and she yawned. Then she settled against my chest, her ear over my heart.
I sat there, rocking her, humming, feeling her breathe. And I thought about the future. I thought about Snapper hoisting kids onto his shoulders. I thought about Thanksgiving dinners and Christmas mornings. I thought about a life that included this—babies and family and love so fierce it was terrifying.
I wanted it. God, I wanted it. All of it.
But before I could, I needed to make sure our family didn’t lose everything.
Beatrice continued improving daily,and the doctors were optimistic about discharge within the week—just in time for Thanksgiving. And that meant I could go home soon too.
15
SNAPPER
Iwas tossing my duffel bag into the passenger seat of my truck when Kick appeared in my driveway, coffee mug in hand and that shit-eating grin already plastered across his face.
“So,” he said, lifting his foot to rest on my front bumper. “You’re driving four hours to surprise your girlfriend on the day before Thanksgiving.”
“That’s the plan.”
“Without telling her you’re coming.”
“That’s what makes it a surprise, genius.” I moved around to the driver’s side, but he followed.
“What if she doesn’t want you there?”
The question stung more than I wanted to admit. I’d been asking myself the same thing for the past two days, ever since Diana had called with the idea. “Then I’ll turn around and drive back.”
“Bullshit.” Kick took a sip of coffee. “You’re gone on her, Snap.”
