Page 103 of A Lifetime of Afters
“You are.” His glossy eyes crinkled back at me.
“Well?” Dan boomed. “Who have we got here?”
Hawkley stood and stepped closer to my bed, our baby tucked snugly into his elbow. He reached for my hand and gave it a gentle squeeze.
Another thank you.
“Guys, this is Hunter.”
Lou gasped, her hand going up to cover her mouth.
“Is that okay, Lou?”
She nodded frantically, smiling behind her hand. “I just hope he’s better behaved.”
Laughter rang out.
Hawkley nestled Hunter closer to his chest. “So do I.”
Lou laughed and stepped forward, the first to claim a cuddle.
Her first grandchild.
When feeding time came, they all filtered out, promising to give us a few days before they descended on us en masse again. And within hours, we were headed home.
“And then there were three, baby.” Hawk grinned as he slowly and carefully turned out of the parking lot. “You feeling okay?”
“A little tender,” I admitted.
“I’m going to make you an ice pack when we get home,” he promised. “Do you want to sleep?”
I looked out the car window. For the first time in weeks, I could breathe easily. “I could sleep,” I agreed. “But, you know what I really want? I want to sit with Hunter in my garden. You think that would be okay?”
“We can do that,” Hawkley promised. “I have the net to protect him from bugs and I’ll put up the UV umbrella.”
“You’ll bring me an iced tea, too?” I cajoled.
Reaching over, he squeezed my thigh. “I’ll bring you anything and everything you want.”
Pulling up as close to the door as he could, Hawkley hooked Hunter’s car seat over his arm and led me into the house. “Let me get everything ready outside for you first and then I’ll come in and get you."
Two minutes later, he returned, his eyes wide. “Noelle? Come with me, baby.”
“What is it?” I whispered, alarmed.
He held up his hands. “It’s not bad.” Bending over, he scooped Hunter’s seat back onto his arm and took me by the hand.
Rounding the corner of the house, I scanned the backyard for whatever caused Hawkley’s reaction as he led me forward.
Seeing nothing, I turned to my husband. “What is it?”
He stopped and placed Hunter’s car seat down on the grass beside my garden. Drawing me close to his side, he nodded to my garden.
The first thing I saw was a garden stone made up of broken, brightly colored pieces. Written across it in wildly looping script, the words, ‘The story isn’t over yet’.
“It’s beautiful! My mother used to say that to us all the time! Who do you think made it?”
Hawkley swallowed. “I’m guessing the same person who brought these little guys.”
