“Bye, Dad,” he says, and I grab his face in my hands.
“Love you, kid.” I kiss his nose and then his forehead. “Call me when you get there.”
“Will do,” Savannah says, and I walk out of the house and watch them drive away.
I pick up my phone and call the number again, feeling nervous suddenly. It’s like I’m back in high school. Charlotte answers the phone after three rings, sounding out of breath. “Hey, Mrs. Barnes.”
“Hey,” she says softly, and I have to wonder if Kallie told her that I now know about the baby. “How are you doing?” Her voice goes lower, and my question is answered.
“I’m doing good. Is Kallie there?” I ask, and she calls Kallie who picks up the phone.
“Hey,” I say to her, and her voice is sleepy. “Were you sleeping?”
“No,” she says, and I hear the blankets rustle. “Just resting.”
“I was wondering if you’d like to spend the day with me?” I ask. My heart beats rapidly in my chest as I wait for her answer.
“Don’t you have Ethan?”
“He just left with Savannah for the weekend,” I say. “I’m sitting out on my porch, and all I can think about is you.” Looking up at the sun shining in the sky, I say, “We need to finish our talk.”
“Yeah,” she says softly. “We were interrupted.”
“If you want, I can pick you up,” I say, and I’m so anxious I just want to tell her I’ll be there in ten minutes.
“No, don’t come all this way. I’ll just take my mother’s car,” she tells me. “I just don’t know your address.”
I give her the address, and she tells me she’ll be over soon. I want to ask her what soon means. Does it mean an hour, or does it mean ten minutes? Getting up, I walk to my bedroom, taking off my clothes and stepping into the shower. The hot water runs over my stiff neck muscles. My eyes burn from being up all night, so I turn the water to cold and stick my face under it.
Getting out, I grab one of the white towels and dry myself off, slipping on my boxers and shorts. I’m towel-drying my hair when I hear the doorbell. I drop the towel on the bed and walk to the front door. I see Kallie right away through the glass in the doors. Her hair is loose and falls over her shoulders. She looks down and then looks to the side, and her beauty takes my breath away. She looks in the house and sees me, and a small smile fills her face.
“Hey,” I say, opening the door. “Sorry, I was just getting out of the shower.” I see that she is wearing another pair of shorts, this time jeans, and the blue loose short-sleeved shirt she has on is tucked into them. Her hair hides one side of the shirt that goes off her shoulder.
Her eyes almost pop out of her head when she sees me, and I want to laugh since she’s seen me naked many, many times. Maybe not in a while but I’m still the same guy. “Um,” she says, trying not to blush, and her eyes go to the tattoo on my left pec. This is brand new. I got it when my father died. It’s a cross with a ribbon around it with the date he died and the date Ethan was born. Under the cross is the scripture “For those I love I sacrifice.”
“I’m sorry. I should have.”
I grab her face in my hands and lean down to kiss her lips. “I’m happy you’re here.” Turning, I pull her into the house with me. “Do you want something to drink? Some sweet tea, some coffee, some water, whiskey?”
She smiles at me and shakes her head, and I notice she has a brown manila envelope with her. “I’m good,” she says, and then we stop in the hallway in front of the couches.
“Are you as nervous as I am?” I ask as my heart speeds so fast I might have to sit down.
“A little more, I think.” She tilts her head to the side. My hand moves to hold her neck, and I feel her heartbeat with my thumb. “Do you want to sit?” She nods her head and walks away from me, and my hand falls to my side. She sits down on one of the loveseats, and I don’t know if I should sit next to her or not. Fuck, this being on pins and needles stuff is killing me.
Walking to her, I sit next to her, and she holds the envelope in her lap. I’m suddenly feeling like the room is spinning. “What do you have there?”
She looks down in her lap, and her hand caresses the envelope with a soft touch. She brings it to her chest, and the tears come out now. “Shit,” she says, trying to laugh through her tears. “Maybe I should have taken the whiskey.”
“Whatever it is,” I say, “it’ll be okay.”
She nods at me. “Jacob, I’d like to show you,” she says, blinking as the tears come out now, and my hand goes over to hold her knee. The tears falling on my hand, she opens the envelope and takes out a little square paper. “This is Gabriel.”
Chapter Twenty
Kallie
My hands shake like a leaf on a windy day when I take the little black and white picture out. “This is Gabriel,” I say with all the pride in the world. When I went home, the first thing I did was get the envelope out. An envelope that my mother took the day she left me after we buried him. She took all but one picture that I still have in my wallet, and that no one has ever seen but me.
When I hand him the picture, he turns over the sonogram picture, and he puts his hand to his mouth to stop the sob from ripping out. “That was the first time I got to hear his heartbeat,” I say, sitting closer to him so I can see the picture. Jacob just looks down at it and takes his finger and traces the baby.
“He’s so beautiful,” he says, and I just nod.
I open the envelope and grab the other picture, which shows him getting a bit bigger. “He was sucking his thumb here,” I say, my heart feeling so full to share this with him while at the same time feeling the emptiness that always lingers there. The feeling that I’m missing a piece of me.
“Did you used to talk to him?” he asks, and I smile.
“I did. He was a great listener.” I smile, thinking of the times he used to kick me just for fun. “He also loved Coke.” I remember all of a sudden. “He used to go nuts in my stomach when I had it.”
“I’m so sorry, Kallie,” he says, looking down at the picture, and it’s time to show him the last picture.
“This is the day he was born,” I say and pull out the picture of him wrapped in the white sheet. “He was small but perfect.” He looks like he is sleeping. You would never think otherwise.
He takes the picture out of my hand, and his shoulders start to shake as he holds the picture in his hand. His tears are dripping down his chin. “He’s so beautiful.” He looks at me, and I smile at him. “He looks like you.”
“No,” I say, shaking my head. “He looked exactly like you,” I say and then hand him another picture.
He looks at it and gasps. “This is why you had the panic attack?” He doesn’t ask me so much as tells me. The picture is of me holding Gabriel in my arms, my face pale as tears are running down my cheeks with my mother beside me on the hospital bed with her arm around the two of us. Her own tears are on her face. “I want to tell my mother,” he says, looking at the picture. “I want to tell everyone about my son.”