“He agreed to take a paternity test.”

Crew looked at the bag in my hand.

“I need you to swab your cheek and in two days we’ll know.”

“Jesus Christ,” he said, his eyes full of wonder.

“I know. I’m trying not to get my hopes up.” I pulled the box out of the bag. My father had already given me the swab sample. I just needed Crew’s. I opened the box, pulled the swab from its wrapper, and handed it to him. “Just rub it around the inside of your cheek for about thirty seconds.”

When Crew was done swabbing, he handed me the stick and I put it in the tube and closed it.

“Now what?” he asked.

“We send it off, and I’ll get an email with the results in two days,” I explained.

He stood up. “Come on. Let’s get it to the post office.”

On the short walk to the post office, every possible what-if played through my mind. What if the test proved he was my father’s child? What if we remained in the same tragic situation?

But…

What if his mom was wrong?

Once we reached the post office, we requested overnight delivery. The postal worker assured us it would be there by noon the following day. I watched until she disappeared into the back room with the package, hoping the sooner it got to the lab, the sooner we’d have the results.

We started walking back toward DePetrillo’s house.

“I’m scared,” Crew said.

My eyes moved to his. “What are you scared of?”

“Letting myself believe there’s a possibility I’ll be able to hold you again.”

I released a silent breath.

“It’s like we’ve been given this second chance, but only maybe.”

He was right. It was terrifying to let our minds even go there. “I’ve been going to counseling.”

“Really?”

I nodded.

“And?”

“And, it’s probably a good thing I’m talking to someone. I was holding too much in.”

“I’m proud of you,” he said.

“I didn’t say I’m cured.”

“But it’s a step in the right direction,” he acknowledged.

“Oh, and I almost forgot. I saw a shooting star the other night.”

“Yeah? Did you make a childish wish?”

“I sure did.”