Page 5 of Tulips and Lost Time

Broken, exhausted after weeks in hell, I twist the handle and push the door open, and expose that colorful brainchild of the woman I swore to always protect. I breathe through the pain slicing up through my stomach. The loneliness that eats at my soul. The lost time, already too much, and still more to come.

But Billy sleeps. Comfortable in her daddy’s arms. Warm, wrapped in the same pink blanket her mother came home from the hospital in. “This is your room, Bill.” I twist to give her the best view, though her eyes remain closed and her sleep, unencumbered. “That’s your bed, baby girl. And your bookshelves. Your changing table.” My voice catches, the emotion lodging in my esophagus and taking my breath away. “And Mommy’s chair.”

I head toward the recliner, far and away more comfortable than the one I’ve slept in for weeks. Suede fabric, soft brown, kind of the same shade as Kari’s hair. A little yellow blanket hangs over the back, and pockets in the side hold hidden treasures. Teething rings; though we were aware those won’t be required for a while. Rattles; she won’t be able to use those yet. Diapers; we’ll change those at the table, anyway. Butt creams; table.

Everything this chair holds is useless for now. But we’re over-preparers. Both of us. We work in the medical field—me, an EMT, and her, an RN—which means we like to make sure we have a bit of everything, just in case.

It’s who we are in our souls. Prepared. Over-thinkers. Worriers. But usually calm in an emergency.

All except that one time.

Billy stirs in my arms, for the first time since before we left the hospital. She scrunches her lips and tenses her belly, and somewhere in the base of her throat, she growls.

“You gotta poop, Bill?” I move closer to the chair and stare down at the suede. At the cushions already molded to Kari’s shape. The few strands of hair she’s already left behind.

This is her place.

Her domain.

This was her claim, and her dreams, all wrapped up in a rounded belly and a welcome pregnancy. But she’s not here. She didn’t come home. So I turn at the chair and back up until my calves touch the fabric. Drawing a deep breath and exhaling to rid my body of the anxiety swirling in my blood, I lower onto the cushions and readjust Billy until she’s vertical, her cheek on my chest and her feet in my lap.

“Let’s let gravity help you out a little, beautiful. Push down on that gas and get rid of it.” Reclining back, I reach across to the lever on the side of the chair, and flicking the footrest up, I kick my boots off and snuggle in.

I’m not sure we’ll leave this spot for a while.

“Do you miss her too, Bill?” I bury my nose in the warm spot behind my daughter’s ear and inhale. “Does it feel like half of you is missing? Because,” my voice catches. “Same.” I sniffle and count on my willpower alone. To remain whole. To not break down and ruin what is supposed to be a happy day for my baby. “Do you want Daddy to tell you a story? Because I can. I can tell you everything.” I press a kiss to her plump cheek. “Why don’t I start with the first time I laid eyes on your mom?” Slowly, a shaky grin works its way across my lips. “It was a good day. I met my best friend and your mom. I had no clue that would be the day that would change my whole world.”

2

LUC

THE BEGINNING OF THE END

“What do you mean you’re getting a new brother and sister?” I shove my lunch into my mouth like the world is heading into a depression and this will be my last chance to eat for the foreseeable future. It’s not, of course. My parents aren’t, like, rich or anything. But we have a decent house. We have clothes and shoes and dinner on the table every night.

Which is a hell of a lot more than Ang gets, that’s for sure.

But I’m twelve now, and hell if that doesn’t mean my stomach doesn’t always feel empty anyway.

“You don’t just get new brothers and sisters like they come from a catalog.” I roll my eyes. Lounging back on his ratty couch, I side-eye the television while Sam and his brother, Alex, play a racing game on the PlayStation. “They’re not even babies. Who adopts a grown ass kid?”

“Swear like that in front of my mom,” Alex growls, “and she’s gonna shove soap down your throat.”

I take another hefty bite and crunch down on the chip sandwich filling my mouth. “Your family already has three kids, dude. Why the hell would they adopt a couple more?”

“Because their parents died.” Sam zooms ahead of Alex on the game, his shoulders and arms moving like that somehow makes his turns tighter. His speed, faster. Lowering his voice, he spares a fast glance for the doorway that leads to the kitchen, where all the adults talk adult stuff, and the girls—Sam and Alex’s sister, plus my two—play and squeal somewhere else in the house.

Because the Turners’ home is where we all come to hang out.

Chief Turner’s is where all the kids come to eat and chill.

Which is probably why the dude is adopting a couple of already-grown kids.

“They had a break in,” Sam whispers. His eyes focus completely on the screen again. “Dudes wanted to rob them or something. And they had shotguns.”

“You shouldn’t have been listening to Mom and Dad talk about that stuff,” Alex—aka X—grumbles. “It wasn’t information for your ears.”

Sam only shrugs. “Their parents got shot. Point blank, buckshot tore them up and made a huge mess. There was blood everywhere, Dad said. All over the kitchen and stuff.”

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