Page 104 of Harper

“I got you something.”

“You did?” I ask. I lean back to catch her eyes. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I wanted to.” She grins. “It’s just a little something for the baby. A sheriff onesie.”

Oh, my heart.

“That was thoughtful, Harp. I can’t wait to see her in it.”

She rests her cheek back on my shoulder, her breath soft on my throat as we slow dance. I haven’t gotten anything for Harper yet, but I certainly have something in mind.

“Hey,” I say, “you want to come over to my place sometime this week? I’ll make us dinner. We can have our own little Christmas.”

“I’d love it, Joe,” she says. “That sounds perfect.”

***

My house smells like the roast that’s been in the oven since I got home from work, and there’s a bottle of sparkling cider chillingin my fridge. In front of the fireplace, there’s a table set for two with cinnamon-smelling votive candles and a vase of red roses.

It looks nice, I think, glancing at the little box next to Harper’s place. I hope she thinks so, too.

With fifteen minutes to kill until she arrives, I open up my laptop excited to see that a new message is waiting from Denise Calvin.

I click on it eagerly.

Merry Christmas, Joe.

I’m not sure if and how you celebrate Christmas, but here in Oregon, we’re getting excited for Santa’s arrival. We don’t know how much longer Moriah will believe in Santa Claus, so Howard and I are pulling out all the stops this year.

We got her loads of art supplies and a hammock for next summer’s camping trips. She also asked for a lava lamp and a skateboard. Moriah doesn’t have a cell phone—we’re waiting as long as possible before letting her go on social media—but we did get her an instant camera so she can take pics with her friends. Are you too young to remember Polaroids? Probably. Everything once old is new again. It’s the way of the world.

I am attaching a picture of our girl on Santa’s lap and another of her singing in the annual holiday concert at school.

Merry Christmas and Happy New Year to you and, if you speak to her, to Harper, too. We remember Moriah’s bio mom in our prayers every night, forever grateful that she gave us a family by trusting us to raise her beautiful baby.

With affection,

Denise

I re-read the final paragraph about the Calvins’ gratitude for Harper, then look at the pictures of Moriah Raven, a beautiful little girl who smiles into the camera with confidence, trust, and love.

This is my third message from Denise.

The first one talked a bit about Moriah Raven’s infancy and early childhood, detailing what it was like to have a baby with severe colic—a condition I’d never heard of—and how they helped her through endless nights of discomfort.

The second told me about two other mishaps. When she was four, they found out Moriah Raven had a peanut allergy, but only when she ate peanut butter crackers at a kid’s birthday party, and her throat started closing up. They rushed her to the ER and got her sorted. Since then, Denise always carries an epi-pen. Two years ago, when she was seven, Moriah Raven crashed her bike and broke her arm. Howard rushed her to the hospital and stayed with her while her arm was set in a plaster cast; he didn’t leave her side, insisting on staying with her, even when the nurses tried to make him sit in the waiting room.

Childhood is full of perils; full of crises that would have overwhelmed me as a young, single parent.

But during every step of my daughter’s journey, the Calvins have been by her side and loved her. They’ve been exemplary parents, perhaps, in part, because Moriah Raven was a gift they barely dared to hope for—a gift that Harper gave them.

It still hurts sometimes to think about the time I lost. Someday, when I meet my firstborn, I will tell her how sorry I am that I wasn’t there. But I will also admit that the decision Harper made back then was for the best. I simply couldn’t have given her the life that the Calvins have. I know in my heart thatI couldn’t have done a better job than they did. And every day, there’s a little more peace in that knowledge.

“Joe?”

I snap the laptop closed and look up to see Harper coming through the door. There are snowflakes in her hair, which makes it glisten and shine like captured starlight.

“Hey, darlin’. When did it start snowing?”

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