Page 100 of Harper

We’re given pictures of our daughter to take with us, and Dr. Kim walks us to her office door, telling us to make another appointment in Anchorage four weeks from now.

We’ll need to come back at twenty-four, twenty-eight, thirty-two, and thirty-four weeks, and if Harper starts bleeding, we’ll need to have her medevac’d to Anchorage immediately.

It’s a lot to take in, and by the time we leave the hospital, we’re both exhausted.

“I need a nap,” says Harper.

“I could use one, too,” I say. I take her hand and steer us both toward the hotel, a Marriott over by University Lake. “It’s a fifteen-minute walk. You think it’s okay?”

“I wouldn’t consider a stroll to the hotel strenuous exercise,” she says. “I think it’s fine.”

We walk in silence for a while, no doubt each of us processing the appointment.

“It’s going to be okay, Harp. I promise.”

“You can’t promise that, Joe.”

“Well, I’ll do anything in my power to make it true.” I nudge her gently, trying to refocus us on the good things that came out of the appointment. “Hey, Harp…we’re having a baby girl. She’s perfect and healthy.”

She looks up at me, a small smile tilting up her lips. “I know. I heard.”

“Have you been thinking of any names?”

She shrugs. “You?”

“Absolutely!” I say, squeezing her hand. “What do you think of Brunhilda?”

She chortles. “Not much.”

“Not a winner?” I ask. At least I got you to laugh. “How about Lillith?”

“Isn’t that a demonic name?”

“Right. Not fair to saddle a baby with that before knowing if it fits her personality. Hmm. How about…Wilma?”

“Like the Flintstones? Nope.”

“Desdemona.”

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Wow,” I say. “Tough crowd.”

She giggles again. “I did have one thought…”

“Tell me.”

She stops walking, so I do, too. When she looks up at me, her eyes are the same color as the midday November sky. They are the gateway to every rush of romantic love I’ve ever known, and in that instant, I hope—against hope against hope against hope—that they will be the only gateway I ever know.

“I was thinking about…Wren.”

“Wren.”

“Raven and Wren,” she says softly. “Our little birds.”

I’m so touched by this, I can’t speak. Instead, I nod, pulling her against my chest. As I hold her close, I somehow manage to grunt, “Perfect.”

We stand like that for a while, with me holding Harper in my arms, and baby Wren warm and safe between us. And that’s when I know. No matter what happened in the past, and no matter how uncertain the future, Harper Stewart is my forever. Always was. Always will be.

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