Page 122 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Her eyes light up. “You show me the room tonight?”

I smile and nod. “Yes. Later.”

“We surprise Ellie?” she signs.

“That too. After the room.”

I go downstairs and pass the one room that’s been off limits to Maisy and Ellie as we went through the remodel. Both of them have had a hand in the renovations even though Ellie doesn’teven live here. But it was fun to see her put her own touch on things as if she would one day. Which we both know she will. We know it without saying it. We know it without signing it. We just know.

Ellie never went home to her apartment. She moved into a rental house she’s been sharing with Sierra and Tara. Ellie’s boss gave Tara a legitimate job at the Deaf and Blind school, and Sierra has made the house her home base between ski instructor gigs.

On my way to the kitchen, I stop and look at the wall of pictures. I never thought I—Blake Montana—would have a wall of family pictures. But I do. And it’s just one more testament to how my life has changed since Maisy and Ellie came into it.

I run a finger across the frame smack in the middle. I had to rearrange all the others to add it earlier today, but it’s the most important picture by far. The bottom half of the frame has a picture of Maisy and me. It’s my favorite photo of the two of us. One day at the winery, Maisy and I were holding hands walking through the vineyard. Ellie was trailing behind. She clapped her hands to get my attention, and when Maisy and I turned and looked over our shoulders, she started snapping photos.

Maisy is wearing one of her favorite princess dresses, her spiral blonde curls blowing in the light breeze as she smiles back at Ellie. I’m not wearing anything special, but it’s not what we’re wearing that makes this particular picture so extraordinary, it’s how I’m looking at Maisy.

When Ellie showed me the photo, she had tears in her eyes. She said she’d never seen me look as much like a father as I did in that moment. Which is why it’s only fitting that this be the photo in the same frame as Maisy’s new birth certificate. The one that came this morning. The one that displays her new name and makes her officially a Montana. The one that bonds us for life.

The paperwork was filed months ago, right after I got word that Lucinda had passed. I went to see her once more after the first visit. I didn’t take Maisy that time either. We both agreed it would be better that way, but we did make amends. Despite the way Lucinda treated Maisy, I wouldn’t have Maisy if it weren’t for her. And I didn’t think she deserved to die without knowing how far Maisy had come. I showed her all kinds of pictures and told her stories. Lucinda just sat with a smile on her face. Two days later, she was gone.

One day, I’ll tell Maisy about Lucinda. But not today. Today I have other things planned.

In the kitchen, I check on the short ribs that have been cooking all afternoon. I put a bottle of wine on the table and start on the potatoes and the other vegetables. Everything has to be perfect. It’s our first night in the house and there’s so much to celebrate.

Jonas, Brayden’s dad, sees me in the kitchen window from his yard and gives me a wave. We’ve become fast friends with the neighbors. Even though we didn’t move in until today, ever since our kids started kindergarten together a few weeks ago, I’ve been driving Maisy over and Jonas and I have been walking the kids to school. Those kids are like two peas in a pod. I swear Brayden’s mom already has them betrothed.

Maisy loves school. She’s even started learning English. Her signing improved by leaps and bounds after the two of us went to Seattle over the summer for a two-week intensive ASL camp. At this point, she may know more signs than I do.

An hour later, the house lights flash in rapid succession. Maisy comes bounding down the stairs. “Now?” she asks.

“Not yet.”

She’s impatient to get on with things, but gets over it quickly when I let Ellie in the front door.

“You can use your key,” I sign.

She shrugs. “Not my house.”

“Yet,” I sign, capturing her eyes with mine.

She laughs, then her eyes close as she inhales. “What’s that heavenly smell?” she asks.

“We made your favorite,” Maisy signs.

I ruffle Maisy’s curls. “Oh,wedid, did we?” I tease.

“I put milk in the potatoes,” she signs.

Ellie touches her shoulder. “That’s the most important step.”

Maisy beams at her then tugs at my shirt. “Now?”

I shake my head. “Eat first.”

We go into the dining room and sit at the table. Ellie immediately spots the bottle of wine I’d set near her plate. She picks it up and her eyes sparkle with amusement.

She runs a hand over the label that reads:

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