Page 59 of Eternally London

“I forgot he even took pictures that day. It completely slipped my mind. I want to see the rest.”

Loïc gets off the couch to grab another present for me. This one is a much smaller box than the first. I set the canvas down and rip the wrapping paper off as fast as I can.

“Scrapbooks?” I gasp.

I quickly flip through the pages of the first book to see so many pictures of the first time I met Lindi. The entire book chronicles our initial meeting with breathtaking visuals. The second book is much thicker and contains pictures from my entire trip. All of the incredible people I met and spoke to—people who changed my life forever—are smiling up at me from the pages. The books bring some many emotions to the surface, and all I can do is cry, full of gratitude for that trip.

“I can’t believe you made scrapbooks,” I say after a bit.

Loïc chuckles. “Well, you can thank Paige for that. She put them together for me on some site. I just ordered them.”

“Well, they’re absolutely perfect.”

Lindi is standing in front of me, a look of concern on her face. She touches my knee. “Ma, kye?”

“Yes, baby, Mommy is crying. But these are happy tears. Mommy’s happy.”

“Pee?”

“Yes, happy. Come here.” I pull her onto my lap. “Do you want to see a story all about Mommy and Lindi?”

I open the book, and the three of us look through it. I talk about each picture. Oliver did such a fantastic job of capturing my emotions at the time. I feel like Loïc kind of understands what it was like the first time I met Lindi. That in itself is a gift. I’ll have to call Oliver and tell him how very thankful I am for these images.

Lindi loves looking through the book, pointing out that Mommy and Lin are in every picture.

“We’re going to have to order another one.” I lock eyes with Loïc. “I’m pretty sure this one now belongs to baby girl.”

I kiss the top of Lindi’s head, right between her two puffy pigtails. It’s the only hairstyle that I’ve mastered so far, but it’s by far my favorite anyway.

The three of us sit together on the couch, looking through the Africa books for hours. Lindi listens intently as I tell them about every picture from my entire trip. I talk about each perfect soul I met on my journey. I leave out the gory parts this time around, for Lindi’s sake. Instead, I replace the horrific details with beautiful ones. Each one of these individuals makes the world a better place just by existing. I tell those stories. I talk of their strength, their smiles, their compassion toward others. I gush about the things I loved most about each person.

Lindi especially loves the pictures of the safari and the animals. We teach Lindi how to roar like a lion, and Loïc and I go into fits of laughter at her attempts. It’s quite possibly the cutest thing she’s done yet.

I talk, Loïc asks questions, Lindi roars, and we laugh until Lindi falls asleep against my chest.

I hold my sleeping baby in my arms, and we leave the living room, still bursting with unopened presents.

This evening will go down in the history books as one of the best nights of my life. Breaking tradition turned out to be my favorite gift.

Loïc

“The anxiety balled up in my throat plummets down to my feet, taking my breath with it. I gasp for air. The sight before me is one straight from my nightmares.”

—Loïc Berkeley

I can’t do it anymore.

I see the words from Tommy’s text over and over in my head as I rifle through my dresser. I shine the light from my cell phone into the drawer. It’s still dark outside, and I don’t want to wake London with the overhead light.

Her family is arriving today. It’s an exciting day because they will be meeting Lindi for the first time. London has an entire two-day New Year’s celebration planned. We’ve spent the last week since Christmas getting everything ready for our guests. She’s so thrilled to finally introduce our daughter to everyone we love. London goes all out when we host, so she needs her rest this morning.

The text.

My mind is still reeling from it, and my heart is racing. As soon as I read it, I responded.

Sit tight. I’m on my way.

He hasn’t replied, and that worries me.

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