Against the Odds (Fighting to Survive #2)(5)

“We can stop by and get some lunch at Yoder’s fresh market, stop at some unknown place and have lunch,” Robert says.

I smile. “You don’t like car rides.”

“I don’t, but you do. Maybe we can carve our initials into a tree.”

I’m not sure if he’s serious or if he’s making fun of me.

“Really?”

“Yep,” he smiles. “Get your Vans on and get a blanket for us to sit on, and I’ll get a small cooler of snack and drinks.”

I do as he says and put on my comfortable Vans brand tennis shoes and get a blanket from the closet. I change into a pair of white capris and a light pink sweater. When I get to the kitchen, Robert is putting ice into a biggie to chill our drinks.

“You’re serious about his?” I ask because I know Robert doesn’t like car rides.

“I am. This will be relaxing,” he says, putting the last of the drinks into the cooler and closing it. “Are you ready, Sweets?”

“I am. After you, Ace.”

Of course, Robert doesn’t go first. He holds the door open for me and walks behind me. We stop by the Fresh Market and get some soup, salads, deli sandwiches, and even some chocolate-covered strawberries for dessert.

“We won’t eat all that. You know that, right?”

“Maybe not, but I want to make sure we have enough food,” he says as we walk around the store. He stops and picks up some pink roses and places them carefully in the cart, too.

“Flowers for Jamie? We just took her flowers,” I remind him.

“We did, that’s why these are for my wife.”

I can only smile at Robert. I can’t remember the last time I got flowers from him.

“They are?”

Robert says, “I don’t do enough for you. I realized that this week.” He hugs me and says, “Leah, you’re my rock and I don’t know what I would do without you. I vow to show you more often how much I love you.”

I cry because I can’t do anything else. He shows me every day how much he loves me. There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think he loves me, or Jamie, or our unborn baby.

“I love you,” I say.

Robert leans down and kisses me.

We drive out to the country and have lunch under a big mossy tree. It’s a hot day with a breeze blowing through the tree.

“Have you been thinking about the news we received today?”


I admit, “I can’t think of anything else.” I pick at a blade of glass and look at Robert. “I really wanted Jamie to be our biological child.”

“Me, too. I’ve been thinking about our biological daughter.” He takes a drink of his water. “I wonder if she looks like you, what she acts like, what her voice sounds like.”

“I know. I wonder if I would know her if I saw her. She’s our daughter, you would think that we would be able to recognize her right away.”

Robert says, “I hope she looks like you.”

Robert

Leah looks beautiful sitting in the shade under the tree. I think she blushed when I said I hope our daughter looks like her. “She’ll be five.” I blurt out.

“Is that kindergarten age?”

“I think it is.”

“We’ll have a five-year-old and a newborn in the same year.”

I still can’t get over that we have a five-year-old, that our daughter is alive. I hope she’s alive. I guess I’m assuming she’s hasn’t passed. What will the other family think when they find out their daughter died? Will they grieve for her as we did? Will they love her even though they don’t know her? I love Jamie and I love my unknown daughter. I also love my unborn baby. You don’t need to know them to love them. They will be just as in love with Jamie as we are. They will mourn her loss just as we did and still do.

“Why do you look so sad?” Leah asks.

“Just thinking.”

“About Jamie?”

“Yes, and how sad it will be for the other parents when they learn she’s gone.” I can’t say her biological parents.

“We should make copies of photos, pictures, and relevant documents for them.”

“That’s probably a good idea. I don’t want to part with the originals. In my heart, she’s still ours.”

“I know; I feel the same way.”

We clean up and drive back home. We are both quiet and I know we are thinking of the baby swap mess. Although I don’t want to, my mind thinks about how I would feel if I learned our daughter has passed. Imagine learning your child was switched at birth, and then killed before you had a chance to meet her. My heart breaks at the thought. I pray this isn’t the case and I also pray that the other family will understand how much we loved Jamie and how devastated we still are from her passing.

“Do you want to stop for some ice cream before we go home?” I ask.

“I would love to, thank you.”

Later that night, Leah and I discuss making copies of some of Jamie’s pictures. We decide maybe tomorrow will be better. To make copies of Jamie’s baby pictures somehow make finalizes that Jamie isn’t our child and that she never was. Leah cries and it kills me. I hate when she cries and when she is sad. All I want to do is make her happy and it makes me feel like a failure to not be able to do that for her. As much as I want to fix this, there is no possible way I can. I can make it so it won’t happen to us again.