Finding Eden (A Sign of Love Novel)(68)

"She'd be about two and a half now," I said very quietly. She must have heard us come in and wasn't surprised to hear my voice behind her.
I felt tense, wary as I watched her. Eden's shoulders slumped very slightly. "She?" she asked.
I nodded. "I always imagined it was a girl. I don't know why. I just did. I do."
She nodded her head, a tear slipping down her cheek, but she smiled softly and wiped it away. "Me, too, actually," she said quietly. "I imagined you knew about her because you were with her. I pictured you together—it soothed me."
She continued to look around, not just at the pictures of her and who I imagined would have been our daughter, but Eden as a young girl, and through the years. The one of her playing Kick the Can, a look of fierce joy on her face as she slid to a halt, reaching one foot toward the can of safety, a bigger kid fast on her heels. The one of her sitting at the front of the temple, one long strand of hair between her fingers as her eyes gazed upward, a small, dreamy smile on her face. The one of her eyes meeting mine, a flush on her cheeks, a morning glory clutched in her hand, the one she'd just picked up from beneath her chair.
"I was going to show you . . ." I trailed off. Eden didn't move.
I tentatively walked closer to her and she moved away, going over to a painting of her hands as I remembered them. My greatest fear had been that I would begin to forget the details of her. And so I painted them, not just the moments we'd shared, but her. Each part of her, like snapshots from my mind. Creating pictures of Eden brought me the only real serenity I'd experienced since I lost her.
"I wondered why my face wasn't in any of the paintings hung up in the gallery," she said softly.
I shook my head, looking down at the hardwood floor. "I couldn't share all of you," I said. "I wasn't ready."
She walked over to a painting of her face, turned to the sun, the beginning of a smile just starting to blossom. She ran her finger down her own cheek, down lower to the small swell of her pregnant belly as it might have looked had she continued to carry our child. Her finger stalled and she took it away, a look of sorrow obvious to me even in her profile.
"I just . . . I didn't have any photographs. I felt like the world might just . . . forget you," I said, my voice extra gravelly. "It was my way of keeping you alive, keeping her alive," I finished. "Please say something, Eden."
She turned toward me, tears shimmering in her eyes and clinging to her lashes. She shook her head slowly, her lips parting and then closing again. She walked slowly to me and looked up into my face, twin tears slowly rolling down her cheeks. "Thank you," she said simply, wrapping her arms around me and pulling me close.
I squeezed her back. "For what?" I asked.
"For loving me so much. For keeping me alive when I wasn't."
I released a loud breath. "You don't ever have to thank me for that. It's just what I was made to do."
She made a half laugh, half sniffle sound against my shirt and then looked up at me, a beautifully peaceful smile on her face. "Me, too," she said.
"Morning Glory." I smiled and brought my hands up, running them through her still-damp hair.
"Do you think your mom would want a few of these . . . from when you were younger? Or do you think they'd make her sad for what she missed?"
She gazed up at me. "I think she'd like them," she said softly. "I think she'd treasure them."
I nodded. "Okay, then, I'll give her a few. We'll need to go and get your things anyway. Do you think she'll be all right with you moving in here?"
She let out a soft breath. "Probably not, no. But I'll be right across town. We'll work it out. She wants me to be happy."