Proving Paul's Promise(61)

I throw up my hands and sniffle. “I get it!” I cry. “You’re here!” My eyes fill with tears, and they finally spill over. It’s a shoulder-shaking, can’t-catch-my-breath cry, and it goes on way longer than I should let it. But I can’t seem to stop. It’s just too hard.

When my tears are spent, I touch the little homemade sign again and think about everything he needs to know.

“Our son’s name is Jacob, and he has a great mom and dad. Her name is Jill, and I don’t even know what his dad’s name is yet. Jacob’s artistic and he plays sports and he likes music.” I point to my forehead as though he can see me. “And he has your cowlick! Oh my gosh, it was so f*cking adorable. You have no idea how beautiful he is.”

I wait a beat and take in the beautiful day and the people milling around.

“I just wanted to tell you that he’s okay. That’s all. I thought you deserved to know. No matter what happened with us, he was yours, too, and you didn’t get any say about what happened to him, because after a while, I couldn’t find you.” I point to my chest and then thump it hard with my fist. “I did the best I could. I really did. I did everything I knew how to do! I wanted him to be taken care of. I didn’t even know where my next meal was going to come from most days, and I couldn’t do that to him. I know you might not like my choice, but I had to make one, and I had to make one that was in his best interest. I wanted him. But I wanted him to be safe more. Does that make sense?” I talk to him like he’s here with me. It’s stupid, I know, but I need for him to f*cking be here so much that I’ll set aside everything else. I’ll chuck my pride. I’ll throw all of it away because I need for him to hear me. More than anyone else, I need for Travis to hear me.

“I love him,” I say. “And I know you love him, too. They want me to come back and see him another day, and I’m going to do that. They’re even willing to tell him who I am and let him know me as the woman who gave birth to him. I still can’t get over that part. They’re good people. And he’s happy.”

I stop because I don’t know what else to say.

“He’s happy, Travis. He’s happy and healthy, and we made something so wonderful. He will go on to do brilliant things. And I just wanted to tell you that. That’s all.” I get up and dust off the butt of my jeans.

I stare down at Travis’s final resting place, and a weird sense of peace envelops me. My hair lifts again, and this time, I swear that I feel his lips touch the nape of my neck. The hair on my arms stands and a shiver slides up my spine, but it’s a good feeling.

“Thank you,” I whisper to the wind.

I go back to the office to get my suitcase, and the girl behind the desk chirps, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

I nod. I found that and more. “What would it take for me to get a gravestone for him?” I ask.

She snaps her gum. “Just stone and brass?”

I shrug. “Something nice.”

“About two thousand.” She looks closely at me. I reach into my purse and pull out my checkbook. I did just win five thousand dollars, after all. Jacob might want to come here one day to visit, and I don’t want him to see that crappy sign. And Travis, all by himself with no thought to Jacob, deserves better.

She slaps an order form in front of me. “I can fill out the dates. Just put your information and what you want it to say.”

I think about it for no more than a second. I write the words, “Beloved father and friend.” Because that’s what he was. He was beloved. By me, most of all. He was valuable. We all have intrinsic value, just because we exist, don’t we? I like to think so.

I write the check and hand her the order form. “Please let me know when it arrives?”

She nods, and I roll my suitcase out the door and down the sidewalk.

“Friday,” I hear someone say. I look up and find Henry walking out the same gate as me.

Henry is a friend of the Reeds’. He was the doorman in Emily’s building, and his wife had a stroke. Not long after he met Logan and Emily, all the Reed boys went and moved his furniture so he could bring his wife home from the rest home. She died last year, and he was left alone. He has children and grandchildren, and his granddaughter Faith is expecting his first great grandchild. Through it all, Henry never wavered. He grieved, but his faith never faltered.

“Henry,” I say. I lift my arms and hug him, because you just have to hug Henry when you see him. “What are you doing here?”

“I was just visiting my Nan,” he says. He looks at my suitcase with a curious eye. “What about you?”

“Unfinished business,” I say.

He takes the handle of my suitcase and starts to pull it down the street.

“What are you doing, Henry?” I ask. I race to catch up with him.

He looks back at me over his shoulder. “It looks like you have a good story to tell, and I just happen to love a good story.”

“But,” I sputter.

“I’m a lonely old man,” he says. “Humor me.”

“Henry,” I protest.

“I have an empty house and a lot of time.” He puts his free arm around my shoulders and pulls me close to him. “Make me happy and come have tea with me.”

“Just tea?” I ask.