So Much More(79)

“I’m real,” she whispers in my ear.

When I raise my head and remove my hands, she’s kneeling on the dingy tan linoleum in front of me with tears glistening in her eyes. I never thought I would see her again. She’s even more beautiful than I remember. She doesn’t say anything and neither do I. I pull her in for a hug without asking. It’s a hug that dissolves everything for a few minutes. “I’ve missed you, Faith. I’ve missed you so much.”

“I’ve missed you, too, Seamus.” Her voice cracks on my name. “How’s Kai?”

“He’s in ICU. They won’t let me in to see him.” I sniff. “How did you know?”

When I pull back from the hug, she swipes her hands under her eyes. “Miranda asked Benito to find me. He drove me here.”

I try to smile. “I knew I liked Benito.”

She laughs through her tears. “Yeah, he’s a good guy. We picked up Hope from Miranda’s house too. She wanted to see you all and check on Kai.”

Hope is peeking around the corner, keeping her distance, trying to give us privacy. I wave her in. “Come on in and sit down, Hope.”

She walks in and sets a grocery sack on the chair next to me. “I brought some food from Miranda’s. Figured you hadn’t eaten nothing.”

“Thanks, Hope. That was very thoughtful of you. The kids will love it when they wake up.”

She nods to acknowledge me and takes a seat in the corner.

I look back at the angel in front of me. “How do you know Benito?” I ask.

“Our introduction is a story for another time, but now I rent a room from his brother and work in their bakery.”

I don’t know if the smile registers on my lips, but I feel it. I’m happy Faith made a change. “That’s great. I’m proud of you.”

She blushes and changes the subject when the kids stir. “Let’s eat.”

Rory and Kira are groggy and disoriented when they wake, but after they use the bathroom they’re both hungry. Hope made monkey bread. She’s officially their hero.

The room fills up quickly when Miranda and Benito join us with several cups of coffee and juice. The monkey bread disappears, and all that remains are sticky fingers and full bellies.

It’s then that we receive the news that Kai is improving. If he continues, he’ll be moved out of ICU by late afternoon. There was a moment immediately following the birth of each of my children that I felt intensely and overwhelmingly grateful to be given the gift of fatherhood. This news is the trigger that makes it swell within me again. Thank you. I repeat it over and over in my mind.

Relief floods the room. I see it in every face. We’re a mismatched tribe with a common link—we’re Kai supporters. Miranda is weeping into Benito’s shoulder. The kids are both hugging me. And Faith and Hope are holding hands in the chairs in the corner. Relief.

“Were your kids all born here? In this hospital?” Faith’s looking at me with her inquisitive, blue eyes.

I glance at Miranda before looking at Rory and Kira sitting on either side of me. “They were,” I answer with a smile.

“My God, I bet it was breathtaking,” she looks at Miranda before tracing her gaze back to me, “watching your babies come into the world.” Tears begin trickling down her cheeks, but she’s smiling. She wipes them away with her free hand. She’s still holding Hope’s with the other.

“It was. Each time. Witnessing their first breath. Hearing their first cry. Looking at their sweet face. Counting their fingers and toes. From the very first moment they imprinted on my soul, an unbreakable connection. It was breathtaking.”

Hope sniffles next to Faith. Her eyes are a glassy with happiness. “It felt like hope.” I’ve never seen this kind of emotion exhibited by her. She’s usually indifferent or detached.

I don’t know if that was a statement or a question, but I agree because she’s right. “It did feel like hope.”

She nods in return.

Faith is staring at me, and she’s still smiling. “Do you think my mom felt that way when I was born?” She looks content. The way she asked the question makes me wonder if she’s put the search for her birth mother behind her or if she’s approaching it with a new perspective and less desperation.

I answer, “I’m sure she did,” and I mean it. Faith has this incredible energy about her. I’m sure it was evident the moment she was born, that she was special.





Hope hops to her feet with an urgency I’ve never seen her display. She tugs on my hand that she’s still holding. “Come with me. I wanna show you something.”

“Okay.” I stand and follow her out of the waiting room.

When we’re in the elevator, she pushes the button for the fourth floor. The doors open to a reception desk where a friendly looking woman greets us with a toothy smile and crinkled eyes. “Good morning. Do you need help with a room number?”

I’m at a loss, so I look to Hope.

She tries to smile at the woman, but the happy tears from earlier have been replaced with sadness she’s trying ward off. “Room four hundred.”

The woman slides a clipboard in front of us. “Sign in and I’ll need to see ID please.”

I write down my name and start to write down hers, but she stops me when I write Hope and sets her State of California ID card on the counter in front of me. It reads Jane Marie Martin. I scratch out Hope and write Jane Martin instead. The woman verifies our IDs and buzzes us through a secure door.