Chapter 16 - HER NAME
Emily saw our daughter the following afternoon.
The NICU placed a photograph beside her bed first.
Emily touched it with one finger.
“She’s ugly.”
I stared.
“She is perfect.”
“She looks like an angry potato.”
“Our angry potato.”
Emily laughed and cried simultaneously.
“What do we call her?”
We had avoided choosing one name.
Superstition.
Fear.
Now Emily looked at me.
“Claire.”
I smiled.
“For your grandmother?”
She nodded.
Claire Mercer.
Three pounds.
Tiny fingers.
A stubborn heart.
Alive.
When Emily was strong enough, they took her to the NICU.
She placed one hand through the incubator opening.
Claire’s fingers curled around the tip of Emily’s finger.
Emily broke.
Not loudly.
Just tears.
Endless tears.
I stood behind her.
Then Emily reached backward without looking.
Her hand searched.
I took it.
For the first time since our divorce—
she reached for me before I reached for her.
The doctors gave us another piece of news.
Delivery meant Emily could now move into a more aggressive treatment phase.
I had naively believed the hardest part was finished.
Dr. Brooks corrected me.
“We still have work to do.”
“How much?”
I asked.
She looked at Emily.
“A lot.”
Scans would follow.
Treatment.
Possibly additional procedures.
The pregnancy had ended safely.
The cancer had not.
Hope and fear returned to the same room.
Emily looked toward the NICU.
“Then let’s work.”
I almost smiled.
That sounded like me.
Then she corrected herself.
“No.”
She looked at me.
“Let’s live while they work.”
May you like
That sounded like her.
And it was better.
