Total pages in book: 34
Estimated words: 33887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 169(@200wpm)___ 136(@250wpm)___ 113(@300wpm)
“It’s inscribed,” Elsa noted quietly.
He pulled the rattle out, and breathing carefully, he read what was inscribed around one end of the rattle.
To, Laird Corey Thomas Wheeler.
He then looked at the other end.
From, Grandpa.
Hale made an animal noise that came from deep in his throat and shared the exquisite pain he was feeling, so Elsa with Laird crowded him.
“The envelope, honey,” Elsa prompted, love in her tone, and urgency.
She was right.
Get it done.
And then deal so this could start to feel good, beautiful, right, instead of feeling like loss.
He pushed out a breath, took in another one, set the rattle back in its box and nabbed the envelope.
He slit it open with a finger and pulled out a notecard, the stock of which he’d seen before.
It had his father’s name embossed at the top in black.
And his handwriting filling the white underneath.
Hale,
My wish for you in this moment is to be a strong enough man never to hesitate showing your love and affection.
And a smart enough one never to waste a moment.
Proud of you.
Happy for you.
All my love,
-Dad
A pained breath exploded from him, and Elsa and Laird were in his arms.
Their boy, safe and snug, healthy and whole, was tucked between them.
Their love, and the love of their families and friends—those with them, and those not—on a blustery, spring day in New York City, warmed them all the way down to their souls.
Elsa
Four months later…
I woke with no man at my side.
Nor any cats.
When I looked to the smart home screen on Hale’s bedside table, I saw I’d slept in.
So after I threw the covers back, hit the bathroom, did my mourning routine and walked into the hall, I didn’t even bother going to the nursery next door.
By now, after a week in LA, I knew the drill.
I went downstairs and right to the kitchen.
Frosty and Cheddar had obviously had their morning wet food (and Cheddar had done his zoomies), because they were curled up together in an armchair, sleeping. Neither even raised their heads when I walked through the space.
One could say our fur babies loved LA.
After I grabbed myself a cup of decaf, along with noting the spent baby bottle by the sink (I pumped so Hale could feed and bond with our boy), I walked out on the balcony.
And there they were, where I knew they’d be.
Father and son, on the beach.
The sea breeze was ruffling Hale’s dark brown hair.
Laird was strapped to his chest.
He wasn’t doing anything but walking in and out of the waves that lapped the shore, Laird’s arms and legs waving and pumping with excitement.
Both my boys loved the beach.
I settled in with my coffee and watched.
This happened every morning since we’d come to LA, and I never interfered.
Father-and-son time was important.
It didn’t take long before Hale turned and started toward the stairs that led up to the house.
As usual, he looked up and saw me.
He lifted a hand to wave.
My baby boy bounced in his carrier.
Hale headed to the steps.
I looked to the ocean.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
The sea had nothing to say, nor did the man who gave us this view to it, but its breeze lifted the hair off my neck.
I heard Hale and Laird come in from outside.
So I was content with that reply.
Thus, I headed inside.
The End