“Not possible if you’re not with me,” I said, then sat down on the edge of the tub so I was closer to her eye level.
“You’ll get your tux wet,” she said with a concerned frown.
“Not worried about the tux. I’m worried about you.”
She lifted her gaze to meet my eyes. “I’m fine. I was just tired, and all those people just became too much.”
Just like I had known. She would never tell me what she had heard. She was either embarrassed or worried that I would think she was pushing me into marriage, into something I didn’t want. I wasn’t sure which, but I knew her well enough to know that it was one or the other.
Forcing her to tell me wouldn’t help her. I just had to prove to her that what those catty girls had said wasn’t true. I had already been thinking about a ring and how to ask her. I was scared to push her too far too fast. She didn’t need any extra stress. But it wasn’t like I wasn’t thinking about it. I hadn’t bought this house for her to be a live-in girlfriend—I had bought it for us. Harlow, Lila Kate, and me. This was our home.
I thought she understood all that. But then, I also knew how vicious those girls could be, and if they were at all convinced of what they were saying, then it would sound pretty damn convincing to Harlow. I’d thought that shoving Bailey off me and telling Nan that my relationship with Harlow wasn’t her business would be the worst parts of my night. I’d been wrong. Harlow being upset was by far the worst.
“You don’t need to worry about me. I’m fine. I just needed to get away and rest.”
I brushed the hair that had fallen from her topknot out of her face. “I love you,” I told her.
“I love you, too.”
But I knew that wasn’t enough. I had to prove to her just how much.
My sweet Lila Kate,
I’ve bought you more clothes than you’ll ever wear. I’ve folded them and refolded them a million times. I keep making sure your little dresses are hanging properly in your closet and that you have shoes to match every outfit. Silly things that a baby wouldn’t care about. But it gives me something to do while I wait for you.
I’m also making you a scrapbook with pictures of your daddy and me. There are even some with the three of us. I love the one where your daddy has his hand resting on my stomach. It’s like he’s holding you, too. Your daddy hired a photographer to come to the house and take photos of us yesterday—a surprise for me. We now have the most wonderful family photos in all my favorite parts of the house.
Actually, the swing under the tree is my favorite part of the house, and I can say I got to swing you on it first. I have photographic proof of that, too. It’s the picture on the cover of your scrapbook. You’ll recognize it right away.
One day, I imagine sitting outside with you on our porch and looking through this book. I expect it to be well worn with love over the years. You’ll get to see just how much love you were brought into this world with.
But if I’m not there with you and you’re looking through this scrapbook with your daddy or alone, know that I created each page with love. I was happier than I had ever been, and my life was complete.
Love you always,
Mommy
Harlow
I sealed the latest envelope and wrapped the thick stack of letters in a pink satin ribbon. I still had eight weeks of pregnancy left and would add more letters, but so far, I had written one to Lila Kate for each birthday and Christmas until she turned twenty-one, for her first day of kindergarten, her high school graduation, her wedding day, the birth of her first child, and her thirtieth birthday. Just in case I wasn’t there, I wanted to leave a part of me with her. If I’d only had a part of my own mother growing up . . . I would have traded anything for it. At least Lila Kate would have that if she didn’t have me.
I picked up the other stack of letters I had written. They were all to Grant: one for the day after my funeral, one for his first day alone with Lila Kate after everyone resumed normal life, one for her first day of kindergarten, and one in case he met a woman he could fall in love with. I wrapped those letters up with a red satin ribbon.
If I wasn’t here to be his partner and help raise our little girl, I at least wanted my words to be there for him. I wanted him to know I was watching from above, that I was proud of him, and that I thought he was doing a wonderful job. I also wanted him to feel free to move on when the time came. He was my one and only love. He was my fairy tale. But it was possible I wouldn’t be his. He had a long life ahead of him, and I didn’t want him to spend it without someone by his side.
I placed both stacks of letters in the bottom drawer of Lila Kate’s dresser. On top of both piles, I left one letter loose: the first one he would read. I would tell him that they were there when I felt it was time.
I left the scrapbook lying on the top of the dresser because Grant knew about it. He didn’t know the real reason I wanted all those photos; he just knew I was making a scrapbook of memories for Lila Kate. I had framed my favorite photo of us sitting on the steps of the front porch. My head rested on Grant’s shoulder, and his arm was wrapped around me, his hand splayed out over my stomach. It now hung over Lila Kate’s changing table; you could see it the moment you walked into her room.
“You refolding baby clothes again?” Grant asked as he stepped into the room.
I laughed. He had caught me more than once reorganizing her closet and drawers. He didn’t understand it, but he never teased me. He always smiled and told me Lila Kate was going to have the best mother in the world. I really hoped that was true.
Grant never spoke about what could happen. With each doctor’s visit that went well—we continued to get good reports—he seemed less worried. He didn’t stare at my stomach as if he was unsure about it anymore. As if it was the enemy. He touched it often, and he had even started talking to her.
“I want everything perfect for her,” I told him, closing the drawer with the letters.
“It will be, because you’ll be there,” he replied.