The Enchanted Life of Adam Hope - By Rhonda Riley Page 0,162

hands and pressed them to her swollen belly and asked, “Did you feel that? You feel it?” the thrill of that firm thump against my palm vanquished any residual worry. The ripple of our first grandchild turning in his mother’s womb was mortality and continuity. Adam was right. Nothing else mattered.

We loved Baby Adam at first sight. I had expected to love my grandchild, but couldn’t imagine it possible to love any other child with the intensity that I felt for the children who came from my own body. Yet, from the first touch, my love for Gracie’s son was immediate, so visceral it startled me, and equal to my love for her.

His features lacked the flat, slightly unformed quality our daughters had when they were born, but his skin looked uneven as theirs had. Exhausted from labor, Gracie cried when she first saw him. Hans tilted his new son in his arms so we could take our first good look. Adam lifted the blanket. Swollen testicles propped up a little stiff pod. Definitely a boy.

“At last, another doolywhacker in the family,” Adam laughed. Within hours, Baby Adam’s features smoothed. There was no discussion of tests or problems.

Baby Adam was only twenty-four hours old when Adam and I returned to the hospital. The two of us sat on the bed, flanking Gracie, while Hans took a much-needed coffee break in the cafeteria. Adam cradled the baby, and the three of us watched in fascination, cooing each time he sucked his fist or blinked or wiggled in his blankets. Round face, blond fuzz. Eyes blue as the waters of a Florida spring. Perfect, beautiful.

Then a nurse walked in. All bustle and efficiency, she whisked Gracie’s food tray aside and checked something on the chart. She glanced at Adam, smiled, and said, “You should give the baby back to your wife.”

Adam slid off the bed and came around it toward me, holding our grandson. I opened my hands to take the child.

“No.” The nurse laughed. “Your wife. It’s feeding time and your wife is down for breast-feeding. Grandma can’t do that.”

Adam flushed, then wordlessly turned and handed the baby to Gracie, who took him hungrily. He gave me one quick, confused glance, muttered something about coffee, and left.

“Some daddies don’t like to watch, but he’ll get used to it, honey.” The nurse fluffed a pillow and slid it under Gracie’s arm.

“It’s his first grandchild,” Gracie volunteered.

This registered on the nurse’s face. “Well,” she said.

As the nurse left, Lil and Sarah popped their heads in the door of the room. “We saw Daddy in the hall,” Sarah said. “Everything okay?”

I nodded and motioned for them to join us.

They sat enraptured on the edge of the bed, watching little Adam grunt as he audibly sucked his mother’s breast, his eyes shut tight. Gracie leaned back against the pillows and closed her eyes. I walked over and looked out the hospital window. I kept seeing the look on Adam’s face, its rapid change from reverent pride to an expression I could not define. Embarrassment? Surprise? Shame?

“Are you okay, Momma?” Sarah asked.

I nodded and joined them again at the bedside.

“Why have you two always lied about Daddy’s age?” Gracie asked, her eyes still shut, her face serene and tired.

Lil looked to me for an answer. Sarah leaned across the bed, cupped the baby’s head, and smoothed his hair down.

“He doesn’t know how old he is,” I said. “We had to make up something for the courthouse when we got married.”

“How can he not know?” Lil asked.

“There were no records of his birth, and he didn’t really know his mother,” I replied.

“Still, how can he not know how old he is? He should at least know what year he was born? Didn’t his mother . . . ?” Lil continued.

Sarah put her hand on Lil’s. “Daddy’s special.” She glanced from her sister to me with that expression on her face that always made me wonder how much she knew and how she knew it.

Gracie raised her head and looked at me. “However special Daddy may be you must have come pretty close to actually robbing the cradle. He was weaned when you met him, right?”

“Yes, young lady, but he could barely feed himself.” It was true. For a second, I pictured Addie’s hand wavering as she reached for her first biscuit and blackberry jam.

Gracie laughed and gazed down at Baby Adam, who made a loud puppy-grunt of satisfaction at her breast. “Momma,” she said and patted the