discovered Edger Allen Poe in English class at school, and both fell in love with his writing. I can’t even count how many times we sat out on the bluffs together, talking about our future.” He looks up at the two of us and smiles, but it’s steeped in loneliness. “She always wanted two kids. No more, no less. She decreed our son would be named Poe in honor of our favorite poet, and our little girl would be named Evangeline, after my mother.”
Poe and I look at each other in surprise at that revelation, neither of us sure what to say or even if we should say anything at all.
“Son, throughout her entire pregnancy, your mother never wanted to talk about names. So when you were born, she concerned herself with flirting with the doctor, and I had the nurses add your name to the paperwork before she even held you for the first time. I needed to keep that promise to Catherine, even though you weren’t her son, as silly as that may sound.”
Poe drags the other chair closer to his father and drops into it, leaning forward in a similar position to Holt’s and putting his hand comfortingly on his shoulder.
“Dad, it doesn’t sound silly at all. I’m proud to carry my name for her.”
Something odd in his voice catches my attention. It looks like he’s fighting harder than usual to control his emotions. When his father meets his gaze, there’s a current that passes between them that makes me think I’m missing something. Choosing to set it aside for the time being, I squat down in front of Holt, covering his hands that are still clutching the book, with my much smaller ones.
“She kept her promise, too. My middle name is Evangeline.”
His eyes fill with tears as he nods and tries to smile. Slowly, he releases his grip and transfers the paperback to my hands.
“I thought you might want to see this. To know it came from your mother when she was young and full of dreams.”
Glancing down at the raven on the cover, the world tilts, and my legs give way, my ass hitting the ground with a thud. Words escape me at first, I’m so surprised. Recognition floods my mind, and another piece of my puzzle clicks into place. Looking up at the two handsome men both staring at me in concern, I swallow hard and lick my lips.
“I know this book.”
Sitting on the carpeted floor in the front room, I’m refereeing a very important debate between two of my dolls while my handful of stuffed animals quietly observe. The mid-morning light filters silkily through the window sheers in shades of bright green from the new leaves on the trees in the yard.
Eventually, my small ears pick up the sound of quiet crying from down the hall, and I elect my brand new floppy dog to accompany me in search of the source. Wandering past the empty kitchen and my tiny princess pink bedroom, I stop in front of my mother’s room and realize the sound is coming from her.
Hitching up my too-big flannel pajama bottoms, I walk to the edge of her high bed covered by the pretty green and white handmade quilt with red flowers on it and toss my stuffed friend up ahead of me. Using both hands and my bare toes, I climb the side of the box spring and mattress and pull myself up until I’m on my hands and knees. Retrieving my dog, I tuck him under one arm and scoot over until I’m right next to my mother as her body shakes with her soft sobs. Folding my legs to the side, I lean my head against her shoulder and jam my thumb in my mouth even though I know I’m not supposed to do that anymore because four-year-olds are big girls, and big girls don’t suck their thumbs.
Finally, her sobbing slows, replaced by quiet sighs now and then, and she wraps her arm around my thin shoulders, tucking me tighter against her. Looking down, I see she has a book on her lap, closed now, her fingers tracing the big, black bird on the faded front cover and playing with the worn page edges.
My thumb comes out of my mouth with a pop as my little hand reaches out to touch the perfect fat teardrop suspended from my mother’s jawline. She captures my wrist gently and peppers my palm with kisses, making me giggle, before setting