Epilogue
Look at those legs, Dad. She's got legs like a chicken. How's she ever gonna walk on those?"
"Well..." She did have legs like a chicken. She had fingers like parakeet feet, too. And a belly like a little meat loaf. So what, exactly, was the appeal here? What was it about her that made his chest go tight every time he looked at her?
"Chickens can walk."
Pretty lame answer, granted, but he'd just discovered he'd gotten more than he bargained for when he offered to change the first diaper of the day.
"E-e-ew."
"Yeah. Get me some wipes."
He tried to control the squirmy bundle while he waited for Tobie to come back and caught himself talking to her in that silly, high-pitched tone people used with babies. She gave him a drooly smile. No way was that gas. The past couple of weeks he'd been more and more happy about his decision not to tour this year. He wouldn't have missed this for the world.
The last months had had their ups and downs, but taken as a whole, it had been the most contented period of his life.
Tobie's transplant had taken beautifully, he was sturdy, and there'd been no more major scares.
And Molly. Well, Molly was Molly. Fire and laughter. Sweetness and sass. She'd tolerated her pregnancy fairly well up until the end there, when she'd gotten a little out of sorts. His brothers had coached him on how to coach, but it would be a while before he'd want to go through that again.
"I'd really like a brother." Tobie had returned with the wipes.
"I wouldn't bring that up just yet," Charlie mumbled around the safety pin he had clamped between his teeth. "Your momma didn't get a lot of sleep last night."
He had something to do with that. Molly'd gotten a clean bill of health, and she was in the mood. So he'd kept her up, showing her how much he'd missed doing things just "regular." How was he to know this little pixie was going to want to eat every hour on the hour all night long? His heart was in the right place, but there wasn't much he could do to help Molly with that particular task.
This was a hell of a job. She was doing the bicycle bit now, and he was rapidly coming to the conclusion that he didn't have enough hands.
"Hold on to that foot, Tobie. Don't let go."
"Do you s'pose her hair will ever look any better, Dad?"
One could only hope. At the moment she had an orange fuzz-ball of a head. Hair stuck straight out. It lacked wave. "Your momma took a lot of teasin' about her hair when she was little. Look how pretty it is now."
"It's red."
"Yeah, it is." Maybe he was the only person in the world who thought it was beautiful. He'd always liked it.
"She's sure a tiny thing, Dad," Tobie said on a serious note. "She's gonna need lookin' after."
"She's lucky she's got a big brother." Charlie silently uttered what he figured was every parent's prayer. That his children would always love each other. "You can let go of that foot, now. We'll get her into this...jumpsuit, or whatever the...heck you call it."
His thoughts ran to his own childhood. When Molly decided on this name, maybe that's what she'd remembered. He'd been resistant, at first, but she'd insisted. Though they'd never raised the issue again, he knew what she was doing. And maybe she was right. Maybe following her own convoluted logic, it made sense. She was telling him in no uncertain terms that if she could find it in her heart to forgive his sister, he could, too.
All he knew is that every time he looked at this child they had made, he felt some of the healing Molly intended.
He zipped the play suit up to his daughter's chin and cradled her wriggly little body in his big hands.
"Come on, Lucy-girl. Let's go see Momma."
Bad For Each Other Page 25