by J. A. Little
As I turn the corner onto our street, we see Claire’s car in the driveway.
“Oh, Jesus. I hope Logan’s not being an ass again,” Kayla sighs.
Logan’s been a handful over the last few years. He tries, but he’s still a pretty messed-up kid. He and Claire have lived together for a little over a year, but she’s kicked him out twice. He’s in and out of therapy. Claire is patient with him, but when it comes to disrupting Ellie, she doesn’t let him mess around.
“Hey,” Kayla calls to her sister as she steps out of the car. Claire turns, a strained smile on her face. “What’s up?”
“Can you look after Ellie tonight? I’ve got class, and Logan has to work late.”
Kayla hugs her sister. “Of course.”
I glance around. “Where…?” But I don’t have to finish my sentence. From the other side of the car, Ellie comes running toward me.
I pick up my two-year-old niece. She looks just like Logan with dark hair, big blue eyes, and dimples. I never really understood what Kayla and Claire were talking about when they said they couldn’t resist Logan’s dimples—at least, not until the very first time this little girl smiled at me. Now, I get it. And I’m such a fucking sucker for her smiles.
I can see Claire and Kayla talking quietly. Claire shrugs and takes a deep breath. She’s matured a lot over the last few years. She works full-time in a bakery and is going to night school for special education. I know that Kayla and I can never make up for the loss of her parents, but we do our best to support her however we can. I carry Ellie over to her mother and put my arm around Claire’s shoulder, kissing her head.
“Hey, kid.”
“Hi,” she says, leaning into me. “I gotta go, but how’d your presentation go?”
“Good, I guess,” I say, shrugging.
“It went fantastic. Don’t let his modesty fool you,” Kayla scoffs.
Claire laughs. “Good. Okay, I love you, baby,” she whispers, planting a kiss on Ellie’s nose.
“Love you, Mommy,” Ellie’s high-pitched little voice chimes.
“She’s had her nap. I gave her a cheese stick on the way over, but she might still be hungry.” Claire hands Kayla the diaper bag. “Thank you so much.”
“What’s going on?” I ask, setting Ellie down when we get inside.
“Nothing. She’s just tired.”
“Have they figured out what they’re going to do with El this summer?”
“Yeah.” Kayla grins. “Matty’s going to take care of her.”
“No shit?”
“Dean!” she scolds. I glance over at the little girl who is eyeballing the cookie jar on the countertop.
“Sorry.”
“He’s got until August before he has to head to school, so he offered to help them out. No charge.”
Matty has grown up to be the kind of kid every parent dreams of. He’s smart, athletic, and incredibly kind. He’s volunteered at a Minneapolis Youth Center for the last two years as a mentor for young kids from unstable homes. He’s still fairly soft-spoken—so different from his brother. The relationship between the two of them has had its ups and downs, but they’re as close as ever. Karen and Brian have been exactly what he needed. His adoption was finalized a year after he was placed with them. They left it up to him if he wanted to change his name. He did, in a way. He became Matthew Davidson Brooks. He said he never wanted to forget where he came from.
Matthew Davidson Brooks is headed to Stanford in the fall.
We spend the rest of the afternoon entertaining Ellie. I’m much better at the uncle gig now than I used to be. I don’t really give a shit what I look like anymore—if it makes her laugh, I’ll do it. It usually does make me look like a complete asshole, though.
Logan doesn’t show up until almost nine o’clock. Ellie’s fallen asleep on the couch.
“Sorry,” he mutters, flopping down on the chair and staring at his daughter. “How long’s she been asleep?”
“About an hour. What’s up?”
“Nothing. One of our guys is out, so I’m picking up slack.” He runs his hand over his face.
“You want something to eat?” I offer.
“Nah. I ate at the shop. Thanks, though.”
“You look tired,” Kayla says, picking up Ellie’s toys and stuffing them in the diaper bag.
“I am. And Claire’s gonna be pissed that I’m so late.” He leans back and closes his eyes.
“You’re fine, Logan,” Kayla soothes. “She knew you were working late. Take your baby girl and go home to your bed.”
Logan smiles up at her. “Are you kicking me out?” he teases.
“Yep! You fall asleep in that chair and we’ll both be in trouble with my sister.”
Logan chuckles before standing. He lifts Ellie up into his arms. She doesn’t wake, just slumps over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes.
“Thanks, guys,” he says, taking the diaper bag.
Once he’s left, Kayla goes and gets ready for bed while I finish cleaning the kitchen. It’s only nine thirty when I turn out the lights in the rest of the house and make my way to the bedroom, but we both have to work in the morning and it’s been a long day both physically and emotionally.
Stripping off my shirt, I quickly change into a pair of pajama pants and sit down on the edge of the bed. My wife trails her fingers over my back, first lower and then up toward my shoulder blades.
“You still can’t feel that?” she asks.
“I can feel it. I know you’re there.”
“But you can’t feel it feel it?”
I shake my head. I had the scars on my back and down my side removed last year with a series of laser treatments. It’s not perfect, but the skin’s a lot smoother than it used to be. I never expected the feeling to be restored, but the procedure wasn’t exactly painless—especially when they got to the lower layers—so Kayla suggested I get treatment to see if they could restore sensation. Unfortunately, it hasn’t worked.
Kayla sighs. “I’m sorry.”
I lay back, my head in her lap. “What are you sorry for? It’s not your fault.”
“I know,” she says, running her fingers through my hair. “But I got your hopes up.”
I chuckle lightly. “You got your hopes up, baby. I never expect anything.”
“That I know,” she laughs. We’re quiet for a few minutes. Her fingers move toward my arm.
“I love that you added the color,” she whispers.
A few weeks ago, I had the original representation of the Angel of Redemption tattooed on my arm, adding what I had so thoughtlessly removed ten years ago.
“New life,” I answer. “Seems only appropriate.”
“Are you ready for it?”
I turn my head toward her. She’s looking at me with concern. I take a deep breath and glide my hand gently over her slightly swollen belly. She’s three months along. We found out four weeks ago. Well, I found out four weeks ago. Kayla’s known for about six or seven. She was afraid to tell me because we weren’t trying. It was a matter of a birth control glitch. She was trying to switch from the shot to the pill. We probably shouldn’t have been having sex until we knew it was effective, but we were out drinking with Warren and his new boyfriend, and things got a little crazy. She was all over me in the cab on the way home, and we barely made it inside the house. It was a fantastic night.
She sounded like me when she told me, mumbling and stumbling over her words. I have to admit, I was in fucking shock, but it’s been different over the last month. I’m not scared—at least, not any more than any guy usually is to become a father.
I’m as ready as I’ll ever be. I love Kayla more than life itself. She gave me my life back. And now, she’s giving me a new life to look forward to.
I lean forward, pressing my lips against the soft skin of her stomach.
“Absolutely,” I whisper.
Acknowledgments
To the many who have supported me throughout the process of writing th
is story, posting it, and making the decision to publish it, I cannot thank you enough. I hope I can make you proud.
To Mollie, who pushed me to follow the idea, and to Shawna, who convinced me I could do this.
To Kathy, Lexie, Debi, and Mel, who worked tirelessly to help me put this story together and who supported me over and over and over again. I’m not sure there are words to tell you how much you all mean to me.
And to my husband, who has had so much patience while I’ve explored this path. I love you.
About the Author
J.A. Little is a wife and mother who has been writing poetry and short stories since she was a child. She enjoys using her knowledge and experience in child and social welfare as well as mental health in her writing.
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Full Fathom Five Digital is an imprint of Full Fathom Five
Angel of Redemption
Copyright © 2015 by J.A. Little
All rights reserved.
No part of this text may be used or reproduced in any form, except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review, without written permission from the publisher.
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ISBN 978-1-63370-091-8
First Edition