"Thank you, Mommy. Thank you. . . ." (Kenk you, Money. Kenk you)
For what?
"Honey, what's wrong?" she asked again.
"Kenk you," Kyle said again, not listening. "Kenk you, Money."
He repeated it a third and fourth time, his eyes closed. Taylor's grin left his face.
"Honey . . . ," Denise tried again, a little more desperately this time, suddenly feeling a flash of fear at what was happening.
Kyle, lost in his own world, continued to hold her tight. Denise shot a "See what you've done now" look at Taylor when all of a sudden Kyle spoke again, the same grateful tone in his voice.
"I wuff you, Money."
It took a moment to understand what he was trying to say, and she felt the hairs on her neck stand up.
I love you, Mommy.
Denise closed her eyes in shock. As if knowing she still didn't believe it, Kyle tightened his grip around her, squeezing with ferocious intensity, and said it a second time.
"I wuff you, Money."
Oh, my God . . .
Unexpected tears suddenly began to spill from her eyes.
For five years she'd waited to hear the words. For five long years she'd been deprived of something other parents take for granted, a simple declaration of love.
"I love you, too, sweetie . . . I love you so much."
Lost in the moment, she hugged Kyle as tightly as he was holding her.
I'll never forget this, she thought, memorizing the feel of Kyle's body, his little-boy smell, his halting miraculous words. Never.
Watching them together, Taylor stood off to the side, as mesmerized by the moment as she was. Kyle, too, seemed to know he'd done something right, and as she finally released him, he turned to Taylor, a grin on his face. Denise laughed at his expression, her cheeks flushed. She turned to gaze at Taylor, her expression full of wonder.
"Did you teach him to say that?"
Taylor shook his head. "Not me. We were just playing."
Kyle turned from Taylor back to his mother again, the same joyous expression on his face.
"Kenk you, Money," he said simply. "Tayer's home."
Taylor's home. . . .
As soon as he said it, Denise wiped the tears from her cheeks, her hand shaking slightly, and it was quiet for a moment. Neither Denise nor Taylor knew what to say. Though Denise's shock was evident, to Taylor she looked absolutely wondrous, as beautiful as anyone he'd ever seen. Taylor dropped his eyes and reached for a twig on the ground, then twirled it absently in his fingers. He looked up at her, back to the twig, then over to Kyle before meeting and holding her gaze with steady determination.
"I hope he's right," Taylor said, his voice cracking slightly. "Because I love you, too."
It was the first time he'd ever said the words to her, or to anyone. Though he'd imagined they would be hard to say, they weren't. He'd never been so sure about anything.
Denise could almost feel Taylor's emotion as he reached for her hand. In a daze, she took it, allowing him to pull her to her feet, drawing her close. He tilted his head, slowly moving it closer, and before she knew it, she felt his lips against hers, mingling with the warmth of his body. The tenderness of the kiss seemed to last forever until he finally buried his face in her neck.
"I love you, Denise," he whispered again. "I love you so much. I'll do anything for another chance, and if you give it to me, I promise I'll never leave you again."
Denise closed her eyes, letting him hold her, before finally, reluctantly, pulling back. With a little space between them, she turned away, and for a moment Taylor didn't know what to think. He squeezed her hand, listening as she took a breath. Still, she didn't speak.
Above them, the autumn sun was bearing down. Cumulus clouds, rolling white and gray, were drifting steadily, moving with the wind. On the horizon, dark clouds loomed black and thick. In an hour the rain would come, full and heavy. But by then they would be in the kitchen, listening as raindrops pelted the tin roof, watching as the steam from their plates curled toward the ceiling.
Denise sighed and faced Taylor again. He loved her. It was as simple as that. And she loved him. She moved into his arms, knowing that the coming storm had nothing to do with them.
Epilogue
Earlier that morning Taylor had taken Kyle fishing. Denise opted to stay behind; she had a few things to do around the house before Judy came over for lunch, and besides, she needed a bit of a break. Kyle was in kindergarten now, and though he'd come a long way in the past year, he was still having a little trouble adjusting to school for the first time. She continued to work with him on his speech every day, but she was also doing her best to help him with other skills so that he'd be able to keep up with his peers. Fortunately the recent move to their new house hadn't seemed to bother him at all. He loved his new room, which was much bigger than it had been in their first house in Edenton, and delighted in the fact that it overlooked the water. She had to admit, she loved it, too. From where she was sitting on the porch, she could see Taylor and Kyle perched on the seawall, fishing poles in hand. She smiled wistfully, thinking how natural they looked together. Like father and son, which of course they were.
After the wedding Taylor had legally adopted Kyle. Kyle had served as the ring bearer in a small, private service held at the Episcopal church. A few friends had come in from Atlanta, and Taylor had invited a dozen others from around town. Melissa served as maid of honor, and Judy dabbed at her tears from her seat in the front row as the rings were exchanged. After the ceremony Taylor and Denise drove to Ocracoke and honeymooned in a small bed-and-breakfast that overlooked the ocean. On her first wedded morning, they rose before the sun came up and took a walk on the beach. As porpoises rode the waves just offshore, they watched the sunrise. With Taylor standing behind her, his arms around her waist, Denise simply leaned her head back, feeling warm and safe, as a new day unfolded.
When they returned from the honeymoon, Taylor surprised Denise with a set of blueprints he'd had drawn up. The plans were for a graceful, low-country home on the water with wide porches, complete with window seats, a modern kitchen, and hardwood floors. They purchased a lot on the outskirts of town and began building within a month; they'd moved in just before the school year started.
Denise had stopped working at Eights as well; she and Taylor went in for dinner now and then, simply to visit with Ray. He was the same as always; he never seemed to age, and as they left he always joked that she could have her job back anytime she wanted. She didn't miss it, despite Ray's good humor.
Though Taylor still suffered from the occasional nightmare, he'd surprised her with his devotion over the past year. Despite the responsibilities of building the house, he came home for lunch every day and refused to work any later than six. He coached Kyle's T-ball team last spring--Kyle wasn't the best player, but he wasn't the worst, either--and they spent every weekend as a family. During the summer they'd taken a trip to Disney World; for Christmas they'd purchased a used Jeep Cherokee.
The only thing left was the white picket fence, and that was going up next week.
She heard the timer go off in the kitchen and rose from her chair. An apple pie was in the oven, and she took it out, setting it on the counter to cool. On the stove, stewed chicken was boiling, and the salty smell of broth wafted through the house.
Their house. The McAdens. Even though she'd been married a little over a year, she still relished the sound of that. Denise and Taylor McAden. It had a nice ring to it, if she did say so herself.
She stirred the stew--it had been cooking for an hour now, and meat was beginning to fall off the bones. Though Kyle still avoided eating meat for the most part, a few months earlier she'd made him try chicken. He'd fussed for an hour but had finally taken a bite; over the next few weeks he'd gradually started eating a little more. Now, on days like these, they ate as a family, everyone sharing the same food. Just as a family should.
A family. She liked the sound of that, too.
> Glancing out the window, she saw Taylor and Kyle walking up the lawn, toward the shed where they kept their fishing poles. She watched as Taylor hung his pole, then took Kyle's as well. Kyle put the tackle box on the floor inside, and Taylor scooted it out of the way with a tip of his boot. A moment later they were mounting the steps to the porch.
"Hey, Mom," Kyle chirped.
"Did you catch anything?" she asked.
"No. No fish."
Like everything else in her life, Kyle's speech had improved dramatically. It wasn't perfect by any means, but he was gradually closing the gap between himself and his peers at school. More important, she'd stopped worrying about it so much.
Taylor kissed Denise as Kyle made his way inside.
"So, where is the little fella?" Taylor asked.
She nodded toward the corner of the porch. "Still asleep."
"Shouldn't he be awake by now?"
"In a few minutes. He'll be getting hungry soon."
Together they approached the basket in the corner, and Taylor bent over, peering closely, something he still did often, as if he couldn't believe he'd been responsible for helping to create a new life. He reached out and gently ran his hand over his son's hair. At seven weeks there was barely anything at all.
"He seems so peaceful," he whispered, almost in awe. Denise put her hand on Taylor's shoulder, hoping that one day he'd look just like his father.
"He's beautiful," she said.
Taylor looked over his shoulder at the woman he loved, then turned back to his son. He leaned in close, kissing his son on his forehead.
"Did you hear that, Mitch? Your mom thinks you're beautiful."
The Rescue Page 31