After the Storm

by Faith Andrews

  Willow sighs. Her cries ebb and her smile swells. “You’ve been stalking Pinterest again, haven’t you?”

  “Never.”

  “Admit it. Come on. I’ve created a monster.”

  “Okay, fine.” I groan. My face heats with embarrassment as I remember a quote I pinned—yes, I pinned my very own quote to my very own Pinterest board while waiting to catch a plane to meet my destiny. “Anyone can love you when the sun is shining, but in the storm is where you learn who truly cares for you.”

  “Noah Matheson, be still my heart. If you hadn’t won me over before, that totally sealed the deal.”

  I used to have this recurring dream. Noah and I are on the beach walking our dogs. Sometimes in the dream there’s this little girl who holds my hand and whispers Mommy every time the waves roll in and tickle her tiny feet. Other times, there’s more than one—a girl, a boy, or our very own gaggle of towhead children, all laughing along the shore, bringing the happiest smile to my face.

  I would wake from those dreams feeling empty all over again. I would cry, rouse Noah, and he would lull me back to sleep with the promise of a fulfilled future. The two of us old and gray on a beach right outside our vacation home in the Maldives; a quaint little farm with horses and pigs and whatever I’d like. Those nights were rough, but we got through them—my hurt became his hurt, but his healing powers of love and patience washed away the pain.

  Eventually, I learned to expect that dream whenever I closed my eyes. Hope for the best, expect the worst. It became a nighttime ritual as I lay beside my husband, and cuddled up with our two King Charles Cavalier princesses—Shadow and Bolt. They became my babies; Noah’s too. I found a way to occupy my mind and actually grew content with what I did have. Rich in love, friendship, a blossoming career alongside my man, and my furry baby girls that gave me the same run for my money that any toddlers would have.

  I was drowning—better yet, floating—in happiness. Life was good. Perfect. Everything I always imagined it could be, even though I still missed something that used to haunt and hinder me from living life without regrets.

  Shortly after Noah and I moved in together—right after our trip to New Jersey for Sandy—he proposed. It was magical, fairytale-like, and sweet as sugar. Employing an impressive amount of subterfuge, he created a Pinterest account dedicated solely to the proposal. Then, one day he left the computer open on purpose. I walked into our home office to the tune of She’s Everything by Brad Paisley. I cried my eyes out when he got down on one knee and recited some of the most beautiful quotes I’d ever heard—he’d memorized them and pinned them for safekeeping where I could cherish them always on my favorite app of all time.

  Sloane and I planned the wedding of the year so Noah and I could exchange vows in front of two hundred of our closest friends, family, and colleagues. Tori’s son, Remi, even walked our puppies down the aisle. After lots of talking and figuring things out, Noah and I realized Tori was an intricate part of us being together. Life turned around, mother of the year, happily married and reformed of her skanky ways, Tori was a good friend. A wise friend. After all, it was her instincts that pushed Noah to take a chance on me, and her reassurance when I almost left that encouraged me to stay.

  Weeping Willow was a thing of the past, unless you count the one growing in our backyard in New Jersey. Yup, that’s right. We wound up doing exactly what Noah envisioned—half of our time in Cali and half on the East Coast. We had the thrill of picking up and leaving whenever it tickled our fancy, and gave us a chance to spend time with his parents and enjoy the different seasons.

  That was, until we got the call. Similar to the one Noah received from Habitat for Humanity many moons ago, except there was no sneaky, jealous husband pulling strings behind this deal. This gig was a true calling from God. At the time, I had no idea how much it entailed, but the second I heard the proposition I knew it was something Noah and I had to entertain.

  Screw try! I started packing my bags within seconds of getting off the phone. It was something we were destined to do.

  Since making Blaze an equal owner in the newly renamed Matheson & McKinley Contracting, Noah and I built a refuge for a group of needy children; some even orphaned by the wake of Sandy. We became a foster facility, placing these children in loving homes or finding distant family members to adopt them into their care.

  In the beginning it was a slow, grueling process of legal matters, hiring exceptionally qualified staff, building a safe environment fit for the well-being of the children, and lots of tugging at my heart strings. The first year was rocky. Noah had to handle transferring duties back west, while I poured my heart and soul into the group home, which we called Sandy’s Hopeful Hearts.

  We spent a great deal of time apart, and in his absence I grew close with children who were only temporarily mine. Each one left a lasting impression on my soul. I fell in love with different characteristics of each child we welcomed into the home. Old wounds reopened. Painful scars resurfaced, but with the help and love of Noah, I got through it and made the best of what was in front of me. I was a mother in an unconventional way, but I was a mother all the same. It worked. It was how it was meant to be.

  Which brings me to this moment—five years married, two peppy dogs, three houses, nieces and nephews given to us by our closest friends—Tori, Sloane, and Blaze—and two thriving businesses fulfilling us in ways nothing else ever could.

  That is, until tonight—

  I smile at the young twins with a heavy heart as I read them Corduroy for the last time and tuck them into bed. Tomorrow they’ll be placed with their father’s younger brother. A lump clogs my throat as I kiss them atop their buzz-cut heads and bid them sweet dreams. I’ll miss these tiny terrors—behavioral issues and all.

  Even though SHH is a place originally designed for the lost children of Sandy, it’s expanded to a full-on safe house facility with state funding and trained professionals. The awards meriting mine and Noah’s generosity and selflessness line my little nook of an office. They make me proud, as if this is my purpose in life. I crack my neck from side to side, lean back in the loveseat, and kick my feet up on the small coffee table laden with paperwork and photos. Instead of settling in while I wait for Noah to join me for the overnight shift, the phone rings. And changes everything.

  “Sandy’s Hopeful Hearts,” I answer. The hour is late, but we boast about being open at all times—twenty-four-seven, three-sixty-five.

  “Um—I—can you help me?” The frail young voice that stutters over the phone stimulates my attention and causes goosebumps to prickle my skin.

  “Sure, honey,” I speak calmly, the way I’ve been trained. “My name’s Willow. Can you tell me yours?”

  “I—I—I’d rather not, if that’s okay?” The girl’s scared; the quaking in her voice makes that painfully clear.

  I don’t want to pressure her, but I do want to help. I scroll through a mental checklist of what to say while I grab a nearby notepad and pen and coax the girl on the other end. “Of course that’s okay. You said you needed help. Are you hurt? Do you need me to call the police? Your parents?”

  “No! Please! I don’t—I don’t have anyone.”

  And that’s when I hear the crying baby. Tiny mewls fill my ears while the girl’s unrelenting sobs join them. “Please. I’m outside. I don’t know where else to go. Can you please take her? I can’t—I can’t be a mother. I’m only fifteen. I don’t know what to do!”

  Oh my God! Oh my God! We’ve seen so much strife and misfortune since we opened, but never this. “Stay where you are. I’m coming right out. Where are you?” With the portable phone attached to my ear, I slip on a pair of shoes and run for the door.

  “I’m out back. Near the swing set. Please. Come alone. I don’t want anyone to know.”

  “Okay, hold still. I’m coming. You’re safe now.” My body shakes with stone-cold apprehension. I only hope I can keep this young mother calm enough to do the right thing by her baby. The baby! It
’s cold! Even with my mind reeling, I manage to think of the child too, and grab a quilt so we can swaddle her to keep warm.

  Heart racing and feet moving faster than my brain, I pummel through the back door to find blank, dark nothingness. “Hello?” I call out. I pull the phone from my ear and squint my eyes to help them adjust. When I see no movement, no sign of life, I back up to flick on the outside light.

  A florescent spotlight casts its swath of yellow light over the children’s play yard. And that’s when I see her; the abandoned baby girl is wrapped in a T-shirt and still covered in afterbirth. I run to her, scoop her up and cradle her against me. She doesn’t cry or make a sound, but her eyelids flutter as she sleeps. She’s beautiful, angelic, round-faced and pink with soft tufts of reddish-gold hair at the crown of her perfectly shaped head. “I’ve got you, baby. I’ve got you.” I rock her silently as I search the SHH grounds.

  The baby’s mother is nowhere to be found. I think about calling 911. This baby can’t be more than a few hours old. Her mother’s just given birth; she shouldn’t be alone, roaming the streets. But I also worry about this precious, lonely life who depends on me to keep her safe from everything her own flesh and blood never will.

  Against my own better judgment, I walk back into the home, holding the baby. Unable to let her go just yet, I do what my gut tells me to do. I dial my husband. He’ll have the answers. He always has the answers. My mind and my heart are playing a vicious game of tug of war. Taking in this helpless little human and figuring out what comes next is not something I’m strong enough to do on my own.

  “She’s so cute, and she sleeps like an angel. Are you sure she’s a newborn? Aren’t they usually up every two hours to eat?”

  Willow hasn’t put this child down since the second she found her. I knew from the moment she called me and relayed what happened that our lives were about to change in some monumental way.

  All night long we searched for the mother. We tried to trace the phone call, we called all the hospitals, hotels, bus depots, you name it. This child’s mother did not want to be found. We’d heard of this happening before, but to someone like Willow who wanted a child of her own so badly and couldn’t have one, the idea of a mother abandoning a life she created is not something easy for her to swallow.

  “Look at her nose, Noah. It’s like a little button.” Willow smiles, but never does she take her eyes off the baby. The infant coos and a tiny arm escapes her snug cocoon. “Oh, she’s rustling. I think it’s about time for another feeding.”

  Willow’s natural maternal instincts have been spot-on all night. If the baby cries, Willow jumps in with a fresh diaper or a bottle of formula to soothe her needs. But it’s close to dawn now, and the two of us are working on no sleep. Mentally and physically exhausted, I collapse onto the bed in the little bedroom we set aside for ourselves and let out a long, leaden breath.

  I don’t want to go there, but I have to. This baby has already worked her way into my wife’s heart and we need to talk about it. Now. “What are we going to do? Have you thought about it?” There’s a chance—with a long road ahead—that what I’m certain Willow is contemplating can become a reality. But there’s also a chance that this can fall out from under us.

  Sitting next to me on the bed, Willow rests the baby in one arm as she feeds her. My gorgeous, caring, loving wife closes her eyes and sighs. “I’ve thought about this for so long it should just fly off my tongue like it’s been sitting there waiting to be said forever, but I can’t say it. I can’t jinx it. I won’t get my hopes up because the letdown will be devastating, but, Noah, not even you can deny this. Doesn’t this seem like—like some sort of miracle?”

  I can’t lie and say I haven’t thought that exact thing, but like Willow, I’m not a huge fan of false hope. We’ve been down this road.

  Two years ago, Willow finally opened up to the idea of adoption. With Kurt, she was dead set against it. With me, there was a glimmer of a chance. But even still, it took buckets of tears and endless yo-yoing to even make her consider it. We put our names on a waiting list and all this time later . . . we haven’t received the call. False hope. Putting our names in the database was just that—more false hope.

  Every time a phone rang for the first six months, Willow would jump and look at me, her lips moving in silent prayer. But with false hope comes lost faith. Now, when the phone rings, she simply answers it—no more curious spark, no lively skip to her step.

  Until today. That liveliness, that spark—it’s present in every kiss she leaves on this baby’s nose, every smile she bestows on her.

  But is this just another dose of false hope? There are so many scenarios, and many of them can take our hope right with them when they go south. I want more than anything to give Willow the go ahead to call this baby ours right this very second, but the idea of someone putting a stop to that—it makes my heart seize. I can’t do that to Willow. I won’t do that to Willow.

  And thank the Lord above, I never have to . . .

  “Daddy, uppy?” Julia pulls at my jeans and begs to be picked up. I look down at her platinum blonde hair and her large brown eyes, in awe that she actually belongs to me.

  Swinging her up in the air, I wrap my arms around her middle and attack her with kisses, causing her to squirm and giggle.

  “Stop it, Daddy. Stop it!” It’s a mix of desperation and encouragement—Jules loves kisses from Daddy, even if they tickle her to tears.

  Stepping in from walking the dogs, Willow sneaks up on us and jabs my ribs. “Hey, you two! I thought I was the Tickle Monster. Since when did Daddy get the title?”

  Julia ignores her Mama’s question, wriggles from my hold, and attempts to escape my grip. I let her go and she’s off to torture the dogs. Those three are thick as thieves—my world is drowning in estrogen. Some might roll their eyes at that thought, but not me. I wouldn’t want it any other way.

  Watching our daughter—the little girl who magically appeared on our doorstep at the best possible time ever—my heart feels full in a way I can’t explain. Life was complete with Willow. I wasn’t lying when I told her she was enough. Had we not been blessed with Julia, our life would still be everything I hoped it would be. But now that she is here—

  “Hey, babe. I meant to tell you this the other day, but it slipped my mind.”

  “Crap! What bill did I forget to pay?”

  I roll my eyes, hug her close, and kiss her head while I inhale her delicious scent. “We’re fine, that’s not what I was talking about. It’s something Julia said while I was putting her to sleep.”

  “Oh? Do tell. I love her toddler pillow talk.” Her eyes widen with curiosity. She lives for all these little insights into how our baby girl ticks.

  “I was reading her that book; the story Blaze bought us about the parents who adopted from overseas.”

  “Over the Moon?”

  I nod. Oh, yeah. I remember the title, now that she said it.

  “Jules loves that book. The end is her favorite part.”

  “Ah, that’s where you’re wrong” I tap her nose and wink as I correct her.

  “Oh really?” Willow tilts her head and places her hands on her hips.

  “Would you stop arguing with me and let me tell you this before I forget again? It was really cute.”

  “So are you,” she concedes and kisses me passionately, with one eye open to make sure Julia’s not spying.

  Caressing her cheeks with my thumbs, I gaze deep into her eyes and smile through and through—all the way down to my toes. “For a two year old, she’s pretty goddamn smart. I mean, she’s heard that story at least a hundred times, but last night—she got it. I think she understood.”

  Willow’s eyes search mine for explanation, her arms locked behind my back, our bodies as close as they can be without getting naughty.

  “In her own little way, she told me she was happy that you dreamed of her because Mommy’s dreams should always come true.”

  “She said that?”


  “Yup. She also told me that when she sleeps she sees you smiling—lots of teeth, she pointed out. You know what that means, right?”

  “It means we have the best daughter on the whole entire planet. That’s what it means.”

  “Well, that’s a given for sure, but her young, innocent mind found a way to make me believe that because you wished for her, she came true.”

  I know that telling her this will bring on waterworks—Willow blubbers like a fool when it comes to anything about Julia. So I welcome her happy breakdown and cradle her close—right where she belongs. There was a time when I believed Willow was more than enough to keep me happy till the day I die. But now I understand what all the fuss was about. My wife once told me this house was perfect. I didn’t realize it then, but having her and Jules and this incredible life we’ve built, I have to agree with her. It’s our perfect home that made it through the storm.

  THE END

  As always, it goes without saying that I could not have gotten through this without the love and support of my family. Julia and Leah, you inspire me daily. You also make me crazy daily, but the good outweighs the bad—always. Instead of hating me for embarking on a new career and begrudging me for the time I spend away from you, you make it clear that Mommy is cool because I write books. Thank you for believing in me! I love you in ways you’ll never understand until you have kiddos of your own. Jon, I can’t imagine life without you. While I know this has been an adjustment, you have totally taken one for the team in helping me follow my dreams. Thank you for being book boyfriend material and muse-worthy, both with your devastatingly good looks and your big heart. I’ve loved you since the day we met and I’m certain I’ll love you until the day I leave this world.