Chapter 24: Fields

Our daughter was born on the ninth of September, at four in the morning.

It took eleven hours, and I called Elias a number of things he later wrote down.

She came out furious and wet and perfect, with a full head of dark hair.

The doctor laid her on my chest, and she stopped crying the second she heard my heart.

Elias stood over us with tears running into his beard, and he held out one finger.

She wrapped her whole fist around it.

"Look at her thumbs," I whispered.

He looked, and then he put his face in my shoulder and didn't lift it for a long time.

Nine days later, the nursery was full of morning sun.

It was the room at the end of the penthouse hall that had stood empty since I moved in.

Now it had a white crib, a yellow rocking chair, and a bookshelf I had filled myself.

Every book on it was one I had loved at six.

Elias was asleep in the chair in yesterday's shirt, with the baby on his chest.

His big scarred hand was spread across her back.

I stood in the doorway with a cup of tea going cold and watched them.

His thumb moved a little in his sleep.

It was exactly the shape of hers.

The gray cat padded past my ankles, took one long look at the crib, and jumped up onto the rail.

He turned around twice and settled in the corner, with his tail hanging down over the mattress.

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