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Three Days Later

"What name will you give?"

"Ma, I don’t know how you pulled this off. You did not follow the plan. But..."

The baby in my arms was nothing but beautiful. Her eyes settled quietly behind translucent eyelids. The pink skin on the forehead and around the eyes had not yet thickened. The soft curve of her face gave way to tiny pursed lips, faintly moving in anticipation of a mother’s breast. The even softer coos and oohs from the shallow breathing created a heavenly rhythm. The thin brown hair covered her small, demure head from back to front. Her tiny breaths made my heart happy and my mind tranquil. Moisture collected in my eyes as I held the power of my emotions back. The loose hold of my arms was just enough to cradle this bundle of quiet joy.

"Name? How can I? I discovered her and turned her over to professional care. You brought her back here. That’s it. "

"My mother offered in a low tone, "You asked for this. Why not a name?"

"Can I have a second to think?"

"Of course, what are mothers for? "

The makeshift crib we created would do for now. The carefully rolled cashmere sheets on my king-sized bed provided a castle-like fortress around this little miracle. But questions still remained.

To whom did this little bundle rightfully belong?

My mother brought her back the wrong way, but correctly. She claimed the little one as her own. How she did it without arousing more bureaucracy was beyond me. And my mother’s assurances were bona fide secure, something that scared my dad on more than one occasion when he was alive.

Still, I wasn’t 100% convinced despite her complete refusal to implement my plan. My concern bore repeating because my mother simply kept quiet about the ‘how’ of it all.

Immediate practical measures seeped into my mind space. 

How do I balance this sweet little one in my life with my job? It was preserved, as was my life, as I requested. My work hours had a tendency to change on a dime. Vacations depended on the availability of others to fill in during my absence. Some projects were exclusive to me.

"I will be happy to care for her during the day, Ron."

She read my mind. 

Yes, she could be scary like that at times.

"You mean we’ll care for her together?"

"Why not, Ronnie? And I mean to say your name like that for new reasons. "

I felt the difference this time.

It was genuine. 

Sincere.

And a bona fide assurance.

The sounds my mother made behind me faded as I bent down to fix the bedding, which wasn't very reliable.



(more to come, this tale is in serious development and will be released on another platform)