As for Emily and me, there was no grand reunion.
She did not fall into my arms on the courthouse steps.
She stood in the sunlight with Ruby on one hip and Owen on the other, and she said, “Michael, I need you to understand something.”
“I will never again be rescued by anyone.”
“I’ll let you be a father.”
“If you’re patient, I might one day let you be a friend.”
“Anything past that, you’ll have to earn.”
“Yes,” I said.
It was the easiest yes of my life.
So I drove.
Every Saturday, sixty miles of county road each way, with a diaper bag riding shotgun.
I sat on the blue bench at the end of Grace Haven’s porch, at the very far end from Emily, and I learned how to warm a bottle, how to burp a baby on my shoulder, how Owen likes his feet held and Ruby likes to be sung to.
