Page 155 of True North

Epilogue

LOUISA

THE SUMMER OF ’96

Three out of four little boys asleep in their beds, I slide in beside my husband ever so slowly, like even the slightest move I make could disturb our youngest.

I just got him down.

I doubt he’s asleep.

He’s fussy.

Ain’t that the understatement of the year.

Reed James Rawlins may be the last addition to our family, but he is the loudest. Every night of the past month has been the same.

Bedtime for the boys.

Washing up and sliding into my bed, exhausted, next to an equally as exhausted Harry.

Then we wait, in the darkness.

A cry pierces the warm summer air.

There he goes...

“Give him a minute, he’ll right himself.” Harry’s weary rumble presses into my hair as he rolls over and drapes an arm over me. He’s the king of wishful thinkin’, my husband. The knot cinching in my chest with my youngest’s cries pulls tighter every time.

His wail ebbs a little, only to split the air with new ferocity a moment later.

I sigh and turn my head to the side, planting a kiss to Harry’s lips. God, I love this man.

So damn much.

When the cry ratchets up another ear-piercing level, I mutter my “I love you” to Harry’s cheek and slip out of the soft bed.

I pull on my robe, its light cotton swaying mid-thigh as I trudge to the now well-worn path to Reed’s room.

He is sitting up in his crib, his howl so much louder in his space. “Hey, little man. You’re okay, my boy.” I sweep him out of his crib and settle into the old rocking chair by the window.

The moon is high in the sky, lighting up this side of the house. I pop a button on my nightie, and he latches on to my nipple. He bites down hard, and I wince. But the soft, downy blond hair and those big green eyes lookin’ right through me as he takes his fill... I can’t find it in myself to feel anything but exhausted contentment.

Rosie was right. A mother will do anything for her child.

With my four babies tucked in safe and sound, and a man who loves his family more than anything, I can’t even begin to imagine the loss she felt, having to raise her son without what I have.

What she’s given Harry and me.

I lay my head back on the hardwood back of the rocking chair. My eyes drift shut as Reed suckles and fusses.

He pulls away, milk dribbling down his chin, and I fix my nightshirt before rising to my feet. Holding him, I pace the hallway, trying my best to get him to settle. Even after the feed, he whines softly.

So, I pace.

Back and forth.

Back and forth.

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