Page 135 of DFF: Delicate Freakin' Flower

A little while later, she squirmed and let out a gurgle. Gabby turned to me.

“Did you put a diaper on her?”

I flinched. “Oops.”

She sighed, smiling despite herself. “We’re gonna need a clean blanket to wrap her in. And when I get in the shower, you’ll have to change the bed.”

I glanced at the rumpled sheets, then at Gabby. “I’d lasso the moon for either of you right now. Changing a bed’s no hardship.”

A couple of hours later, I stood barefoot on the porch in a T-shirt and flannel pajama pants, holding her in my arms. She’d started fussing, and I didn’t want to wake Gabby—not after what she’d gone through tonight. So, I’d wrapped the baby up in a clean, soft blanket and stepped outside into the night.

The air was still and warm, and the stars were scattered like diamonds across a deep, velvet sky while the moon hung above the treetops, big and bright.

I rocked her gently, walking back and forth, and then just stood there, looking up at that glowing crescent.

It hit me then—I knew her name.

Delta.

Not just because it was beautiful and felt right on my tongue but because of what it meant—the Mississippi Delta. A place we’d escaped to more times than I could count. Our safe place. The beginning of everything. She was our Delta—where everything shifted and started to flow a different way.

I looked down at her as she opened her eyes.

“Yeah,” I whispered, grinning softly. “Delta. You had me at the last of your momma’s screams, baby girl.”

And right then, holding her under the stars, I knew—this was it.

This was perfection.

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