Page 72 of Forever Christmas
I have another son. He is mine,sick or well. Whether he outlives me or dies today, he belongs to me.
A nurse cleans him gently with cotton balls while an assistant sets a few discs with wires on a tray. How long was it before they wired up Finn? When did the breathing tube go in? The details are fuzzy.
But this little guy isn’t weak. The room rings with his lusty howls.
“Getting plenty of oxygen,” one of the nurses says.“Filling those lungs so he can tell us about it.”
They don’t dress him, relying on a heat lamp above him instead.
“Wait for Dr. Simmons before you attach the leads,” one says. “He will want them off for the tests.”
The baby starts to settle down, probably from exhaustion. He has dark hair, and he’s long. His feet seemed oversized, toes splayed out.
I remember suddenly our second-choice nameback when we were going through books with Finn. It pops in my head like a lightbulb coming on.
I pull out my phone to look it up. Seemed like it meant something we liked at the time.
When I see the search results, I know this is it.
I text it to Corabelle with a line of question marks.
I don’t know where her head space is. She might still be disassociating. She might be asleep.
But she writesback quickly.
Yes, she says. That’s it. That’s him.
I glance around and spot a marker on a counter. The nurse watches me as I pick it up and write his name on the paper taped to his bed.
Ethan.
Meaning: strong.
