Page 75 of That Weekend in Paris
“Does the mother know you’re here?”
“She does. I just left her room.”
“Okay. Follow me, Mr. Matthews.”
I do, down the hall to a set of doors, which she leads me through with a renewed sense of purpose.
The neonatal intensive care unit is behind a long stretch of windows through which I can see several babies in their tiny incubators being watched over by very attentive nurses.
My heart pumps wildly against my chest as I scan the tiny faces in search of the little girl I instinctively know I will recognize. And I do well before the nurse who has brought me here manages to get the attention of one of the caretakers inside the unit.
“That’s her,” I say, pointing to the tiny baby in the far right corner of the room. The nurse’s gaze goes to the baby I’ve pointed out. I hear her sigh of sympathy, and I swallow hard to prevent the sob in my throat from slipping out.
“The nurses and doctors who oversee these babies are just absolutely the best,” she reassures me.“I know your little one is here way early, but you would be amazed how successful they are at helping these tiny angels thrive and grow. Your little girl is going to be just fine,” the nurse says, grazing my arm with her soft hand.
I glance at her, unable to hide my anguish now, and say, “Thank you. I am so grateful to hear that. Is there any way I could go in?”
“I’m afraid not right now,” she says with sympathy. “As soon as the doctor says it’s okay, we’ll get you in there and scrubbed up so that you can see her.”
“Thank you,” I say, genuinely appreciative of her kindness. “Would it be all right if I just stand out here and watch her for a while?”
“Of course,” she says. “You stay as long as you’d like. I’m going to head back to my station now.”
“Thank you,” I say again. She pats me on the shoulder and sets off down the hall, her rubber soles squeaking on the floor.
I turn back to the glass window and stare at the tiny baby I am half-responsible for bringing into this world. I realize I don’t even know her name or if she has one yet.
I fix my gaze on her small face and wish more than anything that I could pick her up and hold her just so she could know how much she’s loved and how much she’s wanted. Because the moment I knew of her existence, I loved her. I grieved for her when I thought she would never live in this world. It feels like a miracle to see her here. Even with her fragile grasp on life, it is a miracle. I do realize that. I drop my head, close my eyes, and begin to pray a prayer of thanks.
Dillon
“I know my heart will never be the same
But I’m telling myself I’ll be okay”
?Sara Evans, “A Little Bit Stronger”
I DECIDE TO drive the car back to Paris and leave from there. I spend nearly a full day driving, taking my time on the unfamiliar roads. I stay in a hotel near the airport, and my flight is early.
I want to text Klein and ask him how the baby is, but I refuse to let myself. This will go better for both of us if we don’t open the door again, and me asking questions of any kind would be doing exactly that.
On the plane, I pull out my laptop, pop in my headphones, and consider working on some new lyrics. But I find myself tapping my recording app and clicking on the song Klein and I had written.
I lean back and close my eyes, letting the words and his beautiful voice wash over me. Tears rise up. I blink them back, knowing I should turn the song off. But I’m a glutton for punishment, and as soon as he finishes, I click play and start it over again.
Josh
“Opportunities are like sunrises. If you wait too long, you miss them.”
?William Arthur Ward
I DON’T KNOW what makes me decide to text Dillon to check in when I do, but I end up being glad that I did. She answers me right away, surprisingly, and says that she’s on a flight headed for Nashville and will be landing in two hours.
I offer to pick her up at the airport and, again to my surprise, she accepts. I’m waiting on the other side of security when she comes into sight. For a moment, I’m overcome with the need to make up for my wrongs. She approaches me with a polite smile, as if we are more colleagues or acquaintances than husband and wife.
“Hey,” I say, when she comes to a stop in front of me.
“Hi, Josh. How are you?”
