Page 127 of All In

Immediately inside the University Center, the atrium opens up and out, revealing the installation. A riot of color and light in the sunlight streaming in from the windows. Every piece of glass illuminated: the waterfall, the sea life and the blazing sun hanging above.

“Your Uncle Jonah made that,” I tell Frannie.

“Pretty! Pretty!” she says, her eyes lighting up.

As we do every year, Theo and I move to the small stand to the right of the installation. On it, a smiling picture of Jonah next to a short—too short—biography. I touch the letters of his name. Theo stares at his brother’s face. A moment of silence. The sun outside slips respectfully behind the clouds. Even Frannie is quiet. A shared inhale and exhale, then we smile at each other.

Frannie reaches for the colorful glass and Theo brings her closer to look it. He shows our daughter the exhibit, helping her name the turtles (turls)and the octopus (ock-a-push).

I ease myself onto a bench and run my hand over my bulging belly. The baby within—also a girl—kicks and turns and pushes against my hand as if she’s trying to break out. She never stops. Often times I’m up in the middle of the night, walking back and forth in our living room, singing lullabies to her until she falls asleep. She’s going to be a handful; I can tell already.

Like her daddy…I think. I look to Theo holding Frannie, and my heart feels like it’s too big for my chest.

The sun emerges again, slicing rays through the installation. I lean back and watch the glowing light play off the colors. The pearly sea foam, the flowing cerulean water, the violets and pinks of the coral reef.

But it’s the sun—Jonah’s sun—that always draws and holds my eye the longest. It’s a tangle of orange, yellow, and red curls. Chaotic, yet perfect, every piece as it should be. Except…

My eyes are drawn to the left side of the sun. A gap in the tangle where one ray of orange light is missing. The curl that smashed to bits when the installation was hastily removed from the Vegas gallery three years ago. It hit the floor, scattering into a thousand shards that were then crunched underfoot to dust. Only a few slivers remained for Theo and me to find.

Theo comes to sit beside me. He settles back on the bench and Frannie slumps against his chest, her eyes drooping. I reach along the back of the bench to rest my hand on my husband’s shoulders. I kiss him lightly, then our baby’s chubby cheek. We sit for a minute in silence as Frannie falls asleep.

I see Theo’s eyes drink in the installation. He smiles as he finds the gap in the sun.

“It’s still my favorite piece,” I say.

Theo takes my hand, kisses my fingers. “Mine too.”

I feel the warmth from the red and gold curls of glass. My love for Jonah a warm glow in my heart, like a sun that never sets. And deeper within, a fiery core—my love for Theo burning with powerful, unending intensity.

“Love again,” I murmur. “He told me to love again, and I do. So much.”

“He told me to love you.” Theo’s warm, soft eyes meet mine. “But I already did. So much.”

Only the tiniest wave of shock courses through me, followed by understanding. “I knew,” I say. “Somehow…I think I’ve always known.” I touch his cheek. “Why tell me now?”

Theo shrugs, making Frannie rise and fall with him. “Felt like the right time. And the right place.”

I smile and turn my gaze back to the glass. “Yes, it is.”

We sit a little while longer, and when we rise to leave, Theo takes my hand, our daughter tucked securely in his other arm. I recall when he and I got up off our knees in the Wynn Gallery. Shedding tears and love amidst the shattered remains of Jonah’s glass. We stood up together, emerged from the barren space together, bonded not in shared grief, but in shared love.

Theo and I, a treasure out of the ruin.

THE END