Page 149 of First in Line

At least she’s ready now when her eyes fall on the crib, along with everything we’d bought for her. Evie doesn’t go inside, standing at the threshold, as if it would take it too far. I understand the feeling. I rarely go in there myself. It’s more of a sanctuary, a shrine. A reminder of what could have been—what was supposed to be.

“It’s all here,” Evie whispers.

“I told you. I kept everything.”

I’m right behind her, so I pass a hand around and splay it across her stomach, where our daughter once grew. She lays hers over it, pensive. We don’t talk. There’s no need. Instead, we reflect and remember.

After a long moment of that, I ask with a tight throat, “Do you want to see where she is?”

Evie nods and retakes my hand. I guide her through the house to a door that exits to the side. We follow a narrow path that leads to an area where a few trees and bushes grow. Then, we arrive at a small pond, about six yards wide, and planted rightby it, a twenty-five-foot weeping willow. Opposite it, a wooden bench, already worn down by the harsh Italian sun.

“My parents were here when we did it. We placed the urn in the hole, then the tree. It was about six feet tall then. I can’t believe how fast it grew.”

This place isn’t as well-kept as the garden. It grows a little wilder. But there’s a peaceful atmosphere here, with a couple of frogs croaking from the reeds, and the way the willow’s branches undulate with the wind.

Evie walks to the bench and grazes the engraved metal plate embedded in its backrest that reads, “In loving memory of Ophelia Reyes.”

She sits on it, leaving room for me, and I get the message. I join her there and wrap an arm around her shoulder to pull her in. Tucked into me, she lets out a long breath. We watch the tree together, listening to the surrounding sounds of nature as the clouds above us slowly turn orange and pink.

“Thank you,” Evie says after about ten minutes of this comforting silence.

“For what?”

“For taking such good care of her.”

“Of course.”

A bird chants somewhere, and we listen until it stops. Then Evie says, “When I walked away that day, I didn’t just leave you behind. I left her, too.”

I tighten my hold on her. “All that matters is that you found your way back to us, Evie.”

When her hand comes to my jaw, gently encouraging me to look down, I meet her misty eyes. “Thank you, Jackson, for pulling me in the right direction.”

The kiss that follows is like a seal. A promise. I’m not so sure this is still a trial. Something tells me she already knows that by the end of the season, no matter how this goes, she’ll stay.

There’s no walking away from this. Not a second time.

CHAPTER

TWENTY-SEVEN

Evangeline

“So, when did you first notice the spotting?” the obstetrician asks with his French accent.

“A couple of days ago. It wasn’t much at first, kind of brownish, so I tried not to panic. But this morning there was more of it, brighter too. I’ve also had some cramping and this weird pressure in my lower stomach since yesterday.”

“Any pain?”

“Not severe. Just… tightness? And lower back pain on and off.”

“You did well coming in. We’ll run some tests and do an ultrasound. I see in your file that your complications started about a month ago?”

“Yes. My husband got into a really bad accident. He almost lost his eye, had a concussion, sprained his wrist, and broke two ribs. I was constantly at the hospital for days and then taking care of him at home. I wasn’t eating or sleeping enough, and I had elevated blood pressure.”

“I see. Did things improve?”

“For him or for me?”