Part 45 (1/2)

She slapped him hard across the face.

Without a word, he dropped his chin to his chest. He knew that the blow he had struck her, this whole situation, had cut deep.

The damage would take a very long time to heal. But he had to have her forgiveness, because without her he would never get through this.

”Kate, please. I don't know what we'll do,” he said. ”But please don't leave me. I need you.”

Dr. Chen appeared from around the corner. ”Mr. Jones?” he said.

He looked at Kate and gestured politely for her to sit down. Then he led Peter away, around the bend in the corridor. They sat down.

”Mr. Jones, we need for you to name your daughter.”

No name. Their baby girl had no name. This thought seemed to be the final blow to drain him of his last ounce of energy. It was real, and final. His life was changed now and forever. Somehow the knapsack fell from his hands, its contents spilling onto the floor. Kate. He had to ask her.

”Wait,” he said to the doctor. He jumped to his feet and ran around the corner, calling out her name. But she was gone.

His shoulders slackened and he went back to the doctor, who was collecting the contents that had spilled out of the knapsack.

Peter bent down to take over. He was overcome by a wave of dizziness and the nausea. Then, just as abruptly, the spinning halted and the sickness retreated, forced back by a keening sound that arose in his throat.

There, among the clutter of notes and pens and the little black box with its exposed circuits and wires, he found, written in her mother's own hand across the label of the topmost disk, their baby's name.

”Isle,” he whispered.

”Mr. Jones?” the doctor said, not sure he had heard correctly.

”I said, Isle,” Peter said, louder this time, taking the disks in his hand. ”My daughter's name is Isle.”

PART IV

Chapter 17

”That's a good girl,” Peter said, cradling the tiny Isle in his arms. He checked her bottle. ”Almost done.”

For one and a half months she had been home with Peter, deemed well enough leave the hospital after a touch-and-go stay for the same length of time. She weighed a scant six and a quarter pounds. Her eyes were curious and alert, just like her mother's.

Peter longed for her eyes to keep the clear sapphire color, a glittering reflection of Ivy. Isle's hair was beginning to outcrop in satiny brown whorls, the same color as her father's.

”Your little jewel,” Grace said all smiles as she came into the living room. ”Go ahead, I'll finish up with her.”

”Okay, shrimp, over to Grace,” Peter said, handing over the little pink bundle.

Peter stood beaming at his infant in Grace's lap, her tiny mouth puckering the nipple of the bottle, tiny hands clutching and uncurling, tiny stocking feet kicking. So fragile, yet strong.

”Petey!” Byron boomed from elsewhere in the house. ”Let's go!”

”Better hurry before the bear comes out of his cave looking for you.”

”Coming,” Peter called, and hurriedly kissed Isle's fuzzy head.