One Tiny Miracle... (14 page)

Peace.

A peace that wasn’t shattered by Willow’s lusty cries, a peace that remained as Celeste chatted incessantly on
as she brought in the baby’s bottle and then handed him an angry bundle as she decided that instead of feeding her daughter,
he
could do it while she explored the spa in her new bathroom!

Peace as, fed, changed and content, he put Willow back in the pram and wound up her mobile for her.

Peace perfect peace, Celeste thought as she lay in the spa, her toes wrinkling, knowing how much he loved the two of them, mother and daughter. She stared out at the glorious view and at a wonderful future too.

‘Marry me!’ Celeste shouted to the silence.

‘I was about to suggest the same thing,’ Ben said, standing in the doorway grinning. ‘We should get married out there on the beach, where we met…’

‘I take it that’s a yes?’

‘It’s a yes…’ He looked out to the beach and he could almost see them—see their wedding, Celeste holding Willow, the celebrant, with family and friends gathered around, and he could almost see Jen, holding Daisy and smiling. And it was a blessing, a long-awaited blessing, to be able to think of them both and smile.

‘Oh, well, if you insist.’ She laughed.

Lost in thought, he had no idea what she was talking about. ‘Pardon?’

‘I suppose there’s no talking you out of it…’ She gave a martyred sigh. ‘I guess you’d better climb in and ravish me.’

He didn’t ever compare, because there was no comparison—two more different women he could never imagine, and yet he loved them both. But it was then,
when he least expected it, that he got his sign, the one he had been longing for from Jen, because just for a second he could have sworn he heard Jen laugh, could have sworn he heard her letting him go with grace, urging him on, to live this wonderful life.

And Ben laughed too.

Laughed as he climbed right in to join Celeste to do as the grad nurse ordered.

Ravish her.

N
EVER
, not once, did she wonder or doubt.

Not even a little bit.

Despite her mother’s gloomy predictions, despite what she’d read in the ‘blended family’ section of a baby book, which Celeste had finally thrown against the wall—not once did she think that their baby would change how he felt about Willow.

Because without Willow, there would be no them.

‘It won’t be long now.’ Ben squeezed her shoulder as she lay on the operating table—with all the passion of a doctor to a patient, but that was what he did sometimes.

They’d experienced three pregnancies between them and all of them had been different.

This had been a textbook pregnancy (if you excluded her massive weight gain), and had gone brilliantly till the very last minute—but eight hours of huffing and puffing and still their baby wouldn’t come out!

She’d worked part time till seven months, because that was what she did.

She had told him about her backache and sore ankles
but had spoken to the obstetrician, rather than him, when she’d had a ripper of a headache.

And he’d massaged her tummy and kissed her bump and done all the right things throughout.

They both had.

Jollied each other along and assured the other it would be fine.

‘I’m scared…’ She wasn’t even sedated—they had been so mean with drugs that she was thinking of writing a letter of complaint. So much for being a doctor’s wife! An epidural might numb your stomach, but it didn’t numb your brain.

‘What if it changes things?’

No matter how neatly folded, no matter where it was stored, your baggage came on the journey with you—and every now and then you had to cough up and pay the excess or watch as Customs ripped open the zipper and demanded to know what a chocolate bar was doing hidden in your bra.

As if you could explain how it got there.

As if you had meant to pack it and haul it to the other side of the world.

Except you had.

‘I don’t want it to change anything,’ she wailed.

‘Change can be good,’ he said reassuringly.

It was only the three of them, her and him and Willow. And she was scared for them, scared for the coming baby—scared of change. Only it was happening, whether she wanted it to or not.

‘I’m scared, Ben,’ she said again.

‘I know.’

She could see tears swimming in his green eyes.

‘Remember Willow—she was so floppy and ill…’

‘And look at her now.’

She knew they were making the incision because the OB had told her, but she only had eyes for Ben.

Could hear the gurgle as they suctioned her waters and she was petrified.

‘How can I love it as much as Willow?’

‘Wait and see,’ he suggested gently.

It was a him.

This beefy whopper of a boy that they held up over the drapes, with a flat nose and bunched-up forehead, who screamed and cried and kicked all the way to the little cot set up for him.

‘No wonder I needed a Caesarean.’ She just had to smile, had to cry, had to gaze in wonder.

And, of course, so did Ben.

He walked over and stared at his son, got the footprints on his T-shirt and then came back to Celeste.

‘You should see the
size
of him!’ he said in awe.

‘Now do you see why I moaned when he kicked?’ she gasped.

She got a quick kiss when they brought him over all wrapped up—but so was she, so she couldn’t really touch him. But there were too many people around for real tears.

‘Go with him…’ Celeste said to her husband.

It was all a blur from there. They were a bit more generous with drugs, and she was stitched and sent to Recovery and then to her room. And Celeste sort of remembered her mum coming and Ben’s mum too and a lot of noise…

And later, much later, she woke up.

And remembered.

She wasn’t scared of Ben’s feelings, not even a tiny bit, okay maybe, just maybe a smudge…

But he had his back to her and his son and a fretful one-year-old on his hip who he was showing the moon to, and that left her alone to stare at her new baby.

She was scared of her
own
feelings.

He was so little.

A huge baby, but really so little and new and wrinkly and perfect, and she was so scared she wouldn’t get this right. Then he opened his eyes…

Just stared right at her and demanded she love him.

She would very soon, except she was really tired. ‘Ashley…’

She was too sore to pick him up, so Ben did it for her, balancing Willow on one side as he scooped up his son and handed him to her.

‘It means “from the ashes”,’ Celeste said. ‘I looked it up.’

‘I bet you did.’

‘Baby!’ Willow forgot for a moment how tired she was. Delighted with both her
finally
awake brother and her vocal skills, she’d recently discovered chanting. ‘Baby, baby, baby!’ And she clambered over the bed and a catheter, coming dangerously close to a Caesarean incision, and then smothered her brother with kisses and germs followed by lots more gooey kisses.

Then Ashley got a kiss from Dad.

And then Celeste got a kiss from a suddenly very needy, tearful Willow.

There was almost too much love to go around, Celeste thought, very near tears herself.

‘I’m going to get her home,’ Ben told her.

He’d seen her watery eyes and he understood.

Knew when she needed him, even when she didn’t admit it.

And knew when she needed to be on her own too.

The midwives walked in on his kiss to Celeste, but that was okay, because there would be lots of kisses later—she needed wise women with her now.

Tonight was for Celeste to meet Ash.

Ben understood that.

Tonight was the time for Celeste to discover that there was plenty of her to go around.

‘Push the button…’ He stepped in the lift and guided Willow’s hand to the ‘G’ button—but she managed to miss and they headed for the roof instead!

‘You’re as unpredictable as your mother!’ he huffed.

‘Daddy!’ She’d said it so many times, but she said it again—started up her chant and continued it all the way to the car park where he strapped her in and drove her home. ‘Daddy, Daddy, Daddy!’

He was hers and she was his and never let anyone say otherwise.

He made her milk, put Willow in her cot, kissed her goodnight and turned on her mobile.

Then rang uncles and cousins and friends and deleted the text he wanted to send to Celeste in case it disturbed her sleep—he’d tell her himself in the morning.

Then he checked in on Willow and changed his mind and sent the text anyway.

Willow sound asleep—give ash a kiss—i love you.

And amid a frustrating attempt at a feed with an angry, hungry baby, and with nipples that hurt, a midwife smiled and handed her the phone. Celeste read her text, but didn’t reply. He already knew she loved him too, so she just did as instructed. She leant forward and placed her lips on an angry forehead, erased crinkles with soft lips, felt the melting in her heart as Ash snuffled towards her and, after just a beat of a pause, Celeste resumed trusting again.

Felt the sweet weight of a new baby in her arms—and wanted it, could do it, was doing it right now…

It really
was
that simple.

Love grew if you let it.