I started crying, sobbing so hard I couldn’t catch my breath. Good thing I didn’t need to. Charley wrapped her arms around me, and I felt her light seep into me, warming me and healing me like a salve of illumination. I lost track of time as my mind revisited the last few months of my life, the pregnancy, the hope, the decision I’d made, knowing I might not survive.
When I next looked up, Charley had led me somewhere else. We were in a hospital room with my mother cooing to a tiny bundle in her arms.
“What’s her name?” Charley asked.
My mother—my beautiful, strong mother who had worried so hard for so long—handed her a baby girl. “Her name is Melody Jo Anne,” she said, her red-rimmed eyes sparkling with pride.
“Wait,” I said to Charley, “we’d decided on Melody Ruth, after her.”
Charley tore her gaze away from Melody and asked my mother, “I thought Jo decided on Melody Ruth.”
My mother laughed, tears sparkling in her eyes. “We did, but I thought it much more fitting that this child be named after the woman who gave up her life to give her one.”
“May I ask what happened?” Charley said.
With heartbroken eyes, my mother explained. “I’m not sure how well you knew Jo, but she had type one diabetes.”
“I didn’t know that,” Charley replied, offering my mother a sympathetic gaze while swaying with the baby.
“We figured it out when she was seven. It almost killed her, and the damage it did to her kidneys was irreparable. We’d struggled her whole life just to keep her alive. So many hospitals. So many close calls.” She touched a tiny hand that had escaped the tight folds of the blanket. My baby’s hand. It was terrifying.
“Just like her mother,” a male voice said.
Surprised, I glanced up as my father walked in carrying two cups of coffee.
“Always escaping,” he added, gesturing toward the hand of the infant, “always defiant.”
“To the end,” my mother said, choking on a sob.
“I’m so sorry, Mrs. Montgomery, Mr. Montgomery,” Charley said.
“She just came home pregnant one day,” Mom said. Dad handed her a coffee and squeezed her shoulder for support. “The doctor told her if she went through with it she would be risking her life, but it was all she’d ever wanted. The one thing that would kill her.”
My mother melted into a sea of sobs as my father held her tight. I remembered everything now.
The one night my boyfriend and I weren’t careful. That same boyfriend then opted out of Melody’s life. Quitting my job and moving back home with my parents when I’d fallen too ill to care for myself. Everything I’d done was just to keep Melody alive.
I finally worked up the courage to move closer to Charley, to get a look at this being that had taken up residence inside me for so long. Charley instantly angled the baby so I could see her face, and both my hands flew up to cover my mouth. She was the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. Absolutely perfect.
“Look at her eyes,” I said.
Charley nodded. “And her long fingers.”
“Babies are cool.”
Startled, we both looked up at Reyes. He’d materialized from a sea of black smoke. It drifted off him like fog off dry ice. I thought Charley would be upset, but she didn’t seem to mind his presence. She refocused on Melody, her only concern my baby.
“May I?” Reyes asked, questioning me with upraised brows. It was the first time he’d spoken to me directly.
“Absolutely,” I said after a moment of recovery. I eased aside to let him have a look.
He stepped closer and smiled down at Melody. “Happy birthday, beautiful.”
Charley’s grin widened and she whispered, “Isn’t she?”
“She is, but I was talking to you.”
Charley gasped and leveled a curious stare on him. “Oh, my gosh, it is my birthday. How did you know?”
He shook his head. “I was there, remember?”
“Right,” she whispered. Then she stared at him. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Now I’ll leave you alone.” Tipping an invisible hat at me, he said,
“Congratulations.”
“Thank you,” I replied.
Just before vanishing, he added, “Oh, in case you’re wondering, she’s going to be a very successful artist.”
A hand covered my mouth again. I could just see it: my beautiful Melody, paint brushes in hand, a spot of cerulean on her cheek, a smudge of violet over her brow. She was perfect, and her art would be perfect, too.
I watched the smoke of his exit dissipate then turned to Charley. “He was there when you were born?”
“Yep. Long story.”
I chuckled. “The life you must have had. And you share Melody’s birthday.”
“I do, don’t I?”
“Is she talking to you?” my father asked Charley, clearly having heard her whispers. He looked amused.
Charley laughed. “Yes, she is. Just bursting with things to say.” She glanced up at him and smiled. He smiled back, moving closer to stare down at my child.
“Can you tell them something for me?” I asked.
Charley nodded and waited for me to speak.
“Can you tell them thank you for everything? Just...” I couldn’t seem to say anything else. My throat closed when I thought about all the things they’d done for me, all the sacrifices they’d made. I hadn’t actually committed suicide. Not really. I’d sacrificed myself for another. Relief flooded through me with that knowledge. And my parents had forgiven me, indulged me this one great desire I’d had in life and my need to fulfill it. Now they would be raising my child, showering her with just as much love as they had me. I couldn’t have asked for more.