Jake held Gabe on his lap as he sat chatting with Holly and Dan in the waiting room of the maternity ward. He couldn't believe it. They had managed to stay together long enough to see the birth of his daughter. He never would have called that one. There had been times when he thought for sure they were finished, but somehow they'd managed to make it work. In some strange way they seemed to enjoy fighting, or maybe it was the making up they enjoyed. He didn't know, but it was good to see them still together.

They were good for each other. She hadn't touched alcohol or drugs since the crisis with her son, and he had stopped spending every non-working hour in his living room engrossed in frivolous entertainment. There were even rumors that they had done family things together, like, picnics in the park and miniature golf. If Jake didn't know better, he might have thought Dan had finally grown up-but that perception quickly vanished when Dan opened his mouth.

"So, what's the return policy here?"

Jake laughed and Holly stabbed Dan with her elbow.

Dan looked at Gabe, "Not that we would ever think of returning you, even though you are a little defective."

Gabe produced a playful glare. He liked it when Dan teased him, or when Dan did anything for that matter. Gabe was still young enough to attach himself to a father figure, and he had latched onto Dan with everything he had. Jake hoped his friend had the good sense to marry his sister and make things official, but that was for them to decide.

"Jake?" In the doorway of the waiting room was a young freckle-faced boy whose lip was too short to cover his top teeth. "The contracthions are clother now," he said with his subtle lisp.

Jake looked at Dan and Holly. "I better get back to Jenna, if she'll let me back in the room." He smiled.

He left them and followed the boy down the hall, through the double doors, and to the doorway of the room where his wife lay with Aiyana by her side. A man he knew as Joshua sat in a chair in the far corner near the curtain drawn window. The nurse was placing a clipboard at the foot of the bed. Jake motioned for Aiyana to join him in the hall, so she hopped off the bed and came out to where Jake sat crouched.

"I know we've already talked about this, but I'd like to say one last goodbye," he said softly.

"It's not goodbye," she said, "It's h.e.l.lo."

"I know, but it feels like goodbye."

She rubbed his shoulder with her tiny hand.

"Will you even remember all the fun we've had hiding you from your mother these last eight months? Me reading you stories before bed, or staying up late watching old television shows together?"

Aiyana thought for a moment. "Well, at first I'll remember." She thought again. "But by the time I can talk, it'll just be a good feeling, in here." She put her fingertips on her heart.

He took her hands into his. "We've already had such an amazing journey, so it's hard to believe this is only the beginning. I know you've told me a hundred times in a hundred different ways that you'll still be the same person, but it's going to be different. For one thing, I'll probably walk you into a pole or something, you know, forget you can't pa.s.s through things."

A tear formed in the corner of her eye.

"And you'll probably wonder why I pick things up for you, or ask you how you want me to arrange your room-because you won't remember that I used to do those things for you when you couldn't do them for yourself."

The tear trickled down. "You can still move things around for me if you want. I won't mind."

He kissed her little fingers. "I love you, my pretty flower."

"Jake?" Jenna's voice carried out from the room.

Aiyana stiffened. "It's time."

Jake climbed to his feet and went in to his wife's bedside.

"She's coming, Jake." She said with a mixture of concentration and excitement.

The nurse slipped out of the room and returned with the doctor. For almost an hour the room was alive with the sound of a new life coming into the world. Aiyana and the little boy with the overbite watched from the raised platform in front of the curtain-drawn windows. And the man Jake knew as Joshua stood near them in the corner.

Aiyana's hairy little head popped out first. The doctor reached in and turned her shoulders, then a moment later she was laying on the medical sheet. The nurse wiped her off and suctioned her mouth and nose, and the doctor looked at Jake. "Would you like to cut the umbilical cord?"

"Yes," he said, "of course."

The nurse handed him a pair of scissors, and the doctor moved so he could reach. Jake smiled at Jenna and clipped the cord. Aiyana never made a peep.

He looked over his shoulder for her, wanting to share the moment, but only the little boy stood near the window now. He had to remind himself that she was here with him now, real, in the flesh.

He watched as Joshua leaned in toward the little boy. "Do you know what Aiyana means?" he said in a gentle voice.

"No." The boy looked up at him with bright eyes.

Jake heard the response.

"Eternal blossom."

Jake caught his breath, remembering the old woman who had come to his door so many months ago with her strange request: "Don't let the flower die, Jake."

Without knowing it, he had fulfilled that request. He had kept the flower alive. But until this moment, he had not realized who the flower was. It was his own daughter, his precious Aiyana.

Jake turned to thank Joshua for reminding him of the flower and revealing its connection to his daughter, but the man was gone. He looked back at the window-and his heart grew heavy. The little boy, who had teeth too big for his lip, was slowly vanishing.

And then he was gone.

It was over.

With the birth of his daughter, the ability he had been given was taken back, and he was once again his old self, only richer now-much, much, richer.

He went to the head of the bed and hugged his wife, and together they stared at their daughter's pudgy cheeks, puckered mouth, and tightly sealed lashes. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen in his life, and she was finally here. A long full life awaited her, and he intended to make it the best one ever.

Jenna's face was a pool of happy tears, but a conflicting set of wrinkles developed on her forehead as she gave him an incredulous look. "You really want to name her after my grandmother?"

He rubbed the baby's hairy soft head with the palm of his hand." Her name is Aiyana. How could we call her anything else?"

Chapter 56.

Jake stood in front of his neighbor's door, building up the courage to knock. What would he say to her? What could he possibly say that wouldn't make him sound like a complete loon? In the best case scenario he imagined the fiery redhead slamming the door on him. He didn't want to think about the worst case.

His hand shot out and knocked before the signal could get from his brain to his hand to stop it. There was a shuffle, a pause, and then the door opened a crack. "Can I help you?" she said, defensively.

"Yes," he said." May I come in?"

"I'm a little busy right now." She started to shut the door.

"Please," he said, "it's about your daughter Abby..."

Her face twisted. "What did you say?"

"I need to talk to you about Abby."

This is it. Here it comes. She's going to slam it right in my face.

"Are you a private investigator or something?"

"I wish it was something that normal."

"Then how do you know my daughter's name?"

He tried to stop the words from coming out. "Because I spoke with her..."

Her face went flat and her hand slid down the door and fell to her side. "Are you a psychic?"

"I honestly don't know what I am, but if you'll just give me a couple of minutes, I'll explain."

She examined him a moment longer, then pulled the door back and led him down the short hall into her living room. Her apartment looked a lot like his, only the furnishings were different.

She turned, and he held out his hand. "Sorry, we've never properly met," he said, "I'm Jake Paris."

She hesitated, then took his hand. "I'm Liz."

"Nice to meet you, Liz."

She nodded. "Ah, would you like a drink?"

"I appreciate the offer, but I don't want to take too much of your time."

"Then please, have a seat."

He sat uncomfortably on the edge of the cushion and took a deep breath. "First, I want to apologize for putting my big fat foot in my mouth. I didn't know you had, well, visited the clinic."

She chewed her lip, studying his face. It was clear the topic was still uncomfortable.

"I'm going to be completely honest with you, and if you decide to throw me out on my ear, believe me, I'll understand." He took another deep breath. "Okay, here goes. Over the last several months, I have been able to see the unborn."

Surprisingly, she gave no reaction.

"When I met your daughter in the elevator she was standing right next to you, and I didn't know only I could see her."

There was still no reaction; she listened intently.

"She introduced herself to me as Abby."

Liz folded her arms uncomfortably.

"Does that name mean something to you?"

"I've been attending," her eyes watered as she searched for the words, "grief cla.s.ses." She spoke softly and with great apprehension. "In the process we were all told to give our baby a name. By recognizing our baby as a he or a she, and giving it a name, we're better able to put it to rest. Last week..." Her face trembled. "I put my daughter to rest in a shared funeral service with the other ladies in my cla.s.s. On the certificate I gave her the name Abigail, but I call her Abby." She put her hand to her mouth. "So when you said her name..."

Jake waited a moment and let her compose herself. "I understand this must be very hard for you. But I've come with a message-a message from Abby. Do you want to hear it?"

Liz bit her lip. "Yes, yes of course."

"When Abby said this to me, I didn't understand what it meant. I thought maybe you and her father were fighting over custody or something, and I didn't think it was my business to interfere. That's why I didn't come sooner. I just didn't understand. But recently my sister made a comment about seeing you at the clinic last summer, and it all just sort of clicked."

Liz listened intently.

Jake stood and looked her in the eye. "Liz, your daughter wants you to know-that she forgives you."

It was horrible to watch the agony on her face as she fought to keep her composure. Tremors of emotion tightened her cheek and chin and she looked to the side. The silent a.s.sault on her heart was most noticeable in the energy with which she wrung one wrist like a towel. It was clear she had no desire to cry in front of a man she barely knew. Yet his words had found a soft target deep inside.

He felt helpless to ease her silent torture. He had hoped his words would bring her comfort and some semblance of peace, not worsen her pain.

"I'm so sorry," he said, standing. "I meant to help..."

"No," she gasped, "No. It's okay. Thank you. Thank you so much."

"I'm sorry. I don't understand."

Liz discreetly dabbed at the liquid gathering in the corners of her eyes. "There was so much guilt. I didn't realize the depth of it until I started taking those cla.s.ses. I needed to hear those words. I didn't realize how badly I needed to hear them. Thank you so much for telling me."

He didn't know what to say. Part of him felt like it would be appropriate to describe her daughter and let her know more about her. And the other part of him was screaming at the first part to keep its big mouth shut. She didn't need to know more about the child she had aborted. It would only drudge up more guilt. Wouldn't it?

He stood awkwardly, painfully aware that he was ill-equipped to be of any more use to his grieving neighbor. And as he did, his eyes came to rest on a photograph sitting on a table next to the television. His eyes narrowed. The woman in the photo bore a remarkable resemblance to the mysterious old woman who had given him the white flower all those months ago. She was younger in the picture, and the nose looked a little different, but that was her. He was sure of it. He stepped forward to get a closer look. "Who is the woman in this picture?" he asked.

Liz moved next to him. "This one?" She pointed. "That's my grandmother."

"Does she visit you often?"

Her shoulders sank slightly. "No, she pa.s.sed away three years ago."

Three years ago? How then had she paid him a visit last summer? He reached to pick up the picture. "May I?"

Liz nodded.

There was a gold plated inscription on the bottom of the picture frame which read: Margaret Annette At.w.a.ter. As he examined the photo closer, he couldn't help but notice that it wasn't the nose alone that was different. The woman in the photo had brown eyes. That was odd. He was sure the old woman who had visited him had green eyes. He remembered them because they were so bright and vibrant. He'd never seen anyone with such brilliant green eyes before.

Wait. That wasn't actually true. He had seen brilliant green like that before-in the eyes of a little strawberry blond girl named Abby.