Page 33

33

FORD

Willa sent me her address and my GPS guides me to Newark.

As I’m driving slowly down Broadway, I’m not sure if I’m in the right place.

This is a hospital.

I don’t see the number I’m looking for, so I have to go around the block, and the second time around I realize there’s a smaller building on the hospital grounds.

I pull into a parking lot.

I’m not getting a good feeling.

A sign on the building says Dorothy’s House .

Whoever Dorothy is.

I walk into a foyer with a reception desk.

“Hi. I’m here to see Willa Callahan.”

The woman nods.

“Ford?”

“Yes.”

“Willa’s in room E10. That’s in the east wing.” She gestures at double doors and I walk through them into a big lounge that feels like an expensive ski lodge—lots of wood, a big brick fireplace, and different arrangements of comfortable furniture.

A few people are gathered together, and voices come from a room on one side that appears to be a dining room.

I follow the sign for the east wing and carry Tilly down the carpeted hallway to yet another lounge, smaller but with the same ambience—comfortable and homelike.

A kitchenette takes up one wall, a big TV another, and several doors open off it.

My eyes pass over the woman sitting at a table without recognition, but then it sinks in, and I jerk my gaze back to her.

Willa.

Jesus.

I’m frozen.

I can’t move.

I can’t think.

She’s wearing a scarf on her head, clearly because she has no hair.

Her face is different—cheeks hollowed, her skin pale, almost translucent.

She’s so thin and fragile looking.

“Ford.” She smiles.

“Come here. I want to see my baby.”

I force my feet to move.

I set the baby carrier on the table and unfasten Tilly.

She’s asleep and her little lips pout as I disturb her.

“Wake up, Tilly,” I say gently.

“Tilly?”

“Yeah.” I cough.

“That what we’ve… I’ve… been calling her.”

“It’s cute. Hi, honey.” Her voice rises and she reaches for Tilly.

“Oh my God, I’ve missed you so much.”

Tilly fusses and lets out a squawk as Willa cuddles her.

“It’s okay, Tilly.” I reach over and rub her back.

“This is your mom.”

Willa holds Tilly away from her to study her, still smiling.

“Are you still a grouch when you wake up?”

“She can be, yeah.”

I pull out another chair at the table and sit.

My stomach is hard as a rock and my heart is thudding rapidly.

“Look how big you are!” Willa sets Tilly on the table in front of her, still holding her.

Tilly eyes her, at first with a small notch between her eyebrows, then with a less skeptical look.

“Tell me about her. What things is she doing?”

I fill Willa in on Tilly’s milestones.

When Willa wipes some drool from Tilly’s chin, I add, “And she’s teething.”

“Are you getting teeth? Are you?” Willa coos and smiles at her.

This is surreal, watching Willa with her baby, me telling her about milestones.

My brain is still reeling from this whole situation.

Willa glances up at me.

“I guess you have questions.”

I make a helpless gesture.

“I know.” She makes a face.

“This all really, really sucks.” Her voice catches.

“Obviously you can see I’m sick.”

I nod, a hockey puck now stuck in my throat.

“I’m not going to get better,” she continues softly.

“This is a palliative care facility. There’s nothing more they can do for me other than manage my pain. I might still have months left… but we don’t know… and I didn’t want to leave it too long.” She pauses and clears her throat.

“I wanted to see Matilda one more time and also explain everything to you.”

“God, Willa. I’m so sorry.”

She nods.

“I’ve come to terms with it. It’s been a really long haul. I fought so hard. For Matilda.” She stops again and looks at Tilly, getting control.

“I’m sorry, baby. I tried really hard for you.”

My nose stings and my eyes burn.

Jesus.

“I’m sorry for how I handled this,” she says.

“I lied to you.”

“Your parents…?”

“My mom passed away years ago from Covid. My dad… I never really knew. He lives in California. They were an excuse. I couldn’t deal with the treatment I was having and look after Tilly. I thought you would be the best one to take her. I did plan to tell you about her… but my life got off course. And I hoped that I’d get through this and come back for her.” She looks up at me, her eyes full of anguish.

“I know we didn’t know each other well, but I liked you. My gut told me that you would look after her.”

“I didn’t want her,” I say hoarsely.

“At first. I’m ashamed of that now. Willa… I want you to know that I love her so much.”

“I’m so glad.” Her smile is sad.

“But how could you not?”

I attempt a smile, too.

“Right?”

“I saw pictures of you and Tilly online. At one of your games. It was so cute seeing you and Tilly at the glass. Was that your girlfriend with her?”

“Yes. Andi.”

“You all looked so happy. When I saw that, I knew… I made the right decision.”

Jesus.

I cough.

“Andi loves Tilly, too.”

“Thank you for telling me that.”

I’m disintegrating.

Unraveling.

I pull in a deep breath, trying to hold it together.

“I have some things to go over with you,” Willa says, gesturing to a box and some papers on the table.

“Some legal things. I’ve taken care of everything.”

“Okay.” I slide the box over closer to us with shaking hands.

A few hours later, I walk out with Tilly.

And yeah…

there are tears on my face.

I cannot imagine the strength it must have taken Willa to do all this.

Her story ripped a huge hole in my gut.

I get Tilly buckled in and I sit in the driver’s seat for a long time, staring sightlessly out of the window.

My hands clench into fists and I close my eyes, everything inside me burning and raw.

Tilly’s annoyed cries penetrate my fog of misery.

I turn around.

“What’s wrong, niblet? You want to get home?”

Willa just gave her a bottle and I changed her diaper before we left.

I think she’s just antsy sitting in the stationary car.

I start the engine.

I’ll have to tell Andi about this.

It’s not going to be easy.

But fuck…

again, Willa had the guts to do it.

So can I.

We’re doing it for Tilly.

I’ll do anything for Tilly.

And I’m in awe of Willa’s love that she took these steps, in her situation.

My annoyance with her and how she showed up out of the blue has evaporated.

I can only imagine the agony she went through coming to that decision.

I’ll do anything for Tilly…

and for Andi.

The knowledge that Andi loves me and is waiting for me gives me strength.

I think about these things all the way home.

Dread forms a knot in my stomach as I carry Tilly and the box of items Willa gave me up the elevator to my place.

I assume Andi’s still here, and she is, cleaning in the kitchen.

She looks up as we walk in, then drops the kitchen towel on the counter and moves toward us, wide-eyed.

“Are you okay?”

I must look like a ghoul.

I set sleeping Tilly on the floor in her car seat, lower the box to the floor next to her, and step into Andi’s embrace.

I bury my face against her hair, closing my eyes against the smart of tears, the agony of a knife turning in my gut.

Sobs overtake me and I shake against Andi.

We cling to each other for endless moments.

“Shhh.” She runs her hands over me, holds me tighter.

“It’s okay. You’re here. I’m here. Tilly’s here.”

I give a mute nod, embarrassed but helpless.

“I love you,” she whispers, kissing my jaw.

“I love you. I’ve got you.”

My chest shudders.

I try to breathe, holding Andi tighter.

I thought I didn’t need anyone else.

But I was so, so wrong.

“We need to sit down,” I say, my voice husky.

“And I really need a drink.”

When we’re seated in the living room with glasses of bourbon in hand, Andi says, “We should wake up Tilly. This’ll throw her off schedule.”

I look at her and give her an unhappy smile.

“You know what? There are worse things than getting off schedule. Let her sleep.”

Andi’s eyes are soft and warm as she nods.

“Okay.”

I tell her about Willa, choking out the words, dashing a couple more tears from my face.

Andi listens, covering her mouth at one point, closing her eyes at another.

“She postponed some of her cancer treatment because she was pregnant.” I can barely say the words through the gravel in my throat.

“I… she was worried about how it could affect Tilly.”

“Oh no.” She covers her mouth, eyes big and shiny.

“What if that…”

“She didn’t say that made a difference in her recovery. I didn’t want to ask. But holy shit.”

Andi is silent for a moment, then says, “She has no other family?”

“She said a few cousins that she doesn’t know.”

Andi nods.

“She gave me these things.” I rise and retrieve the box from the foyer.

I set it on the coffee table and lift the lid.

“These are legal papers, giving me full custody. Tilly’s birth certificate.”

“Ohhhh.” Andi sighs out the word.

“Oh my God.”

“This…” I pick up a sealed envelope.

“This is for Tilly. It’s a letter from Willa. She said she leaves it up to me to decide the right time she should have it.”

Now Andi’s eyes are wet.

She snags a tissue from a box nearby.

“And she wants Tilly to have these things. I didn’t look at what’s in here.”

I pull out a small teddy bear, a simple one for a newborn.

Then a smaller box.

When I open it, there’s jewelry there—some gold necklaces, a birthstone ring, a pair of diamond earrings.

It’s not much, but that makes it even sadder.

There’s a book called Your Story , and when I open it, there are pictures of Tilly, and Willa has written in her weight and length at birth, one month, two months, and little stories about Tilly.

Jesus, this is killing me.

There are baby clothes, again tiny newborn ones—a couple of dresses, a onesie, a pair of impossibly small socks.

I hold up a thumb drive and meet Andi’s eyes.

“We can see what’s on it,” she says.

“I’ll get your laptop.”

As she does that, I lift out a photo album.

I open it to see pictures carefully labeled with names and dates.

When Andi sits down again, she peers at it too.

“That’s Willa’s mother.”

“Yes.” I flip the page.

There are pictures of Willa as a child, a teenager, an adult, some with friends, some alone.

“This will be wonderful for Tilly to have,” Andi says softly.

“Yeah.”

We check out the thumb drive and find more pictures—baby pictures of Tilly, taken with Willa’s phone—in the hospital when she was born, when she was weeks old, then months.

And then they stop.

Andi sniffles, then blows her nose into the tissue.

This is fucking torture.