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The nurse asked what Amara needed, and she responded with a simple confidence that tragedy inspired.
Her voice was clear and steady.
“Nurse, please bring my son to my room. I’m ready to see him now.”
Chapter Ten
Three Months Later
BABY HAMPTON HAD GROWN SO much over the last three months. He was holding his head up on his own, responding to sounds, and even grabbing toys to play with. Sitting up with his support pillow in his high-chair, he was alert, and more often than not, happy.
His pale blue eyes were as striking as his father’s, though his hair was curly and dark like his mother’s. As tragic as Quint’s death was, her love for Hampton had kept depression at bay. Amara couldn’t imagine a day without seeing Hampton’s smiling face, hearing his adorable cooing. Giving him a good life in a loving home fulfilled her.
She’d convinced herself before the birth that giving Hampton up would mean a better life for him, but she’d come to realize that the life she gave him was as good as anything he would have had otherwise.
Not only that, she could give him something Quint never could — a mother’s love. Quint couldn’t nurse him, couldn’t bond with him in the way that only mothers and their children can bond. Some of her earliest memories were being held by Raneesha. And throughout her life, she’d found nothing but support, love, and empathy from her mother.
Her father was never in the picture, but she always had a great role model to look up to in her mother. Raneesha was a postal worker, had worked hard every day of her life, and she was the very image of a strong, independent black woman.
She ran the house on her own, took wonderful care of Amara from the first day she was brought home from the hospital, and even paid for her college tuition by carefully budgeting and saving for nearly two decades.
These days, Amara often found herself reflecting on her upbringing, hoping that she could be as much of an inspiration to Hampton as Raneesha had been to her.
While the first month was hard on Amara emotionally, she was well taken care of financially, even in Quint’s absence. The University’s policy mandating four months of paid maternity leave didn’t hurt, either, and allowed her to keep a flexible schedule.
Kari came over more frequently and babysat Hampton. When Jaslene was in town and not traveling for her new business, she helped out, too. Friendly colleagues and even Jaslene had offered to watch Hampton, but between Kari and Raneesha, Amara had plenty of help.
While Amara wasn’t getting out nearly as
much as she used to, she was happy to be at home, especially once Hampton began sleeping for longer stretches of time. At three months, he’d achieved the six-hour milestone for sleep, finally giving Amara a chance to catch up on much-needed rest.
She took Hampton out with her frequently, and when Kari or Raneesha babysat, she could hardly stand to be away from him. She often called to check up, and loved talking to him on the phone when she had a little downtime. Not that he talked back, of course.
While she’d taken the university up on their promise of paid maternity leave, she continued her work at home and often at her office on campus, but she didn’t teach classes or keep the kind of hours she once did.
Her variant of cassava was harvested after months of careful tending in Nigeria. In all, everything was going well, except when she thought of Quint, when she recalled what it was like to talk to him, to laugh with him, and once, to touch him. Every time she looked into her son’s blue eyes, she was reminded of the way Quint’s sparkled as he made the proposal that she be his surrogate.
Quint was presumed dead, and she’d learned that his special attorney had indeed been on the plane with him that disastrous day of the plane crash. Regardless, the contract they’d signed made it clear that no matter the circumstance, if she carried Hampton to term, Quint’s money was to be disbursed to cover any and all expenses relating to her work.
He’d been true to his word, and the funding had continued unabated per their arrangement.
He had left a legacy to be proud of. His money had helped secure the licenses for widespread trials in other countries and research into more effective storage and processing. While her primary concern was the farmers who grew it as an insurance crop for their own families, the potential globalization and adoption of cassava as a meal staple would mean a flourishing market for local farmers in Africa as well as South America. Exports could mean economic growth and a rise in quality of life.
She was frequently in touch with the Federal Ministry of Agriculture in Nigeria to compare results and discuss the overall impact of widespread adoption of her crop. They were eager partners and fine supporters of her field trials with local farmers, both industrial and rural.
A little money to grease the wheels of the bureaucratic process certainly helped things along, though the process came a little too close to graft for her liking. Still, she did what had to be done for the greater good. And anyway, even governments needed financial assistance from time to time.
Amara sat at her desk in her office at the university, positively beaming, reading over a letter about the encouraging growth of the crop and its nutritional profile. It was maturing more quickly than the unmodified version, it was abundant in nutrition and protein, and its cyanide levels were down to next-to-nothing. She resolved to get it down completely somehow, but for now, they were wonderful results.
Quint would have been pleased. Hampton mewled in the bassinet she kept in her office, and she rolled her chair over to tickle him under the chin, something that always made him smile. He stretched his tiny arms and yawned. Wake up time, already?
As she stroked her son’s velvety cheek, she wondered if Quint hadn’t had a premonition that he would be gone too young and so needed to have a child sooner rather than later. Hence his bargain with her, because there wouldn’t be a later.
She shuddered whenever she thought that way. In fact, she didn’t like to think about any of it, and it was easier not to do so when she kept herself busy. Luckily, being busy wasn’t a problem. Her time at work was a much-needed respite from the memory of Quint and the challenges of raising a son as a single mother.
A light knock sounded on the frame of her open office door. She glanced up and saw Jaslene waving at her.
“Jaslene. It’s so good to see you.” Amara made to stand, but Jaslene motioned for her to remain seated.
