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I wipe the tears from my cheeks and walk from the ensuite into the bedroom.
Logan is lying on the bed with Rusty clambering all over him. The Jack Russell terrier was hanging around in the alleyway near my old apartment – Jane’s old apartment too since she’s moving to a nicer neighborhood. I’m so happy she let Logan help her, letushelp her.
Logan walked across the street when he saw the dog, knelt, then turned to me with that we-can-do-anything-together smile.
“Why don’t we save him? Take a piece of this place, your old life, and make it better.”
“What if he belongs to somebody?” I asked, as the Jack Russell slowly crept toward Logan.
“Look at him. Somebody’s abandoned him.”
Logan was right.
We checked at the vet, ran the chip, and it turns out the old owners were trying to sell him online. When nobody bought him, they moved to the West Coast anyway, leaving him behind.
Now, I walk to the edge of the bed.
Rusty spins and pads over to me. His fur still looks a little patchy, and his ribs are showing a little. But he’s already the most playful, enthusiastic dog ever, despite everything.
I reach down, stroking him behind the ear as Logan leans forward. He’s wearing his gym shorts, nothing else, his legs sprawled and his abs tight as he looks over at me.
“Lucy.” He glances at my hand, looks at me, then returns to my hand. He stares. “Lucy is it….”
“Yes,” I whisper. “It’s positive. We’re going to have a baby.”
Logan whoops and leaps, springing across the bed.
Rusty barks and starts spinning around, jumping at Logan. He sweeps us both up, pulling me into his arms and holding Rusty so the little doggie can lick happily at our faces.
“A baby,” Logan says, kissing my cheek and then squeezing me in a hug.
He puts Rusty down and wraps both arms around me.
Rusty jumps onto the bed, sitting and watching, a big grin on his face.
“We’re going to be a family,” I whisper, voice cracking.
“I love you, Lucy.”
EXTENDED EPILOGUE
ONE YEAR LATER
Logan
As I walk with him, Adam clings to my hands, holding the baby carrier. He likes to cling onto me when we’re out and about like this.
He’s not little, coming in at ten pounds. He was over the weight requirement for a baby carrier the day we took him home from the hospital, but I still waited.
Now, it’s my favorite way to walk with him, strapped to my chest. He likes it too. It stops his roaring cry.
“He’s the god of thunder,” I said the other night, laughing as Lucy and I awoke.
She turned, my gorgeous wife, the moonlight slanting through the window onto her face. “He takes after his dad. Loud and boisterous.”
I chuckled. “I think you mean strong and silent…But I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
“Neither would I, any of it. I should go.”
