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The little girls tinkling laughter fills the air. Something about it touches me. My heart warms as the girl smiles up at her Mrs. Emory. Of course, my brain is working overtime to connect the dots. Brooklyn is an only child. How could Mrs. Emory be a related to this little girl. Unless the man she married has a child who is the parent. The only problem with that theory is this little girl’s features.
She has the shape of Brooklynn’s face. Her eyes look like her, but other features look familiar for a different reason. I’m not about to scrutinize the little girl any longer because she’s talking to me. I guess she figures I’m safe to speak to since the person she’s with was talking to me.
“Hi! My name is Starlight. What’s your name?”
“Um ... her great-grandmother gave her that nickname and, as you can tell, she loves it. I’ve had to have so many things created with that name plastered over it.”
Mrs. Emory releases a breath as she looks at the little girl. Starlight doesn’t seem the least bit fazed by her the older woman’s obvious frustration.
“I'm five and a half years old. When I have my birthday party it's going to be so much fun. I'm going to be an extra big girl then and everybody will come. I want everyone to be there. I'll be six years old.”
“Yes, you will be. You're going to have the best party any little girl ever wanted. Your Pippa will make sure of it. Now, go get all your things together and tell your friends you'll see them soon. We have to get home.”
“Okay, Pippa.”
Just as quick as she came is as quick as she runs off again. I'm remain quiet as I allow this new information to process. I need a moment, but Mrs. Emory isn’t giving me that.
“Are you all right, Sweetheart? You don't look so good.”
“No. I'm... Good. I'll be fine.” I can't seem to get my thoughts off the little girl who has disappeared into the crowd of children and adults on the other side of the room. It doesn't stop me from staring after her. “Cute kid. She's your granddaughter, right?”
“Yes. That's right. I know I didn't do the best with being a mother. I didn't think I could be a grandmother because of it. Having that little Angel in my life has shifted a lot of things.” She trails off, staring at the little girl. She's probably lost in her thoughts as I just was. “She's been through so much already in her short life. She was a twin but now she isn't. So much pain and loss. You couldn't tell it by the huge smile that just brightens up the room.”
I'm stuck. My world feels like it's crashing again. Brick by brick, my chest receives the strikes. My breathing slows with the shock of this revelation.
It can't be.
It's not possible. There's no way. She wouldn't do that. That's not who she is or who she was. It's impossible.
Starlight comes back to the table with a little backpack and what I'm guessing is a gift bag full up candy. As she gets situated on her grandmother's lap, I see it. It's clear then. There's no denying it. She has the features of her mother. She also has the features of her... father.
The wide eyes, freckles on her cheeks and her nose are her mother’s. Her little smile, her eyebrows, even the dimples are Shaw traits. Those are genetic markers that show up in every member of the family. Another little face joins our group as I’m working to put things together in my head. I’m trying to figure out what to say next but can’t get anything to link up.
“Uncle Jax!”
My nephew’s voice snaps me out of the inner swirl of questions happening in my head.
“Hey Speedy Junior.”
That’s all I can manage to get out before the truth hits me. I’m not just an uncle. I’m so much more than that.
Judging by the way Mrs. Emory is gaping at me, she’s put things together as well.
“You’re him? You’re the one ... I can’t believe she lied to me. Well, not directly to me. She left me a message via a video. Regardless, there you are. You’re right here in Savannah. This is wonderful!”
She continues to babble on about something, but I can no longer hear her. I’m focused on the little girl who is sitting in her lap, sifting through the goody bag. She’s completely unaware of what’s happening or the connections that are being made. Suddenly, she looks up and those hazel green eyes lock onto me. She smiles then laughs. That’s it.
I’m a goner. My heart squeezes then feels as if it’s filling my chest. An overabundance of emotion explodes inside of me. A feeling I didn’t know was still kicking around courses through me. A tear rolls down my cheek. She hops down from her grandmother’s lap then walks over to me. Handing me a napkin, she pats the hand that’s resting on my knee. She produces another one then wipes my cheek.
As if that action wasn’t unexpected enough, she then reaches out with her little arms to give me a hug.
“It’s okay. I hope you feel better.”
I hear my nephew speak again.
“Yeah Mom, he’s here. I don’t know if he can drive me though. He seems sad or something. He’s crying in FunCoVille. Can you come pick me up?”
I don’t know what to say or even do. All I do know is I don’t want to let her go. I know I have to do it because she doesn’t know what’s just happened. She probably wouldn’t understand it.
