Under the Stars

“Shit,” I hiss, pushing aside chairs to cross the room before the door slams shut.

I’m too late. It closes in my face, and I have to run through the brick courtyard again, pushing my way through a mob of drunk tourists milling about.

“Watch it!” A man shouts, but I keep going, down the half-block to Toulouse Street.

I skid around the corner, my shoes slipping on the damp flagstone, but I see him far ahead, walking fast. My heart pounds. I’m sure he didn’t see me in the bar—it was too dark and crowded—and I know I can find him tomorrow, but I can’t help believing he’s leading me to Lara. My desire to see her drives me forward.

He walks two more blocks north before stopping abruptly in front of an older home. It’s nicely renovated, and as he passes through the wrought iron gate, I realize it’s a duplex.

Voices erupt from inside the moment he opens the door, but he quickly shuts it behind him. I walk down to the corner to wait, unsure if this is his home or someone else’s.

Another half-hour passes before a silver Accord with a pink Lyft sticker in the window pulls up to the curb. The door of the house opens, and Roland steps out with a girl I recognize. It’s Evie. I’m more convinced than ever Lara has to be inside.

“See you tomorrow,” she calls, and they embrace briefly before she trots down to the waiting vehicle.

Once she’s gone, I’m through the gate and up the steps to his narrow front porch in record time. My insides hum, and I take a few steadying breaths before I knock. They’re here. Lara, my daughter…

Swallowing the knot in my throat, I raise my hand and bang on the solid wood. The noise of footsteps from inside approaches the door.

“Did you forget something?” He calls, opening the door and freezing. “Mark.”

All the rage I’ve suppressed for ninety long days breaks to the surface, and it takes an indescribable force of will not to grab him by the neck. When I was here before, we were the same size. Now I’m quite a bit larger than this guy… this guy who’s been helping to hide my wife and child from me, a baby I’ve never even seen.

“Where is she?” It comes out as more of a growl than a question.

To my surprise, he doesn’t even hesitate. Stepping back, he waves his hand in a sweeping motion, allowing me entrance. “Right this way.”

I’m on his heels as he leads me through the narrow house. He stops at a door, which he opens slowly, carefully. I push him aside and enter the closet-sized room.

A lamp in the shape of a large tree with little animals circling at the bottom casts a soft yellow light, and I have to duck slightly to avoid banging my head on the doorjamb.

“What is this?” I’m confused until I see the crib against the wall. My mouth goes dry, and my heart beats painfully harder with each step.

The scent of baby powder is in the air, and when I look over the white rail, my breath disappears. Inside is a tiny body wrapped tightly in a pink blanket. Her head is covered in a halo of light brown hair. My sight goes blurry, and I reach up to push the wetness aside.

“You can pick her up if you’d like,” Roland says from where he’s waiting at the door. “She’s a pretty solid sleeper.”

The anger, the driving desperation, all of it melts as I stand looking down at my baby girl’s sleeping body.

“I don’t know how.” My voice is quiet.

A shuffling behind me, and Roland is at the side of the crib reaching in to lift her gently. Her little face scrunches in a frown, but he puts her on my chest, her forehead touching my neck, and the last shred of my fight disappears.

“Mark Fitzhugh, meet your daughter, Jillian.”

I cup her body in my hands, and hold her against my heart. My eyes close, listening to her breathing, feeling her warmth through my shirt. She’s here… soft, angelic, tiny, and so real.

When I can speak again, I blink over to see Roland touching his eyes. He smiles, and I wonder why I hated this guy so much all those years ago.

“She’s so little,” I whisper.

“She’s actually right at the seventieth percentile for size and weight.”

“I don’t know what that means.” Her face moves, and she makes a little grunting noise. Another piece of my heart melts.

Roland’s eyes are soft as he touches her back. “It means she’s perfect.”

Fuck, he didn’t have to tell me that. My hand cradles the back of her head, and I lower her gently. I want to study her little face and see all the ways she looks like me, all the ways she looks like her mother.