Fortuity (Transcend 3)

This girl.

She’s life.

She pumped my heart when I didn’t think it could keep beating. She filled my lungs when I thought I’d taken my last breath. She crawled up my face and showed me I still had a smile.

I think all these amazing things about her as we fill the fridge and cupboards with food and read books on opposite ends of the sofa. Three more months until we settle into something considered normal—I don’t want to rush one single moment.

*

Over the next few days, we explore San Diego, searching for favorite restaurants, ice cream shops, watching hang gliders at Torrey Pines Gliderport and searching for starfish and sea anemones at the Point Loma tide pools. Then Morgan drags me to Mr. Hans’s house to meet him, so she can ask him a million questions about Gabe and Gracelyn. We purchase bikes, chairs and umbrellas for the beach, and a beanbag chair. While trying to raise a child without the constant entertainment of screens, I’ve had to make sacrifices. She likes to read books in a beanbag chair since having one at a hostel in Israel. And if I say no to the chair, she wants an iPad, like it’s her right to dole out ultimatums.

So … her new beanbag chair is light pink, her favorite color—and more than half her clothes.

“They’re back! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh! Oh my gosh!” Morgan barrels down the stairs as I assemble sandwiches for our late Friday afternoon lunch.

“Bugs? Whales? Migratory birds? You need to elaborate.”

“Gabe and Gracelyn!”

“Oh … that’s right. They’re moving in today.” I set her plate onto the small round kitchen table. “Whoa … wait. You need to eat.” I frown as she shoves her feet into her pink flip-flops.

“Dad! They’re literally moving in right now, and she’s limping. I think her leg is still hurt.”

“What have I told you about literally?”

Her face turns sour. “I know. I know. Most of what I say is and should be literal, so I don’t need to say it. Instead, I should stress if something is more figurative but could be mistaken as literal.”

My chest swells with pride. Will she be too advanced for her age to fit in at a public school? Not just academically, I sometimes question if she’ll be too mature.

“Save my sandwich.”

Opening my mouth, I start to protest again, but the hopeful gleam in her eyes kills my words before they jump from my tongue.

“Only help. If they don’t need help, then you’ll just be in the way.”

“Got it!” She sprints out the door, and I let her go.

Let her go …

Is that what I’m doing? Slowly letting her go? In eight years, she’ll legally be an adult. I might need eight years to rip off the Band-Aid. My paralyzing fear sends waves of nausea through my stomach. What’s going to happen when she leaves me more often to go places with friends? Driving a car on her own? Dating?

Losing her feels like I’m losing control, or maybe it’s the other way around. Either way, it’s torturous.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gracelyn

“It’s too heavy. Gabe and I can get it,” I protest as Mr. Hans carries my overstuffed suitcase into the house. The movers dropped off the big stuff: beds, a sofa, and two chairs an hour earlier. I thought we could get the rest on our own. I might have overestimated my physical capabilities since the sprained ankle incident.

Mr. Hans shakes his head. “It’s fine. I had my hernia repaired last year.” He sets it down just before the steps, parking his hands on his hips to catch his breath as Morgan and Gabe squeeze past him, each carrying a small box of Gabe’s belongings.

“I can get it up the stairs.” I hobble toward the suitcase with my ankle wrapped and wedged into my military-style boot. It’s the only way I can walk without assistance. I saw a doctor, just to make sure it wasn’t a break. He told me it’s a bad sprain and I should stay off it. I follow the doctor’s orders … when I can.

“No.” He frowns at my foot. “I see you hobbling, Elvis. Morgan told me you injured your ankle.”

“I just twisted it a bit.”

He shakes off my attempt to grab the suitcase. “Just give me a minute to catch my second wind, and I’ll get it up the stairs.”

“My dad can carry it. I’ll go get him.” Morgan runs down the stairs.

“No. Really. Worst-case scenario, I just unpack it here and carry my clothes upstairs in two or three loads.”

Nathaniel carried me to my car. I’m not letting him carry my suitcase up the stairs.

“He’s so strong. He can still pick me up and toss me into the air until I touch the clouds.” Morgan turns as she opens the screen door. Her lips twist for a few seconds. “I figuratively touch the clouds. It’s a hyperbole.” Her hair zips away in a blond streak as she runs next door.