Chapter Forty-Four

CHILDREN SWARMED OVER a giant wooden play structure, too intent on stealing every minute of fun from their last school-free week to mind the dense heat wilting the adults. Ben tramped across a wood-planked rope bridge, absorbed by the deep rattle in his legs. Each stomp set off a grinding clatter of board against chain. Ellie couldn’t decide if the activity was a sign of frustration or regulation. Not for the first time that week, she wished for Olivia’s intuition, her ability to read Ben like a map. She eyed a sullen thundercloud pinned to the horizon. The wet-pennies scent of ozone made her throat itch.

“How long do you think we have?”

“Awhile yet.” Olivia squeezed her hand. Humidity fused their tacky palms. “How are you feeling?”

“Nervous. It’s a little awkward between us right now. What if this makes it worse?” Her stomach clenched remembering their adoption discussion. Ben’s rejection had stunned her. He’d been clear that the engagement was fine, a wedding was fine, but adoption caused him to shut down, and no amount of explaining or reframing could get him to talk. Since their conversation, he’d withdrawn from her—not fully, but enough that she felt it.

“Your gift is incredibly thoughtful. I know you’re still tender about last week, and you’ve been so good not letting him see that, so trust—”

“I’m thirsty!” Ben leapt from the bridge, then bounded over.

“Lucky for you we brought this.” Olivia gave him a water bottle, and he chugged half of it. She glanced at Ellie, who swallowed her trepidation and nodded.

“Hey, Ben, I have a late birthday present for you. It took longer than I thought to have it made. Want to see it?”

“It’s here? In the park?”

“Yeah, come with us.” The knot in Ellie’s stomach eased when Ben tucked a hand in each of theirs. They followed a sidewalk away from the playground, and the children’s shrill cries faded into the mechanical whine of cicadas. Nestled in a corner of the park, shielded by a wall of reeds, sat a small wetland area. The smell of it, mud-dark and mossy, masked the metallic sting of the coming storm.

“This is where Mommy and I counted the ducks! And turtles!”

As they approached the lily-speckled pond, Ellie eyed the bench, relieved it was empty. When she’d brought Olivia here last week, they had to walk three loops of the park before an older couple finally left.

“This bench is new!” Ben yanked free of their grips, sprinted up a slight rise, and stumbled to a stop in front of it.

Ellie scrambled to catch up, then put a careful hand on his shoulder. “This is your bench, Ben, yours and Mommy’s. I wanted to give you a place where, when you’re missing her, you can come talk to her.”

He reached for the back of the bench, which was covered in a collage of photographs, and touched an image in the center. “It’s my selfie with Mommy.” Their last selfie. Ben, smaller, slighter, with his quiet smile and middle-distance eyes; Sophia grinning and windblown, poignantly alive in a way only the dead can seem. When Ellie had asked for a picture months ago, for a surprise, she’d been stunned, and so moved, that Olivia shared this private touchstone of hers and Ben’s.

“Around it are photos of other families who lost someone to a drunk driver. The sign at the top explains it. Every time a person sits here, I hope they remember to drive safe, so no one else loses their mommy the way you did.”

Ben climbed on the seat and touched his mother’s radiant face. Olivia sank next to him, available but waiting as he looked from Sophia to her several times, processing, absorbing. Nervousness bubbled, sharp and sour, in the back of Ellie’s mouth. She couldn’t read Ben. And she couldn’t rush him. The time he needed was the time he would take. Finally, he scooted next to Olivia and buried his face in her shoulder.

“Our being married doesn’t mean you’ll leave Mommy behind.” Ellie sat on the other end of the bench and gently squeezed one bony ankle. “You can come here anytime—”

Ben’s head popped up, and he launched himself at her, shoving her against the armrest. “I’m sorry I didn’t say yes to the adoption. Please don’t leave. I love you!” He burrowed under her chin.

“Oh, Ben, I love you too. I’m not leaving, ever.” Her throat nearly closed over the words, and she cradled him loosely.

“I don’t know how to give up Mommy to let you be Mommy.”

Olivia rested a hand on his back. “We told you before that you don’t have to give up Mommy for Ellie.”

“But Jonah calls his new dad, Dad. So now his old dad isn’t Dad anymore! I want Ellie to adopt me, but she can’t be Mommy. So she can’t adopt me!”

“Is that what you’re worried about, what to call me?” She smoothed the hair from his face. All week, she and Olivia had weighed what might be bothering him, but Ben had found the right words on his own.

“There are lots of names for family,” Olivia said. “You have Grandma and Nonna, right? Ellie doesn’t have to be Mommy.”

“Spanish for Mommy is Mamá. You could call me that.”

“And Mommy could stay Mommy?”

“Always, Ben. Always.”

He lifted his head. “Can I change my mind about the adoption?”

“Is it what you want, in here?” Ellie tapped his chest over his heart. “Because you will always be my son, no matter what a piece of paper says.” She’d never said son out loud before. Her voice cracked on the word.

“I do want it. I want you to be my Mamá.”

A laugh and a sob lodged in her throat. She crushed Ben to her.

“Too tight. Too tight!”

Kissing the top of his head, she relaxed her arms. He wiggled free and turned to the bench, his finger tracing other images. She hiccupped a laugh, which freed a trickle of tears. As they threatened to become a rush, she jerked to her feet, hoping to shield the flood of emotions from him. Olivia encircled her from behind, solid and silent. Clouds had scudded east, but strips of blue still fluttered among the gray. Ellie leaned into Olivia’s steady presence and released her relief and joy into the wide summer sky.