Epilogue
McKenzie
“I
don’t understand.” Janine slid into the plastic chair in the hospital cafeteria and passed me a cup of coffee: cream and sugar. Coffee had finally started to taste good again.
“What’s not to understand? It’s Aurora.”
Janine stared at me. Blinked. She looked cute this morning in jeans and a sweater. It wasn’t as if she’d gone full Lilly on us, but I felt like she was figuring out who she was without worrying about what other people expected of her. Not even Lilly and me. She was wearing eyeliner, which I intended to tease her about at some point.
“She left everything to Maura and Mia?” she asked, still dumbfounded.
“Yup.” My annoyance was obvious in my voice. I was past the shock I’d felt when I’d seen Aurora’s attorney yesterday. Now I had moved on to being pissed. I hadn’t broken the news to my girls. I was trying to figure out how I could
not
tell them. Of course, Aurora’s attorney had said that wasn’t possible. “No trust, nothing. My girls turn eighteen in March, and they inherit”—I took another sip of coffee—“somewhere around one point seven million dollars,
each
.”
“Holy shit.” Janine took a sip of her black coffee. And again, “Holy shit.” It had become one of her favorite phrases—picked up from Aurora, I was sure.
“Right.”
Janine stared at me across the table, her gaze flicking to the clock on the wall. We’d both been in the hospital for hours. We’d even been in to see Lilly before things got down to the wire. We’d already talked to Matt twice since the birth. The birthing center in the hospital had some rule about no visitors being allowed in until the baby was an hour old. (Like we were
visitors?
) We only had to wait eleven more minutes. I planned to hit the elevators in five.
“I didn’t know Aurora was . . .” Janine was at a loss for words.
“That rich?” I asked her.
“That rich or that stupid.” She put her hands together on the table. “Why did she leave it to them and not you?”
“Obviously she assumed I was going to die before she did.” Someone called a code something-or-the-other over the loudspeaker almost directly over our table. I waited until Janine could hear me again. “The will was written in April. It was done perfectly legally; everything’s in order. I was dying. She thought she was doing a good thing.”
“And Jude?” Janine asked.
I shook my head. “He’s not mentioned in the will. I talked to Hannad last night. He seems fine with it. He says Jude is fine.”
“That’s a lot of money
not
to leave to your only child.”
I glanced at her over the rim of my paper cup. “I suspect Hannad is worth far more than that.”
Janine glanced away, beginning to get fidgety. “I should call Jude. I haven’t talked to him since the funeral.”
“You should,” I encouraged.
She drew her lips back in a sad smile. “I don’t know. I got the impression when we said good-bye that he just wanted to let that part of his life go. Let us go, go with her.”
We were both quiet for a minute. Lost in our thoughts. So much had happened in the last few months that I felt as if I could barely keep up. How could life change so quickly?
The new drug was working, my lungs were looking better every month, and I was seriously considering going back to work part time. Aurora was gone. Things were going well between Janine and Chris. The beach house was on the market. My girls were going to be millionaires in six months. And Lilly had a baby this morning.
I studied Janine across the table. She looked good. Her attorney expected the lawsuit against her to be dropped before it went to court. She talked about Chris like he was now a permanent thing. I’m so happy that she’s so happy.
She glanced at the clock again. “We should go. If we’re one minute late—”
“I know.” I rose. “We’ll be in trouble.”
We both ditched cups still half-full of coffee and followed one hallway, then another to a bank of elevators. We took the elevator to the maternity floor and then followed signs to the birthing suites and checked in with a young nurse dressed in bright pink scrubs.
Matt met us at the door to Lilly’s room. He was dressed in khakis, an oxford, and an argyle sweater vest. Despite a twenty-two-hour labor, he didn’t seem to have a hair out of place. He was grinning as hard as any new father could.
“Thank goodness you’re here.” He kissed the top of my head, then Janine’s. “I was afraid I was going to have to come looking for you.”
“You said an hour,” Janine pointed out, checking her cell phone.
“I know, but according to Lilly, it’s been sixty-two minutes.” He stepped aside. “Go on in. I’m going to run downstairs, get some coffee, and make a couple more phone calls. She keeps taking the phone out of my hand while I’m trying to talk to people.”
I laughed as I lifted up on the toes of my knee-high boots and kissed him on the cheek. “Congratulations, Papa.” Then I pushed through the half-open door.
The room was nice. More like a hotel room than the kind of hospital room I’d stayed in after having Mia and Maura. Lilly was sitting in a leather recliner, dressed in a pale blue kimono-style bathrobe. Her hair was combed, and she was wearing pink lipstick. Of course she was. The only sign that she’d pushed out a baby an hour ago were the crinkles of fatigue around her eyes. And of course, it was obvious she’d been crying.
She squealed when she saw us, and then she offered the white bundle to us.
I took her first. “Oh my God, Lilly,” I breathed, gazing down at the tiny, sweet face. Her skin was pale like Matt’s, but she had jet-black hair and brows. “She’s gorgeous.”
“She is, isn’t she?” Lilly grabbed a tissue from a box and dabbed at her eyes.
Janine peered over my shoulder. “You know I don’t know much about babies, Lilly, but I’d say this one is pretty damned cute.”
Lilly cut her eyes at Janine.
“Sorry!” Janine apologized. “I forgot. No freakin’ cursing around the kid.”
I rocked the baby against my chest, remembering the feel of Mia and Maura in my arms when they were this small. I closed my eyes and smelled her heavenly scent. “She’s perfect,” I whispered. “Our baby is perfect.”
“So what’s her name?” Janine asked, taking a chair near Lilly. It was the question that had been on both our minds since Matt had called us an hour ago to say she’d been born.
“I hope it won’t upset you . . . either of you,” Lilly said slowly.
Aurora.
She was going to call her Aurora. Janine had been sure of it. I hadn’t.
“She’s your baby,” Janine said. “You can name her what you want.”
Lilly looked at Janine and then me. She held my gaze for a moment. “I’m going to call her Joy.”
“Joy,” I murmured, looking down, pressing a kiss to her soft cheek.
“Not Aurora?” Janine said softly.
Lilly turned to her, shaking her head slowly. “No. Matt and I talked and . . .” She looked down and then up again at Janine, tears in her eyes. “We decided that was too big a burden for our daughter, to carry that name.”
We both watched Janine.
“I’m sorry if that hurts you,” Lilly told her.
Janine looked up. Tears in her eyes. “No,” she whispered. She rose and came to me and put out her arms.
I handed the baby to her, pretty sure she had never held one of my girls when they were newborns.
“Joy deserves her own name,” Janine said, awkwardly cradling the baby in her arms and looking down at her.
I walked over to Lilly and leaned down to hug her. “I think Aurora would agree.”