Kismet (29 page)

After I walked Onyx around the ring the judges had come by and looked her over closer. Eventually they decided that she was the best Friesian there and we were all so stoked, but me especially. Onyx and I have been together through so much, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

Still riding the high of the win, I stand in the barn outside of her stable as people pass, checking out all the horses. I notice one girl and her mother lingering longer than everyone else a few feet from my stall. I smile and wave at them. The mother acknowledges me, but the girl just continues to stare at Onyx.

I take a few steps towards her. Bending down in front of her I notice the dark hair that is so familiar, I can’t help but feel an ache in my heart,. “This is Onyx.”

The little girl smiles, never taking her eyes off from Onyx. “She’s nonverbal,” her mom says, adding, “Autism,” by way of explanation.

My heart aches for this little girl because I see something of me in her. A lost soul, trapped in her own world. I remember how lonely I felt during both times I struggled with my mutism—both episodes triggered by a loss greater than I could deal with. But during those times I had people who refused to give up on me, and horses that didn’t pressure me to talk.

“Do you want to pet her?” I ask, taking her hand in mine. She looks up at me, grinning and I know I have my answer. With her hand in mine, I gently place them on Onyx’s side and she brays with approval. The little girl shakes her free hand, seemingly excited. “You like that?” I ask.

Looking over my shoulder at her mom, I see her hand over her mouth, tears filling her eyes. “That’s the most I’ve seen her interact with anyone, or anything,” she says with a quiver in her voice.

I turn my attention back to the joyous little girl and then it hits me. I know how we’re going to save the farm.

I spend a few more minutes with the girl and her mother. When it’s time for them to leave I give them my number and tell her to stop by the farm anytime. Once they leave, Parker comes over.

“What was that all about?” he asks.

“That,” I point at the girl and her mom as they walk away, “
that
is how we’re going to save the farm.”

The explanation obviously isn’t good enough because he looks at me quizzically.

“We’re going to help children with special needs. They’re going to come and use the horses to help them. Just like I did, just like that little girl did.”

A wry smile crosses his lips before Parker puts his arm around my neck, pulling me in for a kiss. Everything that needs to be said is communicated in that one little action and our lips dance together for a few moments, the sound of Tommy groaning cuts in. We stop kissing, and I turn my head slightly to see Tommy standing in front of us, holding a huge bag of kettle corn. “I love you guys, but you have got to cut it with the PDA. I can only handle so much.”

“Well, your sister here has just figured out how to save the farm,” Parker quips.

Tommy looks at me a smile on his face. “Of course she did. Katie’s amazing.”

Parker looks at me, complete and utter adoration in his eyes. “She sure is.”

“Katie, I don’t know if I can do this.”

Parker nervously wipes the palms of his hands on the front of his jeans. He’s rubbing so hard I’m worried he might actually wear a hole through them. “I mean, what if I’m a terrible parent?”

I sigh before placing my hands on his, bringing him out of his trance, and he stops moving them to look up at me. “That will never happen because it’s not possible,” I say. Without a doubt, I know that Parker will be a great dad because he wants to be, and I know that if he loves this baby even half as much as he loves me then everything will be okay.

“I imagine my dad said the same thing to my mom,” he retorts, my reassuring words appearing to fail when he pulls his hands from mine and runs them quickly through his hair.

“Maybe so, but your mom is not you. You’ve got me, and I’ve got you, and together we’ve got it all.”

My hands rest on my already slightly rounded stomach. I’m a nervous wreck myself, but Parker needs me to be strong. I’ve leaned on him long enough, and it’s my turn to be the rock for a change. This is his first time feeling this level of responsibility so he’s allowed to freak out, just like we all do. Every first time parent deserves the opportunity to have that moment.

“Katie?” the nurse calls, opening the door to the waiting room. Forcing a smile at her, I place my hand in Parker’s and we follow her back to a small room, fully equipped with all the normal gynecological equipment. As we stare at the stark white sterile walls, she tells us to make ourselves comfortable and that the doctor will be with us shortly, before she leaves us.

“I hate places like this.”

I look at Parker. All the color from his face is totally gone and he looks like he is about to pass out at any moment. “Quit it would you. You’re making me nervous, I’m about to start counting tiles here.”

My confession works and he makes his way toward me, leaning down to press his forehead to mine. Gently, I place my hand on the back of his neck and I swear I feel all the tension within him melt away.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, “I’m just so worried that this all might be too good to be true.”

“Don’t think like that,” I scold. “Power of positive thinking.”

“When did you turn into Stevenson?” he asks.

“Since I was able to find myself again.”

The tension in the room eases and he gently presses his lips to mine, erasing all the worries either of us have, just as the doctor walks in. We giggle as we stop kissing and direct our attention to him and he exchanges pleasantries with us before getting down to business.

As he talks, he thumbs through my, very thick, chart. “I’m going to be very candid with you, Katie. Given your recent trauma and loss I’m not sure how I feel about this pregnancy.” More flipping. “Your HCG levels look good, like it will be a viable pregnancy. In fact,” he pauses, seemingly deep in thought, “your levels put you at around 10 weeks already.” This makes my heart stop as I think back to the presumed night of conception.

He kisses my forehead.

Then my nose.

Each cheek.

And just as his lips touch my mouth he pushes inside

I do the calculation in my head. We’d conceived this baby the first time we slept together… just like with Zoe.

Ironic?

Fate?

Kismet?

Whatever it was, it was meant to be.

The doctor continues his spiel, bringing me back to the present. “But I’m not sure your body will be able to carry to term. Even if you do, you’re going to be at risk of some serious problems.”

Parker puts his hand up, urging the doctor to stop. “We don’t need you to say anything else, sir. We hear you, and we appreciate your concern. But this baby is a gift. A miracle straight from the man upstairs. Katie and I have been through so much and if this is where our life is supposed to be so be it. There’s too much bad shit in this world and we can’t afford to focus on the negative any longer. So with all do respect, sir, can you just do your damn job and make sure our baby is healthy.”

The doctor purses his eyebrows together in thought. Then silently he pulls out the Doppler and squirts some of that cold jelly on my stomach. I can’t tell if he’s put out with us, or if he respects Parker’s words, but it doesn’t really matter as we squeeze each other’s hands tightly. Parker flinches when the doctor turns on the Doppler causing it to crackle. It makes a whooshing sound as he starts rolling it back and forth but eventually he stills and the room filled with the most beautiful rhythmic sound known to man.

“Do you hear that?” the doctor asks with a smile. Seeing him smile I’m convinced that he respects Parker and our views on this baby.

Parker nods.

“That’s your baby. And a damn lucky one if you ask me.”

“That’s our baby, Katie,” Parker coos as he listens intently.

“I know.”

The doctor holds the Doppler in place, allowing us to continue listening in silence, each of the strong beats resonating deep within us. Hearing that miraculous sound I come to the realization that the journey we’re about to embark on doesn’t change our past or make it right even, but it does give us hope. Something to believe in. Belief that miracles
do
exist and they happen everyday, in spite of all the suffering in the world.

Our love is proof of that.

So is life.

Especially this life.

The mood is buoyant as Parker and I drive home from my doctor’s appointment. I still can’t really grasp that all roads lead here. That with the lifetime of heartache and hurt, right out of left field I’ve been brought something like this. So deep am I in thought that I almost don’t hear the song on the radio. Parker nudges my arm and I look at him smiling, my grin widening as he reaches forward and turns the radio up, singing along with the lyrics.

The song, “Ride Wit Me” by Nelly, had played over and over the summer Parker got his Mustang. The three of us, Parker, Tommy and I, drove everywhere for months because he’d been so damn proud of it, forcing us to go on a drive just for the sake of riding. They had both just turned twenty, and weren’t quite at that age of being “too cool” to hang out with fifteen-year-old me. I thought I was hot shit, and in a way I was. “Ride Wit Me” had been the anthem of the summer and we would listen to it on repeat.

“Oh my word,” I shout over the music. “I haven’t heard this song in
years
!”

“Sing with me!” Parker commands and picks back up with his benevolent rapping.

So, just like a couple of crazy foolish teenagers, we rap away our worries. Once the song is over I lean forward and turn the radio down. “We needed that,” he says before reaching over and taking my hand in his. We
did
need that, and it gives me just the right amount of confidence to make my next decision.

“I want to go visit the graves,” I say before I can chicken out.

Parker looks at me out of the corner of his eye. “You do?”

“I do. You and I need to go and say hello.”

“Don’t you mean good-bye?”

“No, I mean hello. I haven’t been there like I should and I know they’re gone, I do know that, but I refuse to forget them and they deserve to have someone visit them, to have someone tell them what’s going on. Because maybe, just like me, they need to heal themselves up in heaven.” And in that moment, saying those words for the first time since my life fell to pieces, I truly knew that I was going to be okay.

Pulling into the graveyard I feel the familiar anxiety grip my body, but this time I will not let it overtake me. So I close my eyes and push it down deep within me, where it belongs. I refuse to let my self-doubt control me any longer. It may have taken me twenty years to know where I stand in this crazy thing called life, but without a doubt I know I belong here next to Parker. The worry must be getting to him because he looks at me once the car is in park. “I love you,” he whispers, offering me some reassurance.