“This okay?” the nurse asked and pushed the brakes down.
“Perfect,” I replied and smiled.
When Poppy’s family came in a short time later, her mama hugged me. “She’ll love it,” she said. As we sat around the bed, Poppy stirred from time to time, shifting where she lay, but for no longer than a few seconds.
Over the past couple of days, her parents had taken turns staying overnight in the family room across the hallway. One stayed at home with the girls. More often than not it was her mama who stayed here.
I stayed in Poppy’s room.
I lay beside her in her small bed every night. Slept with her in my arms, waiting for the moment she woke up.
I knew her parents weren’t exactly thrilled with it, but I figured they allowed it because, why not? They wouldn’t disallow it. Not now. Not in this circumstance.
And I sure as hell wasn’t leaving.
Poppy’s mama was talking to her sleeping daughter about her sisters. She was telling her about how they were doing at school—mundane things. I sat, half-listening, when there was a soft knock at the door.
When I glanced up, I saw my pappa open the door. He gave Mrs. Litchfield a small wave, then looked at me. “Rune? Can I see you for a second?”
I tensed, my eyebrows pulling into a frown. My pappa waited by the door, never breaking our stare. Blowing out a breath, I rose from my seat. My pappa backed away from the door as I approached. As I left the room, I saw he held something in his hand.
He rocked on his feet nervously.
“I know you didn’t ask me to, but I developed your films for you.”
I froze.
“I know you asked me to take them home. But I’ve seen you, Rune. I’ve watched you take these photographs, and I know they’re for Poppy.” He shrugged. “Now Poppy’s waking up more and more, I thought you might want to have them with you, for her to see.”
Without saying anything else, he handed over a photo album. It was filled with print after print of all the things I’d captured while Poppy was asleep. It was all the captured moments she’d missed out on.
My throat began to close. I hadn’t been home. I hadn’t been able to develop these in time for her … but my pappa…
“Thank you,” I rasped, then dropped my eyes to the ground.
In my peripheral vision, I saw my pappa’s body relax, releasing its tension. He raised his hand, as if to touch my shoulder. I stilled as he did. My pappa’s hand paused in mid-air, but clearly deciding to commit, he placed his hand on my shoulder and squeezed.
I closed my eyes as I felt his hand on me. And for the first time in a week, I felt like I could breathe. For a second, as my pappa showed me he was with me, I actually breathed.
But the longer we stood there, the more I didn’t know what to do. I hadn’t been like this with him for so long. Hadn’t let him get this close.
Needing to get away, unable to deal with this again, I nodded my head and went back into the room. I shut the door and sat down, the album on my lap. Mrs. Litchfield didn’t ask what it was; I didn’t tell her. She continued reciting her stories to Poppy until it was late.
When Mrs. Litchfield had left the room, I slipped off my boots, and like I did every night, I opened the curtains and moved to lie beside Poppy.
I remembered looking at the stars, then the next thing I knew, I felt a hand stroking over my arm. Disoriented, I blinked my eyes open, the early rays of a new day seeping into the room.
I tried to clear the fog of sleep from my head. I felt hair tickling my nose, and warm breath drifting across my face. Glancing up, I blinked the sleep from my eyes, and my gaze collided with the prettiest pair of green eyes I’d ever seen.
My heart missed a beat, and a smile spread on Poppy’s lips, her deep dimples sinking in on her pale cheeks. Lifting my head in surprise, I held her hand and whispered, “Poppymin?”
Poppy blinked, blinked again, then her gaze ranged around the room. She swallowed, wincing as she did. Seeing her lips were dry, I reached over and took the glass of water from the side table. I brought the straw to her mouth. Poppy drank a few small sips, then pushed the glass aside.
She sighed in relief. Lifting her favorite cherry lip balm from the table, I smoothed a thin layer on her lips. Poppy slowly rubbed her lips together. Not breaking my gaze, she smiled, a wide, beautiful smile.
Feeling my chest expand with light, I leaned down and pressed my lips against hers. It was brief, barely a kiss, but when I pulled back, Poppy swallowed and whispered hoarsely, “Kiss number…” Her brow furrowed as confusion played on her face.
“Nine hundred and three,” I finished for her.