I didn’t ask how she knew it was a son. You just know, sometimes, the way you know when a parent is praying versus when they’re bargaining.
I looked over at Wade. He was watching the baby’s face the way you watch something you’re afraid might disappear if you stop looking.
I did the math on the date without meaning to. The tattoo was about nine years old, give or take.
I went to the break room and stood there for a minute.
Just stood there.
What He Told Me
I didn’t ask him directly. I’m not that person. Some things you wait for.
But around hour thirteen, when Baby Boy Nolan had been fed and changed and was sleeping again against that broad chest, Wade looked up and caught me watching.
He didn’t look embarrassed.
He said, “His name was Cody.”
I sat down in the chair next to him. The one families used.
“He was five weeks early,” Wade said. “Back in 2015. Hospital about three hours east of here.” He looked down at the baby. “There wasn’t a program like this one back then. No volunteers. His mama, she had some complications after. Couldn’t be there the first couple days.” He paused. “And I didn’t know how to ask if I could just sit with him. Thought they’d tell me to go wait in the hall.”
He rubbed his thumb, very gently, along the edge of the baby’s swaddle.
“So I waited in the hall.”
