Wearing a black cashmere top, the hot pants Xander liked to say I only wore for "legal reasons", and a pair of strappy high heeled sandals, I sneaked down to the root cellar as quietly as I possibly could. I didn't want him to hear, didn't want him to know. he was up in the main house, and I knew he hoped to high hell I'd forgotten what today was.
I was nearly to the bottom of the stairs when I heard Xander say, "Woman, you come down here in what you think is a hush but I hear you clompin' in them shoes a mile away. I know what you're doin'," and I froze in my tracks.
"Xander, I'm sorry," I muttered, as his shadow fell over me, "I know I said I wouldn't but...SHE WAS OUR DAUGHTER, goddamn it!"
"Come on, then," he said gently, coming down the stairs to meet me. He took my hand and led me down the last two steps into the root cellar. He was nude and smelled of mint, having just showered, this glorious man for whom I'd long ago given up my so-called life in New York and come out to the flat plains of the Midwest.
I touched the tribal tattoo on his chest, looked down at the red earth of the cellar floor, and said quietly, "I've been keeping the box there," pointing to a spot under a tarp. He nodded, went and got the box. Itt had been a total of seven years since our little girl had been born, but I remember that night like it was last night. She'd been born in this very house. As Xander opened the box and pulled out the rattle, the teddy bear, and the other toys we'd happily bought in anticipation of her arrival, I picked up a picture of our little bundle. In the photo, Xander held her. Even now, I was amazed at how much she looked like his side of the family, with her red hair and light eyes.
"She should be outside riding her bike," I sobbed, putting my head on Xander's shoulder.
