He gave me a sad smile.
Then I walked away carrying the last secret my husband had kept from me.
***
Two months earlier, secrets hadn’t been part of our marriage.
Baby names were.
“That’s generous of him.”
“Absolutely not,” I’d told Mark.
“You rejected it too fast.”
“You suggested Clementine.”
We were sitting on our porch, his hand resting on my six-month belly.
“It’s a strong name.”
“You rejected it too fast.”
“For an orange.”
Mark laughed.
Even then, the sound caught slightly in his chest.
“Fine. Cecelia.”
I looked at him.
Even then, the sound caught slightly in his chest.
“Cecelia?”
“My grandmother used to sing that song with the name in it.”
“You said she sang everything badly.”
“Still counts.”
“That’s not a reason to name a human being.”
“It made you smile.”
“You said she sang everything badly.”
“Cecelia,” I said quietly.
The baby kicked beneath his hand.
Mark’s eyebrows lifted.
“See? She voted.”
“She kicked you.”
“Strong approval.”
The baby kicked beneath his hand.
I covered his hand with mine.
“Cecelia.”
This time, it sounded like our daughter’s name.
We’d wanted her for years.
Then, six months into my pregnancy, Mark got sick.
We’d wanted her for years.
The doctors gave him no more than three months. He probably wouldn’t live long enough to meet her.
***
One evening, we sat on the porch again while Cecelia kicked hard enough to make my shirt move.
