Late Night Delivery (sequel to "A Gift for Christmas")

The police car rounded the corner on the mostly dark road, its headlights at first showing nothing but lightly snow-covered trees and bushes.

“This area could definitely use a few streetlights,” its driver muttered to herself. “Reminder: send a request to the traffic department.” She paused. “Oh, wait. It's already Christmas Day. They probably only have a skeleton crew today. Send it tomorrow instead.”

Then the headlights lit up the aftermath of a collision of an SUV and a minivan. Bent metal and shattered pieces of glass.

She pulled up near them, grabbed her flashlight and crowbar, and headed over to the accident scene.

At first there didn't seem to be any movement inside either vehicle. Then she heard the sound of a baby crying. It seemed to be coming from the SUV.

“Maybe I need to get my eyes checked,” she muttered to herself. “I could've sworn I didn't see anyone else in there.”

The police officer walked back to the SUV and shined her flashlight through the window behind the driver's seat. Sitting in a baby-carrier, safely belted and none the worse for being in an accident was a baby. She pried open the locked door with a crowbar. The volume of the baby's crying immediately increased.

“Just a moment,” she told the baby. “I'll have you out of here as soon as I can.”

She unbelted the baby-carrier and lifted it and its occupant out of the SUV.

“What a night it's been for you,” she told the baby. “If those are your parents, I guess it means you're an orphan. On Christmas no less. Life just isn't fair sometimes.”

She shook her head sadly and took the baby-carrier back to her police car. Once she had the baby-carrier safely belted in the back seat, she contacted 911.

“911,” one of the dispatchers answered. “What's your emergency?”

“Collision on Old Cedar Road,” the police officer said and looked around. The flashlight beam showed a sign for a local park. “About a hundred feet past the entrance to Cedar Ridge Park. “Two dead adults in one vehicle, one injured adult in the other, and a baby who seems to have survived just fine.”

“A baby?” the dispatcher asked, sounding surprised.

“That's right,” the police officer confirmed.

“All right,” the dispatcher went on. “And your name is?”

“This is Officer Petra Davis,” the police officer said. “I was on my way home.” Better call the husband next. Let him know what happened. “Maybe one of the vehicles slid on a patch of black ice.”

“All right,” the dispatcher said. “The ambulance is already on its way. Should be there in about a minute or less.”

“Thanks,” Officer Davis said. “And thank you for working on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day.”

“Always glad to help,” the dispatcher said. “Merry Christmas, Officer Davis.”

“Merry Christmas,” Officer Davis said.

The ambulance arrived soon after. The paramedics carefully extracted the surviving driver, placed her on a stretcher, and rolled the stretcher into the rear of the ambulance.

Once they were gone, Officer Davis called for a pair of tow trucks and then called her husband, to let him know she would be home as soon as possible. He answered sleepily that he was glad she was okay and he would see her in the morning.

Once the tow trucks arrived and were towing the damaged vehicles away, Officer Davis used her work cellphone (not her personal one, even thought she was technically not on-duty at the moment) to check the police database for stolen vehicles. Neither license plate came up as stolen. She also learned that both owners were from out-of-town. (Maybe that was why they weren't familiar with this road. Especially at night and in winter.) Any relatives here in Dandridge? The two in the SUV didn't have any. But the minivan driver had one. An ex-husband and a daughter.

Officer Davis sighed, found directions to their house online. Back in the car, she noticed that the baby had stopped crying and seemed to be asleep. The baby probably had been scared and maybe also hungry. The officer sniffed the air. Definitely didn't need a diaper changed. At least not for the next few minutes. Thank God for small miracles.

----------

EUNICE: Dad yawned and looked at the watch on his right wrist. “It's already a little after midnight. Officially Christmas Day.”

I felt more sad than tired. Mom hadn't come here after church after all. Maybe I shouldn't have hoped for it so much. Maybe she didn't want to be with both of us.

Dad looked at my face. “I'm sorry, Kiddo. Some things just aren't meant to be, no matter how much you may want them to.”

“I just wanted one hour, or maybe two, with both of my parents,” I said.

“It doesn't mean you can't dream about it, though,” Dad said.

“Then I'll try to dream about the three of us being together on Christmas Day,” I said.

“Mind if I try to dream about it, too?” Dad asked.

It was rare that Dad asked me for permission to do something. But it was Christmas and I felt generous towards him. Why not let him?

“Go for it,” I said. “I'm going to dream about the time we spent Christmas at the beach. Even the heavy downpour didn't dampen our spirits. We still had fun together.”

He smiled a little. “We sure did, Kiddo. We sure did.”

We hugged and I wondered if he still missed Mom. Not as she was now, but as she used to be. Back when they were happy together. After all, it's not as if the divorce was something that they both wanted. Maybe part of the divorce was agreeing not to be together again, if at all possible. Or maybe it just hurt too much for one or both of them to be together again.

As Dad headed for the stairs, we both heard someone pressing the doorbell not once but several times. He signed and went to the front door. When he opened it, I was hopeful that it was Mom after all. But it wasn't.

“Mr. Taylor?” an unknown female voice asked.

Dad nodded. “I can show you my driver's license, if necessary.”

“No need, sir,” the unknown female said. “I'm Officer Petra Davis and I'm afraid I have some news for you. Good and bad. Which would you prefer hearing first?”

“The bad,” Dad said. “That way I know that it can't get any worse.”

“Perhaps,” Officer Davis said. “The bad news is that your ex-wife has been in an accident. A collision on Old Cedar Road.”

That wasn't more than half a mile from our house. Maybe Mom had been on her way here after all.

“Dead?” Dad asked.

“No, sir,” Officer Davis said. “But definitely injured. She's been taken by ambulance to Dandridge Mercy Hospital.”

“I know where that is,” Dad said. “But what about the other vehicle?”

“More bad news,” Officer Davis said. “Both the driver and one passenger are dead. The other passenger was in the back seat and survived.”

“Some good news, then,” Dad said.

“Yes, sir,” Officer Davis said. “And further good news: the back seat passenger was a baby. I was thinking of taking it home, where my husband and I could take care of her until we find someone to adopt her.”

A baby girl? I wanted to ask which baby girl, but I didn't dare hope for the impossible. Besides, the police might not yet know the baby girl's name and who her dead parents were.

“We could take care of her,” Dad offered. “After all, it's Christmas. And then you could come for her sometime later today, if necessary.”

“That's very generous of you, sir,” Officer Davis said and handed Dad a baby-carrier. “If you decide to adopt her, please notify us the day after Christmas. We'll try to help expedite the process as much as we can.”

“Understood,” Dad said. “Thank you for all that you've done, Officer. Merry Christmas.”

“Merry Christmas to you, sir,” Officer Davis said, turned and left.

Dad closed the door and brought the baby-carrier over to where I was. “Not exactly a present, but definitely unexpected.”

“Could I see her?” I asked.

“She's asleep right now,” Dad said. “Hopefully she won't be hungry or need a diaper change for another hour or two.”

“I'll be careful,” I said.

He nodded and placed the baby-carrier next to the couch.

I looked down and gently tucked the baby blanket more closely around the baby, to keep her warm. And then saw her face. An all-too-familiar face. Oh my God. How could this possibly happen?

“Dad?” I asked, trying not to cry. “It's her.”

“You've seen her before?” Dad asked. “In the hospital's maternity ward?”

I nodded. “I'm her birth mother.”

He sat down. “You gave her up for adoption, I assume?”

I nodded again. “Mom had me sign papers that authorized the transfer of the baby to two waiting parents-to-be. After the baby was born, I was given one more look at her, and then the nurse took her to her new parents. I never thought I'd see her again. And yet here she is.”

“Then that probably means that the two dead adults in the same vehicle were her adopted parents,” Dad said. “I wonder if your mother will insist on another adoption of your daughter.”

“I hope not,” I said. “I think once was enough.”

Definitely enough.

“We're going to need baby-related supplies,” Dad said, far more practical than I tended to be. “I hope some stores are open today even though it's Christmas.” He paused. “I wonder what name her adopted parents gave her.”

I shrugged. “I don't know. Did the police officer say?”

He shook his head. “I guess that means you get to name her after all. What are you going to call her?”

I looked at my daughter, asleep with her thumb in her mouth. “Ariel.” It sounded so right.

“What about a middle name?” Dad asked.

“Maybe Mom's first name?” I replied.

“Ariel Gillian Taylor,” Dad said. “She'll need a birth certificate. But that can wait until after Christmas. Welcome to our family, Ariel, and Merry Christmas.” He stood up, a little bit stiffly. “Let me know if you need any help tonight. Otherwise, I think I'll try again to go upstairs and get some sleep. You get some sleep, too.”

“I'll never believe this really happened,” I said.

“Sure you will, Kiddo,” he said. “When you wake up the next time, just look at the baby and you'll know you it's for real.”

“Thank you, Dad,” I said. “For everything.”

“You're welcome,” he said. “Merry Christmas and sleep well.”

“Same to you,” I said.

----------

Sleep was broken up into two- or three-hour-long sections. I slept when Ariel slept; I woke up whenever she needed anything. Food, burping, new diaper, comfort, etc. Somehow I managed not to be too tired when morning came. And somehow it still wasn't a dream.

“Morning, sweetheart,” I told Ariel as I picked her up and held her, cradled in my arms. “Merry Christmas.”

She probably didn't know what “Christmas” was just yet. But she definitely knew what “food” meant and that I was its source for now.

“No present could be as wonderful as you are,” I told her while she nursed. “How in the world I was lucky enough to be with you again, I'll never know. I'm sorry about your adopted parents, though. Like me at the hospital, they didn't have much time to get to know you. I plan to get to know you -- and vice-versa -- as much as possible.”

When Ariel finished nursing, I burped her, and was about to lay her back in her baby-carrier. But she held onto one of my fingers with her little left hand. Apparently, she wasn't ready to go back to the baby-carrier. She seemed happier in my arms, which I didn't mind in the least.

I wondered if I'd ever switch Ariel to bottle-feeding. Maybe. But for now, the nursing her suited me just fine, as long as she didn't insist on it in public (some places and people didn't mind, some did).

As Ariel fell asleep, I said as I gently ran my fingers through her short dark hair, “I'm not sure how Mom is going to react to you. Hopefully, she won't insist on my giving you up again. Because if she does, I'm not going to do it. You're mine, I'm yours, and hopefully we'll spend many years together.”

Dad came downstairs soon after, checked to see how Ariel and I were doing. “Get any sleep?” he softly asked me.

“A little,” I said. “You and Mom probably got about as much when I was a baby.”

He smiled and nodded. “But you'll forget about it quickly enough. Especially once she starts sleeping through an entire night.”

“I hope that she doesn't grow up too quickly,” I said. “I want to remember all this as much as I can.”

“Why not create a baby book?” Dad suggested. “Like we did for you.”

“I have one?” I asked. This was news to me. Neither of them had ever mentioned any baby book to me before now.

“You sure do,” he said. “I think your mother left it here and I think I know where she put it. Be right back.”

He headed for the rec room, which was between the living room and the garage. (“Rec” didn't mean anything like football or basketball. Instead, it had an old stereo, plenty of LPs, plenty of books and magazines, and a bumper pool game that he'd built when I was a little girl. Mom probably thought it was a good place to store a baby book. Especially if she didn't want anyone to find it.) A few minutes later, he returned and handed me a slightly dust-covered book.

I wiped away the dust and read what was on the cover: “Eunice's Baby Book. Begun in 2002.”

Opening it, I saw page after page of information about me. Where I was born. What size and weight I was at birth. What my first words were (“Mommy”, “Daddy”, and “Cheerios”). And so on. It stopped when I was about five years old. I guess there wasn't much sense in continuing it since I wasn't a baby anymore.

“Can I keep this?” I asked.

Dad nodded and checked his watch. “I think we have time for some breakfast before my parents arrive. And maybe later we can go to the hospital and see how your mother is doing.”

It seemed odd that he was more concerned about Mom today than he'd been since they were divorced. Or maybe he'd always cared about her, and that had lain hidden beneath all the separation- and divorce-related emotions. Not all parents stayed apart after a divorce. Some managed to stay friends at least. (One example being my friends Brian and Pamela, whose parents were still friends after their divorce. Maybe it was easier because they had adopted Brian and Pamela.)

“Do you want breakfast where you are?” Dad asked. “Or do you think Ariel will be okay if you sit at the table near the kitchen?”

“What if I move the baby-carrier over to the table and put it beside my chair?” I suggested.

Which is what happened.

We were finishing breakfast and putting the glasses, plates, etc. in the dishwasher when we heard the doorbell ring. We looked at each other.

“Maybe it's Officer Davis again?” I wondered.

“Or maybe not,” Dad said and went to the front door.

I could hear the happy “Hello” and “Merry Christmas” from my paternal grandparents. Dad quickly explained that we had an additional person in the house. A very small person. Grampa and Granny handed Dad their coats and rushed past him, looking around for a baby.

“She's in the kitchen with her mother,” Dad added. “Not sure if she's still asleep.”

They came into the kitchen and Granny knelt down. “Well, hello there,” she said. Then she looked up at me. “Does she have a name yet?”

I nodded. “Ariel Gillian Taylor.”

Grampa looked at Dad. “But I thought that she'd been given up for adoption at the hospital.”

“And she was,” Dad said. “For now, she's with us.”

“For good?” Grampa asked.

“For now,” Dad said. “Her adopted parents are dead. They died in a collision late last night.”

“How sad,” Granny said. “But at least Ariel is back with her birth mother.”

“I wonder how Gillian is taking it,” Grampa said. “Probably not too well.”

Dad didn't say anything.

My grandparents looked at him and then at me.

“She is coming over today, isn't she?” Granny asked. “She isn't making a big fuss like she did last Christmas, I hope.”

“No to both questions,” Dad said.

Granny sighed and shook her head. “Still as stubborn as ever.”

“Not stubborn, Mom,” Dad said. “She's in the hospital, actually.”

She stared at him.

“She was in that same accident,” Dad explained. “She and Ariel were the only survivors.”

“Was she on her way here?” Grampa asked.

“We won't know until she's awake and tells us,” Dad said.

“Are you planning to visit her at the hospital?” Granny asked.

Dad nodded. “For now, let's celebrate Christmas. Just the four of us. After that, we can take Gillian's presents to the hospital with us.”