It would be her memory of the love she saw shining in Hank Coulter’s eyes.
Epilogue
When the newest Coulter male finally made his debut, Art Adams, Bess, Cricket, the entire Coulter clan, and all the Kendricks were gathered in the hospital hallway outside the birthing room. Hank was inside with his wife, vacillating between roles of coach and worried husband. He had delivered countless foals and honestly hadn’t believed childbirth would faze him, but he was badly shaken every time Carly cried out in pain.
Instead of telling her to breathe, all he could say was, “Sweet Christ,” or, “I’d give my right arm to go through this for you,” or, “Why did God decide it should be women who bear the children?” Each prayer, proclamation, and question was followed with, “Never again. You hear me, Carly? I’m getting cut.”
In between bouts of labor, Carly smiled weakly. “You’ll get a vasectomy over my dead body, Hank Coulter. I want at least one more baby, and maybe even more than that.”
“Later. I can’t even contemplate it now.”
Carly had no such problem. “I can get pregnant between transplants without causing serious complications.”
“Does the father dying of a massive coronary qualify as a complication? I can’t watch you go through this again.”
When Hank Jr. was born and swaddled in birthing room blue, Hank collapsed onto a chair, his sigh so exhausted that he might have delivered the child himself. He clung to Carly’s hand, the baby cradled in his other arm. Carly could see only a thick gray gloom. Just as her corneal specialist had predicted, she’d gone completely blind only a few days after Hank had collected her in Arizona, and she’d lived in grayness ever since.
Carly consoled herself with the thought that it would be only temporary. As soon as her specialist felt it was safe, he’d perform a second SK to restore her sight, and when that procedure began to fail, she could have her first corneal transplant. If all went well, and she had to believe it would, she had many years of sightedness to look forward to.
Maybe, with a little luck in her corner, Hank Jr. would be married with children of his own before her sight failed permanently. Carly could hope. Seeing her children grow to adulthood would be so wonderful. Seeing her grandchildren would be a fabulous bonus.
She just wished with all her heart that she had her sight right now so she might see her little boy.
As if Hank guessed her thoughts, he began describing their child to her. “He’s so perfect, Carly Jane,” he whispered huskily. “His hair is dark brown, just like mine, and his skin is dark as well. He’s got chubby red cheeks and a mouth just like yours.”
Tears filled Carly’s eyes, for now that she had been sighted, she actually knew what the color red was and what color brown was and what her own mouth looked like.
“He’s wearing a funny little blue stocking cap,” Hank murmured. “It makes him look like a wizened little cone head.”
Carly laughed, seeing their baby in her mind.
“His fingers and toes are so tiny, and they’re the prettiest pink you ever saw.”
Hank suddenly went quiet. Carly could almost feel his reverent awe. “Oh, God,” he whispered.
“What?” she whispered.
“The first light of morning,” he replied.
Carly could tell that the room had grown brighter. The grayness around her wasn’t quite as dark.
“I wish you could see it,” Hank whispered. “Pearly white, coming through the window blinds, touching the room with stripes of wispy rose and gold. It’s as if angels are here and filling the room with soft light.”
Carly clung to her husband’s big hand, seeing it all in her mind so clearly. It was almost as good as seeing it herself. And maybe angels were there. Angels were created from love, weren’t they? This room was brimming with love.
Hank bent to kiss her and slipped the tiny bundle of new life into her arms. Guiding her hands, he showed her their son’s fingers and toes, whispering, “Have you ever seen anything so tiny and perfect?”
As they stripped their baby naked, Hank painted pictures with words so Carly could see everything in her mind’s eye. There was such love in his voice as he described their son’s bowed legs, his swollen belly, the umbilical cord, and his wrinkled little face. He said each word with such heartfelt devotion and tenderness. Carly wondered now how she ever could have believed this man might not want her because she was less than perfect.
A lovely warmth filled her, and with an exhausted sigh, she let her eyes fall closed. She had known all her life that she would see only for a time and then go blind again in her later years. Never, though, had she imagined that she would be able to face the eventual return of blindness with such peace.
With Hank at her side, she would never really be blind again. His eyes were hers, just as he’d vowed. When they grew old, they would take walks at sunset, and she’d be able to see everything. His gift to her—pictures painted with words. Love wasn’t about easy, according to Hank. It was about sticking through thick and thin. He would always be with her, unless death took him first, and even then, Carly knew she’d never be left in complete darkness again.
She would have the love of this man to light her way.
Catherine Anderson, Blue Skies
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