“It’s a miracle,” he said into my hair, over and over. “It’s a miracle. It’s a miracle.”
I thought the shock on his face was just disbelief. Six years. Of course he couldn’t believe it. I couldn’t believe it either.
That night, I heard him in the backyard on the phone. It was late, almost midnight. I’d gotten up for a glass of water and saw him through the kitchen window, standing by the fence in his bare feet, pacing.
I opened the back door a crack.
“I know, Mom,” he was saying. “I know. But it happened. It actually happened… No. No, I’m not going to. I’m choosing to believe it… Because I have to. Because what’s the alternative?”
He saw me in the doorway and hung up fast.
“Who was that?” I asked.
“Mom.” He smiled and walked over and kissed me. “She’s over the moon. She’s already planning to knit about forty blankets.”
