The Identity Check by Ken Merrell - HTML preview

EPILOGUE

TEPHANIE LAY RESTING in her hospital bed. After thirteen long hours of labor, enough pain to make Mitch begin to wonder if it was all worth it, several bouts with despair and short tempers, and the amazing epidural that had made the last hour the most incredible experience of the young couple’s lives, the work was done. Two tiny, perfect newborns, their bodies a bit swollen from their prolonged and dramatic curtaincall, lay at their mother’s breast.
Darcy was born first, with lots of curly, strawberry-blonde hair and

long legs like her mother’s. Drake, the bigger of the two, was a little less willing to come into the world. Breech, he’d refused to be turned. (Stephanie later joked that he’d acquired his dad’s stubborn streak.) After a touch-and-go delivery, he made his arrival. Poor Mitch had worried that the doctor was going to pull the little guy’s legs off as he tugged him free. His blonde hair also had a touch of red.

Mitch was a bit protective at first, insisting that Stephanie get some rest before the onslaught of well-wishing friends. While she slept, he helped bathe, weigh and cuddle his babies. He decided to wait a few hours to make the calls to announce their good fortune.

The first call he placed was to Grandma and Grandpa MacArthur. Levina, only a little put out that she hadn’t been notified Stephanie had finally gone into labor–after three false starts–was delighted at the news. Fortunately the wee ones had arrived on a weekend, when they were in town, and they came right over.

Grandpa Wilson was the first to arrive at the hospital, Smitty right on his tail. With two months’ growth of hair on the mute’s head, the zigzag scar was hardly noticeable. He still struggled with his newfound voice, but managed a timid “Hello.” The color in Grandpa’s face was back to its normal purplish shade. His bluster had returned to full color as well, now ornery as ever. “Land sakes, you two. You kept this old man waitin’ too long,” he chided. “Wouldn’t you know it, she delivered a week late.” He bent over and gave Stephanie a gentle hug. She chastised him for the little love pat and made him come back for a real hug, the kind that lights up a room. Then he turned to the door, wringing his hands impatiently. “Now, where are them little tykes?” he grouched. Mitch explained that the pink lady had gone to get them and she would be there soon.

Grandma and Grandpa MacArthur were next to appear. The congressman actually met Mitch with a congratulatory embrace and a grin as big as Nevada. After all was said and done, it was the ‘boy from the junkyard’ who’d given him something more important than all the votes in Nevada: his first grandchildren.

The excitement waned slightly the moment Cap’n entered the room, along with Reverend Keller. The big black man still wore a small yellow ribbon on each strap of his worn coveralls, in honor of Sound. But today, he announced, was the day to take them off. He’d promised himself that when the newborns arrived he, like them, would begin anew. It was time to leave the sad memories behind and fill his days with good ones.

The 14-by-12-foot private room nearly burst at the seams when Greg stopped by with his wife and two children. The sight sent chill bumps up Reverend Keller’s body. The former wreck’s face now registered the smile of a blackjack winner–without all the excess baggage. The nurses at the desk debated as to whether or not they should limit the number of visitors, but seeing the joy brought by and taken away by the guests, they promptly shelved the matter.

The room hummed with congratulations, introductions, handshakes and hugs. It was Smitty who first spied the little cart coming down the hallway. As if he’d planned the climactic occasion, he paraded into the room, clapped his hands together, and waited for the cart to near the door. Then he announced, in broken English, “Presenting Drake and Darcy Wilson!”

The room erupted with excitement and wild applause. Drake immediately scrunched his wrinkled face began to cry at the ruckus. The old woman pushing the cart bent down, gently hefted the infant into her arms, and clucked her tongue to pacify the startled little child. A hush fell over the packed room as she leveled her crooked finger at the crowd and said in a whisper, her chronic southern drawl firmly in place, “If’n you’re gonna make my babies cry, I’ll get a stick and chase ever’one a’ ya’ out a’ here. Their mama gots t’ feed ‘em, anyways.” Mrs. Lambert appeared chic in her satiny pink jacket. Oh, how she loved the work– especially on a day such as this day. She handed the baby to Stephanie and went to fetch Darcy. Cap’n, tears of joy streaming down his face, took in a deep breath and reached down to remove the pins that held the faded ribbons on his straps. Reverend Keller stretched out his hand and took the battle-scarred strips of cloth, tucking them into his pocket, a silent prayer of thanks on his lips.