Chapter 20

You have Jakob and Camila in your arms. It is sunny, bright and beautiful, a glorious Wednesday afternoon. The twins are eighteen months old. Camila is running around and shouting "NO!" to everything and about everyone, and Jakob is... chill. Quiet, content to sit and play, although he can and will get up and move if he wants something bad enough. He says a few words, and those clearly and distinctly, when he wants to be understood, whereas Camila is a wild bundle of nonstop energy and manic babbling, of which we only understand one or two words in ten.

Case in point: Jakob is utterly content to hang out in Daddy's arms and watch the proceedings. Camila, on the other hand, is squirming to get down, writhing and twisting in Logan's arms, wanting to run around and pull the plugs on the video cameras and steal the microphones and tug on dresses and cause a ruckus.

Mothers in Need is opening today.

It's been a year in the works, a lot of setbacks, a lot negotiations, an absolute shitload of work. Donors backed out at the last minute and we had to scramble for more—donors we needed, because although Indigo is providing the start-up capital and some ongoing financial support, in order to run it day to day and eventually expand to other locations, in order to make this a nationwide chain, we'll need a lot more backing than just I can provide on my own. The location we originally chose turned out to be a poor choice, due to neighborhood concerns, architectural and structural problems, and a myriad of other issues. So we had to scrap all the prep we'd done and start over from scratch, hunting for a new physical home for MiN. We ended up in a trendy part of Brooklyn called DUMBO—Down Under the Manhattan Bridge Overpass—in a cute, quaint apartment building. The neighborhood welcomed us with open arms, as did the borough in general. Your marketing skills have proven invaluable, as has Your elaborate network of business connections throughout the city.

Through Your connections, we found a construction company willing to donate time and materials to the building of the center. We bought the entire building, a massive initial cost— well worth it—tore down walls on the main floor and created an office space for the day-to-day running of the center. We then turned the second floor into a medical clinic, the third floor into temporary living quarters for pregnant women with nowhere to go, or new mothers in the same straights, and the fourth and final floor into a supply warehouse and donation center for diapers, wipes, formula, baby clothes, maternity clothes, toys, books, and even a small selection of groceries on an as-available basis. We also have affiliations with several daycare centers and babysitting services. All the medical staff donates their time and expertise on a pro bono basis, and most of the medical supplies are donated as well. It was a colossal undertaking, and we packed a dizzying amount of work into a single year, but we got it all done.

Everyone is here, all the donors, the construction company builders and their families, the dozens of doctors and nurses and their families, the clerical staff, everyone. The whole street is shut down from intersection to intersection, the neighboring restaurants providing food and beverages, a live band playing music on a makeshift stage... all of it either donated or funded by Indigo.

Right now, however, I am on the stage, staring into a cluster of media microphones and video cameras, trying to fight down the panic. This is high profile. The whole city is watching. Much of the world, in fact. Something about it has caught the public's attention. Something about me, really. I've become sort of a media darling, the amnesiac who spent six years not knowing who she was, my former life and profession as Madame X—now that you have passed, Caleb, many of your secrets have come out—and my romance with Logan, my lovely heteropaternal twin babies, who are the sweetest of siblings under most circumstances, inseparable most of the time. And then my creation of The Indigo Foundation, using a colossal, exorbitant, unbelievable fortune for philanthropy, that really caught everyone's attention. I used it all, the attention, the media. Used it to leverage donations, to snag doctors willing to spend a day or two every week in the clinic, nurses willing to come in after their normal shifts and spend a few hours. The outpouring of support has been overwhelming, honestly, both for MiN and for The Indigo Foundation, and for me personally.

But right now, all I know is that I have to make a speech.

"I was lucky enough to have my husband with me," I start out, "when I had my babies. I didn't do it alone. Logan was there every single step of the way. Attending doctor's visits, helping me with the nursery—by helping, I guess I mean doing everything by himself because I was too pregnant to move. He was there for me. But not everyone is that fortunate. And that realization is what led to the creation of Mothers in Need. I thought one day about what it would be like to have to go through a pregnancy—an admittedly unexpected pregnancy, with twins no less—alone. How impossible that would have been. How impossible it would have been to juggle doctor visits with work. Assuming medical care was even a possibility, you know? I'd already found out about the money I was to receive, and I already knew I wanted to do something with it. I knew it wasn't money I could ever keep for myself. But I didn't know where to start. There's so much to do, so many causes in need. I've got pages full of ideas and projects and charities I intend to help. But where did I start? When I had that realization, about the impossibility of going it alone as a pregnant woman, I knew instantly where to start. So, after I had my babies, I got started. And now, a year and a half later, here we are, about to cut the ribbon. Although, I have to say, even though this is the official grand opening ceremony, we've already been hard at work. Drs. Minksy and Hartzell have both donated many hours of their time this past week in the clinic, over a hundred appointments taken between them just in the last seven days. I'm proud of Mothers in Need, proud of everyone who was part of making it a reality. Especially Mike, Jimmy, Abe, Luke, Danny, and the rest of the guys from McAskill Builders for working so hard over the past year to get the center built. Couldn't have done it with you, guys, so thanks. But most of all—Logan, my love... thank you. For supporting this crazy, over-the-top project of mine so fully, even when it seemed like it was overtaking your own work. To all of you who came out here today to support our opening, thank you."

Cameras flash, and the clamor begins.

I manage to avoid too much direct media attention after that, but near the end of the party, a reporter manages to corner me, camera pointed at me, light blinding, mic in my face.

"Isabel, can you tell us what's next, now that Minnie is off the ground?"

"Minnie?"

The reporter grins. "It's what everyone is calling it."

"Minnie. Huh. I like it. So... what's next?" I know the answer to this, because I've been working on it as the final details of MiN got ironed out. I smile, breathe, focus on projecting calm. "A project I'm calling A Temporary Home. Similar to what we've done with Mothers in Need, I'm planning to buy a building somewhere in the city—I haven't even really started looking yet, so don't ask where—and it's going to be a resource center for the homeless, for runaways, for victims of domestic abuse, for anyone who needs somewhere to sleep and the resources to improve their lives. There will be support staff, clinicians, a detox facility, a food pantry, therapists and psychologists and social workers, a warm bed to sleep in... whatever other resources I can wangle and cram into the space. Basically a safe, welcoming environment where you can get your life back on track."

The reporter, a beautiful young Asian American woman, pulls the attention of the camera back to herself. "I don't mind admitting, there was a time in my life when I could have used a place like that." A pause, and then a bright smile, focus turned back to the cameraman. "Well, there you have it, from Isabel Ryder herself. A Temporary Home, coming soon to New York. I can tell you I'll be making donations, and I hope everyone tuning in will too. Jake, Alessa, back to you in the studio."

The light turns off, the camera is lowered, and the reporter seems to wilt, the bright energy when faced with the camera dissipating. The young woman takes a seat on a nearby stoop, microphone still in hand.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

A shrug. "I was homeless for a few years, when I was a teenager. I was a runaway, bad home life, the usual. I got lucky, scored a job flipping burgers, just because the manager happened to be a decent dude. I worked my ass off, slept in an alley, and washed up in the bathroom before my shifts. I worked while being homeless for another year before I was able to score a little place of my own. And I worked my ass off to get where I am. But... I could have used a place like A Temporary Home back then. Would have been nice to have a bed to sleep in, somewhere safe to take a shower, you know?"

"That's why I'm doing it, and why it will work," I say. "Because people like you will step up and help out, because they've been there. And if you've been there, you want to help others who are going through it."

"Exactly." A bright, gorgeous smile. "So when you get that place going, let me know. I'll do a piece on it. And I'll probably volunteer, honestly. I remember being in that place. And almost as much as you need a bed and a roof and a meal, you need someone to talk to you like you're just a normal person, instead of seeing you as a damn charity case."

"See, I wouldn't have thought of that. That's why we need people like you." I hand the reporter a business card for MiN—Minnie, I guess. "You can volunteer now, if you want. The women going through there, they'll need someone to talk to as well, you know." I gesture at the center.

"Maybe I will." Another of those smiles, and then the reporter and camera are gone, on to the next story.

And You're behind me.

Handing me Camila, who immediately pats my face with both hands, hard, laughing. "Mama!"

"Hi, baby girl." I kiss her cheek, splutter, making her laugh.

And then she's babbling at me, pointing, wriggling to get down. I set her on her feet, let her take my finger in her little hand, and let her pull me across the street, through the crowd, toward a stand set up by a nearby bakery. There are muffins, donuts, croissants, loaves of bread, other assorted goodies.

And my sweet little Camila, she's just like her mother. She has a bit of a sweet tooth. She's hopping up and down, a little unsteadily, jabbing her whole fist at a banana muffin behind the glass, shouting something that sounds not entirely like "banana muffin." There's both too many syllables and not quite enough, but when I ask the kid behind the counter for the muffin, Camila goes haywire, reaching for it, trying to climb up my leg for it, shouting and laughing.

While Jakob sits on his Daddy's hip, waiting. He doesn't say a word when I hand him a piece, just shoves it into his mouth. But his smile, the look of contentment, the joy, it's thanks enough.

And it's still all you, Caleb.

He looks so much like you, more so every day. It's an eerie resemblance, honesty. Anyone who knew you would instantly recognize you in Jakob.

But in his mannerisms, in the way he's so laid back, willing to go with the flow, easy to please, he's very much his daddy's little boy. So You were right, my love. He is all ours, Yours and mine. Completely, utterly, ours, even if I do see you, Caleb, in him, and even if it does cause the tiniest, vaguest, most distant little pang of something sharp, way down deep inside me. A little something, a pinch. A reminder, is how I think of it.

A reminder of where I've been, what I've gone through to reach this place. What has occurred to provide me with this happiness, the daily joy.

To be able to wake up next to You, every single morning. To lie down beside You every night, to feel You, to taste You, to have the privilege of loving you, it is a joy.

To kiss Camila and Jakob, to bathe them, change them, chase them, discipline them when they have tantrums, to love them, to be their mother, it is pure joy.

Even at three in the morning.

Even when You and I are in the middle of loving each other, and the monitor crackles with the howl of an unhappy baby.

It is still joy.

And that ache, down deep inside, it is a reminder that, perhaps if you hadn't taken the time to mold me, to feed me, even to lie to me about who I was, perhaps I wouldn't be here. You could have left me alone in the hospital. But you didn't. So for that, I am thankful.

For giving me a chance at life, even if it was, for a long time, on your terms, I am thankful.

For life,

for love,

for family,

I am thankful.

The End