Great, that’s all I needed. The knowledge of him naked, soapy, and wet, with only a few doors separating us.
His bedroom door clicked shut, and I finally came to my senses. Sitting on the couch, I grabbed my purse off the coffeetable, digging inside to find my cell phone so I could call the kitchen and order dinner to be brought up. That’s when a manilla envelope caught my eye. My purse must have been covering it, and I hadn’t noticed it when I entered the room.
It was addressed to both Preston and me, and the return address was Alpine Slope Women’s Hospital. Curious, I put my purse aside and reached forward to pluck the envelope off the coffee table, opening it carefully. There were several pieces of paper enclosed, as well as a smaller envelope. The first page read:
Dear Lucky Lucy and Preston,
There aren’t words to express how grateful we are at the NICU for your kindness. Your compassion and generosity truly know no bounds. The families you’ve helped wanted to express their gratitude, but since you wished to remain anonymous, I offered to forward any words of their appreciation personally. Contained are letters and pictures of the lives you’ve changed. They may not know who you are, but I do, and I am proud of the young people who will someday help guide our great country.
Appreciatively,
Nurse Cindy
Forget curious. Now, I was flat-out confused.
What was Nurse Cindy talking about? I could understand a thank-you letter after our visit—I received dozens of those monthly—but she mentioned us wishing to remain anonymous. That didn’t make any sense. Our visit had been well documented. It was no secret who we were.
Then there was mention of helping families, and beyond holding a couple of preemies, I wasn’t sure what she meant. Life had gotten crazy, and I had every intention of discussing a fundraising event with Amy, but I never got around to it. Didmy press office send something? But that still didn’t explain the anonymous part.
Placing Nurse Cindy’s letter on the coffee table, I read through the rest of the letters. Each one was from a different family, some thanking us for providing hotel accommodations so they could be near their baby, some overly grateful for funding childcare for their older children, and another even mentioned the sending of extra hands to help on their farm, so they didn’t have to choose between their livelihood and their sick baby.
The smaller envelope enclosed contained photographs.
Photographs of parents with their babies in the NICU.
Photographs of babies getting ready to go home.
Photographs of babies thriving in the outside world.
It was the final picture that struck me. The baby boy was smiling, his face filled out with a healthy glow. He was older and bigger, but I’d know that face anywhere. I’d held his tiny body against mine not so long ago. That baby was Silas.
“Lucy?” Preston called my name through the whirling storm of emotions threatening to pull me under, but I barely heard him. All I could do was stare at the picture in my hand.
“Lucy!” He tried again. The couch dipped next to me, and he cupped my face in his hands, turning me to look him in the eyes. “Lucy, what’s wrong?”
“What?” I didn’t understand him. I didn’t understand anything right now.
“You’re crying. What happened?”
Was I? Reaching a hand up, I felt the warm wetness seeping through where Preston held me so gently. “I . . . I don’t understand.”
Using his thumbs, he wiped the tears from my cheeks, but they were quickly replaced with more. I couldn’t stop them. Preston’s eyes searched mine. “Understand what? Let me help you.”
“Help,” I repeated, and the pieces began to fall into place. The letter was addressed to both of us. Holding the picture in my shaking hand out to him, I asked, “Did you do this?”
Preston’s brows drew down, and he reluctantly dropped his hands to take the photograph of baby Silas. Glancing down, he questioned, “What am I looking at?”
“Silas,” I whispered.
Understanding dawned on his face. Good, that made one of us, then. “Oh, that.”
“So, you did this?”
Placing the picture on the coffee table, he took my hands in his. “Yes, I went back to the NICU about a week after our joint visit and had Nurse Cindy compile a list of families who couldn’t be with their baby for various reasons and what it would take to get them there.”
“But why?” None of this made any sense.
He shrugged. “I saw a need, and I filled it. Nothing more.”
