Mary's Bones

EPILOGUE

"Look, baby. This is Uncle Cory," I said, tracing my fingers along the pictures. "You would've loved him. He was sweet and goofy. I wish you two would have gotten the chance to meet."

The smile on my face hadn't gone away as I flipped to the next page of the photo album. Most of the album was filled with pictures of John, Cory, our parents, and I when we were younger. I had borrowed it from my parents on our last visit, a few weeks ago.

Rosemary stirred in my arms and yawned. Her mouth was still latched onto my breast, but she was no longer feeding. Instead, she was battling the sleep making way through her body.

"Oof, is it time for someone's nap already?" I cooed in a whisper, planting a kiss on her forehead. Her tiny mouth opened into another yawn, as she stretched her balled fist. I smiled and moved her away from my chest to pull my shirt down. I then removed myself from the couch, cradling her in my arms. In response, she tucked her head deeper into the crook of my elbow.

It felt like just yesterday, I was rushed to the emergency room, even though she was officially five months old. My water broke just outside the police department when I was walking to the entrance. All I remembered was standing in a puddle of my own fluid, as I cuffed onto an officer's arms who happened to be exiting, while another ran inside to retrieve John.

Almost fourteen hours later, on the evening of January 21st, Rosemary was born. Approximately, seven-and-a-half pounds, she weighed down my arms in the hospital room. I remembered John's eyes pricking with tears when he laid eyes on her. His and my parents flooded the waiting room.

As I neared the bedroom, I could hear groaning and swear words. Our door was wide-open, boxes scattered over the floor. John sat with his legs folded in the middle of the mess. He hadn't seen me yet. His hand was in one of the boxes, sifting through the belongings. Was he still sorting our stuff? Gosh, I thought I told him to take a break. I wanted to settle down as badly as he did, but he was going to kill himself preparing for this move.

"Babe," I called.

"Angie!" His eyes shot up. "Are you done feeding her?"

"Shh, she's sleeping," I hushed him.

He mouthed an oh and nodded, standing to his feet. I walked up to him, allowing him to gently pry her from my arms, and place her in her crib. Rosemary's soft snores filled the room.

"Thank you," I said.

"Of course." He looked down at all the boxes. "Shit. I should move all of this."

"No, what you should have done was take a break when I told you to," I scolded.

He waved me off and sat back on the floor. "We're moving in four days. Someone needs to finish this up. Besides, I knocked most of it out the way. All that's left is the utensils in the kitchen and Rosemary's stuff. But we can worry about her crib and stuff later," he rambled on.

I sighed and rolled my eyes. There was no use in arguing with him. He was just going to continue to overexert himself anyway.

"Hey, don't be like that." He extended his arms and grabbed my wrist, gently pulling me to the floor. I followed his movements and got comfortable on his lap, facing him, as he hugged my waist. "The sooner we move, the better."

"True," I agreed, smiling.

We were officially moving out of Shifton and back to West Greenbush. The house was bigger than the one we had now with two floors, similar to the ones I saw a while ago, when I thought about convincing John to move. And it was reasonably close to both of our parent's houses, in case of emergency, and so they could see Rosemary more often. It worked in favor of all parties.