AN: This was prompted by someone who reviewed "New Blood" and commented that the ending seems very sad for Tom. I don't disagree, Guest... but then 1922 isn't the real end for him, is it?
I wanted to write something that shows his progression toward (relative) happiness and fulfillment. This would involve a good relationship with his daughter and with his in-laws and family, satisfying work and hobbies, friends. I don't think he'd necessarily have to be remarried (or celibate, for that matter, but I won't go into that here). I'm not sure if it's anachronistic to write Tom as an involved single father who's not all that interested in finding a replacement mother for Sybbie, but I think it's consistent with his character.
I meant for this to be a one-shot but it started getting long - so I'm publishing the first couple of chapters together as Chapter 1 is pretty melancholy. Setting a baseline.
The title is from Pablo Neruda's "The Dead Woman." It seemed appropriate.
June 1921
They gather in the library for tea and cake. In addition to what the footmen bring out on plates there is a small decorated cake with a single candle, though Sybbie doesn't quite grasp the concept of blowing out the flame yet. Riding in the crook of her father's arm, she reaches out with her chubby hand and brings a fistful of crumbs and icing to smear around her mouth, crowing in delight when she tastes it.
Everyone smiles, but of course they're all thinking the same thing. Tom knows that he has plenty to celebrate. Sybbie is robust, blooming. Her fine baby hair has been replaced by thick brown curls that make her look more child than infant, and her eyes have brightened from their newborn steel blue into a clear, changeable azure. She's going to look just like her mother. Everyone says so.
And she's learning new things every day. Three days ago she took her first steps unassisted, tottering towards him in the nursery with babyish pride spread across her face. But he still can't choke down even a mouthful of cake. He wonders if Sybbie's birthday will always be more bitter than sweet.