Nashville, Tennessee 1952
Marshall Christopher Brigard had never been a spontaneous man. He believed in planning things down to the last letter, as far in advance as possible. He had taken a full eighteen months of courtship to arrive at the conclusion that he wanted to marry his girlfriend, Josephine Taylor, and the day that Josephine came home from the doctor's office and announced that the rabbit had died, Marshall kissed her hand and immediately ran down to the library to begin researching. By the time Josephine's doctor confirmed that there were two heartbeats, Marshall had an extra-large binder that he kept in his desk drawer on top of the phone book and carried to the library with him twice a week. It was full of notes he'd taken to plan for his unborn children's entire lives, from the best quality diaper services to how he should handle it if his son or daughter ever came home with a tattoo.
Finally, one cold December morning, Marshall found himself sitting in the waiting room of the hospital maternity ward with a box of cigars in his pocket. He was quite comfortably shrouded in the delusion that he was fully prepared to embark on a lifetime of parenting.
That is, until a fretful nurse called his name and took him aside to shatter that delusion forever.
"The first twin to be born was a girl," the nurse began, choosing to start off with the good news. "Her birth went smoothly, and she came out with a strong, healthy cry. But the other baby…the boy…"
Marshall's eyes widened. He had so been hoping for at least one boy.
"He was born with the umbilical cord wrapped around his neck," the nurse finally said. "By the time doctors were able to untangle him, he was already unconscious."
"Will he survive?" Marshall asked, a fearful desperation in his gaze.
"He's safe now," the nurse answered. "But understand that it's no longer a question of mere survival, Mr. Brigard. The first few minutes of a baby's life are extremely critical. What I'm trying to say, is..." She twisted her hands together and fumbled for the right words, then finished her thought in a hushed voice. "You might not like what you end up with."
Marshall looked down and away.
"What about Josie?" He finally asked.
"She's not fully awake yet. But she's fine."
A while later, a doctor finally came out to escort Marshall to the room where his wife was staying. On the way, they passed by the nursery, and the doctor pointed to the bassinet in the corner where two newborn babies slept, face-up and swaddled. One tiny pink hat, one tiny blue hat. On the outside, they looked just like any other newborn babies.
You might not like what you end up with, the nurse had said.
So far, what he had ended up with looked just fine.
But there was no way to know.
When Marshall arrived in Josephine's bedroom, she was weary but fully conscious, and smiling blissfully.
"Have you seen them?" she asked. "We have a son and a daughter."
"I have." Marshall sighed and squeezed his wife's hand. They were quiet for a few minutes.
"Nicholas," Marshall finally whispered to himself, the word almost catching in his throat on the third syllable. "I was going to name my first son Nicholas. After my father."
"And you can," Josephine said.
Marshall shook his head.
"He's not the son I planned for."
"What are you talking about?"
Marshall looked away and didn't say anything.
You might not like what you end up with.
"Perhaps if you can't think of another name you'd like to give him, we could call him after my father instead," Josephine finally suggested.
Marshall grunted. "Francis? The boy's got enough problems as is, Josie."
Josephine looked even more confused now. But all she said was, "Not Francis. Just Frank."
Marshall thought about it for a moment, then nodded.
"Decent enough." He leaned over and stroked his wife's hair, smoothing it away from her sunken eyes. "Have you thought of a name you might like for the girl?"
"I thought we might name her after your aunt," said Josephine quietly. "Lydia."
For the first time since arriving at the hospital for his children's birth, Marshall smiled, and the fearful desperation evaporated from his face.
"I like that."
And life went on.