Layton held his arms out in a crooked position, ready to accept the tiny boy. Brenda, the boy's mother, helped him adjust his arms to keep the baby from growing uncomfortable. After a few moments of bouncing the baby up and down, swinging his body left and right in a rocking motion, Layton looked up at the boy's father.
"Clark," he whispered. "What's his name?"
A proud grin flashed across Clark's face, the stubble covering it bunched together at random locations on his chin. "We decided to name him Luke. Simple enough. You don't mind, do you, old boy?"
Layton shook his head and looked at the baby's pudgy, pink days-old face. The tiny boy looked so peaceful, so at ease with the world, that Layton could hardly believe such terrible events took place only days beforehand. After a pained, one-sided smile, Layton heard the rustle of movement and looked upwards.
"Excuse me Hershel, but I'm still rather tired." Brenda leaned against Clark and laid her head on his shoulder. "I do believe I should retire."
Layton nodded once again, ready to hand baby Luke back to his parents, but both slipped out quietly. Clark whispered something about returning in a few moments, but Layton could barely hear his friend as he slipped out the door. Suddenly Layton was alone, alone with a sleeping baby. As if sensing his parents' absence, Luke squirmed in his blanket, stretching his minute fingers and burying his head further into Layton's arm. The tiny cap on the baby's head shifted to an odd angle.
The sight pained Layton more than he realized. This moment, or at least a moment similar to this one, could have been his. Up until a week ago, he mentally prepared himself every day for caring for an infant. But in the flash of an instant, all of it was gone from the world, lost forever to him.
He adjusted Luke's tiny hat and rocked once again to the sooth the baby back to sleep. "Well, little Luke," Layton whispered, trying his hardest not to choke over his own words. "You and my son…well, you and my son would have been the best of friends."