Baby girl McNair. She didn't have a name yet, this child of the moon.
Technically, she wasn't even that. The curse had been lifted years ago. Her
parents had been werewolves, but now they were free of that burden. Allison
Larkin, now McNair, had become a successful barrister, though people often
underestimated her due to her youth. Her husband, Tom, had taken the high
school qualifications he had missed out on, travelling around the UK with his
father. He was still taking his A levels, but Hal had written him a CV and that
was enough to get him a job as a waiter in a fancy restaurant. Somewhat ironic,
seeing as there was a time when Tom didn't even know what to wear in such a
place.
Now, Allison McNair watched their newborn sleep; neither parent said it, but
they were both thinking about how lucky they had been. Luckier than George and
Nina. The fate of the War Child was something neither Tom nor Allison would
forget, not as long as they lived.
Allison touched the palm of her daughter's hand, knowing the scientific reason
that the little girl grasped her finger so tightly, but for once in her life
ignoring the facts. This was her miracle.
"Do you think that she looks like an Amy?" She asked Tom, who was
sitting beside her bed, holding her hand in his, "I know it sounds rather
strange, but I think she needs to look like one to be one."
"I think she looks beautiful," he said, smiling proudly, as he had
been since he first laid eyes on his baby, "But... Allison?"
"Hmmm?"
"I think... She could be a Amy. I think she could be a anything. But... I
want to call her Eve. Out of respect, sort of." He looked down at his
toes, half wishing he had never spoken. But he had loved that little girl, he'd
looked after her and told her bedtime stories and comforted her when she cried.
He remembered sitting in the kitchen with Annie, talking about the normal life
that Eve would never get to live. Things would be different for his daughter.
Just the name, to honour the girl who would never grow old.
Allison watched the sleeping face of her baby, Tom was right, she could be an
Amy. Or she could be an Eve. When Allison was thinking up baby names, Tom had
not once spoken up about this secret desire. She knew how much that baby had
meant to him, she'd seen it first hand. It was one of the reasons she'd fallen
in love with him, seeing how much he could care for another. When they'd met
for the first time as humans, Allison had asked about Eve. Tom had looked so
sad, so utterly heartbroken, and Allison had felt his grief like a lead weight
in her chest.
"Tom," she said, nudging his chin with the hand still entwined in
his, "Do you think that she looks like an Eve?"