21 December 1989
I have been sitting here for thirty minutes, trying to decide how to start this. I have never kept a journal, but due to recent events in my life, I thought that maybe it would help. My own father had a journal. The new-leather smell of this new one makes me remember what my Dad's looked like -- covered with a worn, brown leather exterior -- and I can still see him sitting at his desk at night, writing in it from time to time, usually in the very late evening when our family's day was winding down. It wasn't until years after his death that my mother gave it to me, when I was old enough to appreciate it.
After a long night of reading it, I realized how much of an amazing man he was. I can now see that everything I believe in, everything I do, is due to my father, his beliefs, and how he raised me.
I had been told for years by other family members that my father would have been disappointed in my choice to follow the law. For years, I had struggled with the battle between duty to family and duty to self. But I realized, after reading his thoughts as they were put down on paper, that they were wrong. He had written in his journal how proud he was of me.
I wish my father was around to help me through this. He would know what to do, or what to say. I have had numerous incidents in my life that I have gotten through without his help, not by choice. This is the first time that I think I really, really need his advice. While my father was, indeed, on the wrong side of the law, his deep sense of morality regarding his family was strong.
Early this morning, the person I love more than anything in this world -- the only woman who has permeated my entire soul -- informed me that she is carrying my child. Her look of hope was dashed by my response -- or lack of one -- when the words she was hoping to hear didn't come out of my mouth, but were instead drowned by silence as I turned and walked away from her.
I walked away. I have never walked away from anything in my life. I have always faced up to my responsibilities. But this? Well, I just don't know if I can do this. I can't be a father. I don't want to be a father.
My dad would know what to do. I hope he sends me a sign from wherever he is.
23 December 1989
It has been 48 hours since she told me. I haven't called her and she hasn't called me. I went to the office and she wasn't there, which concerned me. Charlie said she called in sick, and he actually seemed worried. He doesn't know about us -- no one does -- only a very limited number of people in our families know about our personal relationship, and they have been sworn to secrecy.
We have been lovers for almost a year now. We have even discussed marriage. The marquis diamond engagement ring that I bought for her is wrapped in gold and hidden on a brach of my Christmas tree, waiting for her to open it.
The night that I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her was one of the best nights of my life. I told her that I didn't want any children, and I felt that I should be honest with her about that. Ever since I have known her, I knew she wanted children of her own, but let's face facts. I'm too old, too dedicated to the job.
I don't want to have to worry about leaving my child fatherless, the way I was as a young teenager. The risks are just too great.
Yeah, I'm only 42. But I have fellow officers and friends who are the same age as I am who have kids entering college.
I thought for sure that Dee Dee would not want to marry me when I told her this. She surprised me when she told me it was okay. She accepted it. "I'd rather have you forever," she told me.
I should have known that something was wrong. She's been tired and has had no appetite. Her sex drive has been on the back burner as well. She kept shrugging me off when I asked her about it. Two days ago, Charlie was looking for us and she was nowhere to be found. Brad told me he saw her heading outside, and I finally found her out back in the precinct parking lot, in the fresh air, her dark hair blowing in the unseasonal cool winter breeze. I asked her what she was doing outside, and she said that she wasn't feeling well, and thought the fresh air would help. I told her that I thought she should see a doctor because whatever she had was hanging on too long. Truthfully, I was worried. I mean, she is hardly ever sick, and this was really wearing her down.
She looked at me with those huge dark eyes that I get lost in every time she looks at me. Her eyes filled with tears, and then she told me that she had already seen the doctor, and that she was pregnant.
I knew the look I gave her hurt her clear to her soul. I turned around and walked away from her. I still remember the look on her face for that brief second before I turned away. And I hate myself.
24 December 1989
It has now been three days. Neither one of us is at work because we put in for vacation time over the holidays. She hasn't called and neither have I. I can't believe I have abandoned her. It's Christmas Eve, and we had plans to visit my family and hers tonight. I had hoped that we would be showing off her engagement ring, too. We planned to let everyone in on our little secret as part of a joint New Year's resolution. Now I'm afraid to give it to her because she'll think I want to marry her out of obligation, not out of love.
My father always lived up to his reponsibilities, and now, so must I. I am going to be a father, whether I like it or not. She didn't get pregnant by herself, that's for sure. It's time for me to quit hiding and support the woman I love -- act like a man. I'm not ready for this. I know I don't want this.
I would never ask her to terminate the pregnancy. I know she wouldn't do it, and I couldn't live with myself, either. It goes against everything I believe in.
For three days, I've been asking myself how I let this happen, and now I remember. About a month or so ago, she and I got into an argument over a case. It was so insignificant, I don't even remember the details, other than she refused to go on the surveillance with me, and I had to take Coslin with me instead as my backup. We were supposed to take her mother out for a birthday dinner, and she was mad because I chose the surveillance.
There was no way she was going to break her plans with her mother, and she was pissed off because she wanted me to be there with her. She ended up being right -- it was a dead end lead. All I remember is driving to her house at 2 a.m. and getting into bed beside her. Even though I thought she was still mad at me, she came into my arms willingly. We made love slowly and thoroughly. It was our way of making up without actually saying the words. The term 'magical' comes to mind. It was beautiful.
I can count on one hand the times in the past year that we had unprotected sex, tempting the hands of fate. I should have known that it was the right time . . . and she had been sound asleep when I woke her that night and she probably forgot all about it. And I was like a train wreck waiting to happen, I just wanted her so badly. And she felt so good.
I know she didn't do this intentionally to deceive me. She isn't that type of person. It's not her fault that her body was lying in wait for me to get one past the goalie. I should have made sure it didn't happen, and I should have known it would bite me in the ass sooner or later.
I can actually feel my father's presence, and I can almost hear his voice. It's time to make it or break it.
25 December 1989
It's 9 a.m. on Christmas morning. Dee Dee is sleeping, and I am at her house. I showed up on her doorstep yesterday evening at 4 p.m. wearing the navy blue suit that she loves and carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Yeah, it's kind of odd to buy roses at Christmas time, by they are her favorite. She opened the door, took one look at me, and fell apart.
The term "my face fell" probably doesn't do it justice when I say how I felt when I saw her. Her hair was pulled up into a pony tail and she was wearing a yellow warmup suit. No makeup either. She looked like a teenager instead of a grown, 32 year-old woman. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her skin red and splotchy. If someone asked me to describe what a broken heart looks like, I'd tell them to take a look at Dee Dee McCall on Christmas Eve of 1989.
I put the flowers aside and pulled her into my arms as the tears flowed down her face. It broke my heart to think that I did this to her, that I had caused her so much pain and grief . . . torture, perhaps. Her small frame shuddered with sobs as I held her, murmuring words of comfort into her ear.
And then, she told me she was sorry. That's when I felt tears burn my eyelids, for it was I who was sorry. It wasn't her fault. I don't deserve her forgiveness.
She curled up on the sofa with me as I told her that it would all work out. I don't think she believes me. Come to think of it, I don't think I believe me.
After we held each other for a while, I suggested that she change and that we should do our first Christmas Eve together as originally planned. I think I surprised her, and I felt better when she gave me a smile. She emerged 45 minutes later wearing a wine-colored dress that took my breath away. She was beautiful.
We spent part of the evening with her family and then spent the late evening at my mother's. I watched her as she interacted with my family. All of my nieces and nephews, of which there are plenty, love her. I was unknowingly standing under a big clump of mistletoe when she came over to me to ask me a question. My oldest wise-ass nephew spotted us and told us we had to kiss. So, I obliged. I have to remember to thank my nephew later, because it was one of the best, sweetest kisses I have ever had. It told me, without words, that I was doing the right thing.
We returned from our evening early this morning and we both fell into bed. She was exhausted and so was I. I realized that we never discussed anything about the child at all, only the fact that we were going to try to work it out. One of the best things about our relationship is that we usually are able to communicate very easily.
This silence is new to us.
26 December 1989
We're still on vacation. Thank God, because Dee is sicker than a dog. I sort of forgot about this concept of morning sickness, and in my male unsensitivity, hadn't even asked her how she had been feeling. Like I said, we seem to be at an impasse, not discussing the issue at all.
She slept most of the day away, and I simply watched her sleep and tried to encourage her to eat something. Just the mere mention of food sends her off retching. I realized for the first time that it's not only my life that is changing.
Finally, about 2 hours ago, we decided to rent a movie. She sat beside me as I put my arm around her, me eating a vegetable pizza and her eating saltine crackers.
When the movie was over, I looked down at her, and I realized again how lucky I am to have her in my life. I asked her if she was happy. I swear I felt her whole body smile. Yeah, she's happy.
She confided in me that she had waited a whole week to tell me she was pregnant. It took that long for her to muster the courage. I feel terrible about this.
I also realize now, as I write this, that she didn't ask me if I was happy. She already knows the answer, which is why she didn't ask.
1 January 1990
Dee Dee and I rang in the new year last night with a group of mutual friends at a New Year's Eve party. She has been fighting morning sickness that seems to be plaguing her in a manner that seems excessive. She insisted on going to this party, though, so I agreed, figuring it would do us both good to get out and be with our friends. I'm sure I'm not the best company right now anyway.
The silence between us is still there, like a big white elephant in the living room that we avoid. We both know it's there, we can see it, but we pretend it isn't.
She looked stunning, wearing a short, almost mini-skirt, and wearing all black. Everything, including her underwear, was black. I love it when she dresses like that. She looks like a shadow.
I held her in my arms as we slow danced together at midnight, and when the New Year was upon us, I leaned down and kissed her as the tune "Auld Lang Syne" played in the background. She had tears in her eyes when I whispered "I love you" in her ear. I do love her. My love for her has not wavered at all, if anything, it has deepened. I am in awe of her unselfishness and the instant, unmeasurable love she has for her child. The entire time I held her in my arms, I had to force myself to remember that a new life we created together is growing inside of her.
Our cop friends are so used to seeing us together that they aren't surprised to see me kiss her. We're partnered police officers, best friends, joined at the hip. Where I go, she goes, and vice-versa. We've been together going on our sixth year. I hope this is a good year. It has to be. I owe it to her.
10 January 1990
I went to the first doctor appointment with her today. The doctor confirmed that the baby should arrive sometime in late August. Everything seemed to be going fine, and he assured her that the nausea and fatigue would pass in another month or so.
Another month? I don't know how she can stand it. I've been volunteering us for a lot of surveillances lately because it gives her a chance to rest when her stomach allows her a few hours of reprieve. I have yet to see her keep down an entire meal.
No one at work knows. We haven't said anything, although I know at some point, the cat will be out of the bag. No one even knows we are even together, as lovers, let alone that she is pregnant. She and I haven't spoken much about the future. Her ring is still wrapped in Christmas paper. She doesn't know I have it. My love for her is what is getting me through this.
I hate to say this, but I still do not want this child.
I am a poor excuse for a man.
12 January 1990
I woke up early this morning to the sight of Dee Dee standing in the doorway of the bedroom. I have no idea how long she had been awake and out of bed. She was white as a sheet and looked scared to death. She whispered two words to me: "I'm bleeding." I wrapped her robe around her and threw my clothes on and took her to the hospital. Neither of us said one word. It broke my heart to see her fight back the tears that I knew were just waiting to let loose like the Hoover Dam.
I was prepared for the worst. I was already practicing what I was going to say -- that it was for the best, it wasn't the right time, we weren't ready for this, and so on. And I am so ashamed to say this, but I was feeling so relieved.
I was standing out in the hall when they came to get me. I went in and saw her lying there, on her side, as she reached her hand out for mine. I held it and saw her lips curve into a smile. The doctor said that she was experiencing some residual bleeding from the exam she had a couple of days ago. The baby was fine. The doctor told her to go home and rest for the day, but he was fairly certain everything would be okay.
I realized today how much her child means to her. She is 100% completely and totally in love with it. That was when I made the final decision. No matter what, I was going to do everything in my power to see her dream come true.
Her child. Her dream. I am still cannot bring myself to say "our."
29 January 1990
I had to take Dee Dee back to the hospital. She spent the last three days in bed, sick. She argued with me for two days about going to the hospital. She finally passed out in the bathroom and I took the opportunity to pick her up and carry her out to the car before she could protest. I don't understand how a slightly over 100 pound woman can win arguments with me, and the only way I can win is if she is literally unconscious. The thing that amazes me is that she hasn't complained once. Not at all.
They are giving her IV therapy to re-hydrate her. I offered to stay with her but she insisted that I leave, stating that she wasn't good company and it wouldn't be any fun watching her sleep and throw up all day. I was happy for the pass, and truthfully, I think she was glad to get rid of me for a while. I haven't been that much fun to be around.
I went to the office and sat down with Charlie, later that evening, when no one else was around the precinct except for some typists and beat cops. He finally knows everything. I had to come clean, because he obviously deserved an explanation. If he told me "congratulations" once, he told me a thousand times. I was not prepared for this type of reaction. He told me he suspected that we had been more than partners for some time, but never said anything. He told me it was about time for us to be together, and how happy he was for us about the baby.
I came clean about how I felt about my impending fatherhood, and Charlie and I had a heart-to-heart talk. He didn't judge me. He just listened. Then he gave me some advice -- the kind fathers share with their sons. He reminded me that the child was created out of love, and something that strong couldn't be a mistake. He said it was meant to be. I am so thankful to have him in my life.
I miss my Dad.
8 February 1990
Dee Dee returned to work a few days ago. She is now practically handcuffed to her own desk, per Charlie. He has turned very "fatherly" to her, very protective. She was angry with me for telling him, and then for taking Charlie's side. I can't let anything happen to her. I see her look of longing when I head out to check on a lead or chase after a perp. I don't know if she's worried about someone else backing me up or if she misses the thrill of the chase. Probably both.
Charlie has agreed to keep our news a secret for a little while longer. Neither of us are ready to answer the questions and do the explanations. Hell, we can't even talk to each other about it.
I don't think anyone suspects anything, not even with Dee Dee staying in the office most of the time. She is still plagued with morning sickness, although it is not as bad as it was when she had to go to the hospital. She is still as thin as a reed. I find myself forgetting that she is actually pregnant.
15 February 1990
Dee and I went to my mother's for her birthday. The whole family was there, and when the last present was opened, Dee went over to my mother, took her hand in hers and whispered into her ear. I swear my mother's eyes almost most popped out of her head. She practically squeezed Dee Dee half to death. Dee Dee wanted to tell my mother about the baby as part of her birthday gift, and I had no problem letting her tell my mother, instead of me. Everyone congratulated us and wished us well.
Later, my mother cornered me in the kitchen, giving me hell about not marrying Dee Dee yet. I told her that it was on the horizon, and that we would do what was right when it was right. I told my mother that I would stand by her, and not to worry. My very devout Catholic mother is probably saying extra novenas for me on a daily basis in an effort to save my soul from eternal damnation and the fires of hell. At this point, I need all the help I can get.
I just realized that I have made my mother a grandmother again, and that as her only son, will give her the first grandchild with the last name of "Hunter."
28 February 1990
I have a new partner and Dee Dee is going to juvenile. A perfect answer. Brad Navarro, one of my best friends, lost his partner when she decided to marry a guy 15 years her senior and run off to Vegas to do so. So, Charlie, in his brilliance, teamed me up with Brad and offered Dee Dee a transfer to juvenile.
At first, she had a hard time accepting someone else as my partner. Truth be told, it will be hard to adjust. But I'm not comfortable with her working in homicide now, especially after the baby comes. An 8-5 job during regular weekdays helped her mindset, and today, everyone threw a small office party for her.
I claimed ownership today.
Just before the party wound down, I pulled her beside me after everyone insisted that I, as her now former partner, should make a speech. I told everyone about she and I being more than just partners. Our friends and co-workers applauded loudly. I don't know what came over me, but when the applause died down, I then announced that she was pregnant, explaining it was the driving force behind our partnership split.
She turned and looked up at me in surprise. She teases me constantly about being a man of action, and not words, and I guess my words shocked her as much as it did me. Our co-workers were speechless as well. But they broke into applause one more time, and congratulated us time and time again. I could see Charlie standing in the threshold of his office, smiling at me and giving me a thumbs up.
I can't tell you how many people came up to me and asked me if I was excited and if I was happy.
I also can't tell you how many times I lied when I said yes.
11 March 1990
The third appointment was today. I went with her again, not wanting her to think that I'm not supportive. Besides, we got to see the first picture today, because the doctor is doing an ultrasound. He wants to check the baby's size, and if everything is okay, because she has been so sick. She's not quite as bad as she was, but it is still there.
I sat beside the bed and watched as the tech rolled the wand back and forth over her stomach. And there, on the screen, was the baby. It was miniature in size, but definitely a baby. The tech pointed out her various body parts, although Dee was quick to say that she didn't want to know the sex. I was amazed at the tiny fingers and toes, and how she was floating in her very own waterpark.
The smile on Dee Dee's face is one that I will keep forever in my heart. I can't get the sight of her reaching toward the screen and lovingly tracing the outline of the child's body with her finger, as if she was touching it for the first time, out of my head. The steady swoosh-swoosh-swoosh sound of the heartbeat remains in my ears like a song I have no control over.
And I have decided now, that this baby is a girl. I didn't see anything on the ultrasound, it is just a feeling that I have. I owe it to her for it to be a girl. One male Hunter in the family is enough. She should at least get a girl out of the deal.
We returned to the office and I found myself showing everyone the black and white picture that the doctor gave to us to keep. I watched Dee smile at me, and it occurred to me that this was another step in the right direction, for both of us.
20 March 1990
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. We had just gone to bed and she had already fallen asleep, or so I thought. I was lying against her back, and had my left arm around her waist, my hand resting against the roundness of her stomach that seemed to appear overnight. It fits right into the palm of my hand. Just as I began to fall asleep, I heard her take in a sharp breath, and then I knew what caused it. Right underneath my hand, I felt it. A light flutter, like butterfly wings, tickled my palm.
She turned onto her back and looked hopefully into my eyes. "Did you feel it?" she asked me. Before I could answer her, I felt it again, and she laughed. I told her how much I loved her, and I loved our baby, too. When I said "our baby," her laughter turned into tears.
I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she had begun to worry that I would never say the word "our." And that she knew how hard this was for me. And that she loved me more than she had ever thought possible.
She then rolled over to her other side and kissed me, the kind of kiss that promises more than just a kiss.
She sat up and straddled me, a mischievious grin on her face that I hadn't seen in months. She pulled her nightgown over her head in one full swoop. We hadn't made love since she told me she was pregnant, mostly because she's been so sick and so damn tired that it was the last thing on her mind. Truth be told, it was the last thing on my mind, too. I don't want to hurt her. She assured me that men have been making love to pregnant women for centuries, and her kiss afterward was all that it took to convince me.
God, I love her.
27 March 1990
One of the things that Dee Dee's doctor didn't share with me was how the hormones kick into overdrive after the morning sickness is over. I can't seem to erase the smile from my face these days. One morning last week, I woke up to find Dee Dee already awake. She was showered and dressed, sitting in the kitchen eating an apple. She had color back in her face and was the picture of health. The change was practically an overnight miracle.
Her energy and her hunger has returned, and so has her sexual appetite, and not necessarily in that order. We hadn't made love in months, and now it seems that's all she wants. And I'm having no trouble granting her every wish.
15 April 1990
Today is income tax day, the day that the federal government takes more of my hard-earned cash. I find myself looking upon next year. Next year at this time, I'll have another tax deduction.
20 April 1990
I was never so scared in my life as I was today. I had returned from interviewing some suspects and was met at my desk by Charlie. He told me that upon returning from a juvenile court hearing, Dee Dee and her new partner, Christine Harris, were involved in a car accident. Before Charlie could even tell me how she was, I headed to the hospital where they took her.
I found her in the Emergency Room with an ice pack on her head. They had been broad-sided by a teenaged driver, and she had hit her head against the side of the passenger window. She wasn't badly hurt, although Christine had sustained some arm and neck injuries.
The doctor assured me that she was fine and the baby was fine.
We ended up in an argument later on that night, after she accused me of smothering her, being too overprotective. Maybe so. Isn't that my job?
1 May 1990
I've been working earlier the past few days, arriving at work at 7 a.m. I returned around 11 a.m. after running down some leads, stopped at Dee Dee's office to say hello, and realized that she still wasn't in yet. At first I began to panic, thinking that something happened to her. Then I looked at her calendar and noticed that she had a red heart drawn over the number one in her appointment book. I realized the significance of the date, and knew where I'd find her.
I drove to St. Andrews Cemetery, and found her kneeling in front of her late husband's grave stone. She had a small garden trowel in her hand, and seemed to be concentrating on some task at hand. She heard me come up behind her, and when she turned to look at me, I could see she had been crying. She didn't seem to be surprised to see me.
Today is her wedding anniversary. She had been married to a friend of mine who had been killed in the line of duty. He made her a widow after only 2 years of marriage.
I watched her dig a small hole in the ground in front of the stone. Then I watched as she pulled her abandoned wedding ring out of her pocket. She held the slim band of gold in the palm of her hand as it glinted in the rays of the late morning sun. She kissed the ring and then dropped it into the hole, covered it with dirt, and smoothed it over. She pulled out a small bouquet of wildflowers and placed them over it, and then wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
"He's happy for me," she said as she stood up and slipped her hand into mine.
Now it's time for me to move forward.
12 May 1990
I was set up today. Christine told me that some of the women on the force were throwing Dee Dee a surprise baby shower at her favorite restaurant, but they needed me to make sure she got there on time. Of course, I was happy to help out.
When I got there, I was informed that the men were invited, too, so I had to stay. Most of the men, including myself, retreated to the bar where we had a few beers, and I was forced to listen to the friendly advice of my brethren who already had children.
Many of my friends told me that I'll make a great father, congratulated me, and said over and over again that "it was about time" Dee Dee and I got it together. Why are they so sure, when I am not?
I am in awe of the generosity of our friends, who bestowed numerous gifts upon us. They are the kindest people I know.
20 May 1990
I don't know how she does it. It is going on midnight and Dee Dee is fast asleep. I've been wide awake, and as I contemplated what to write tonight, I watched as the baby danced underneath Dee Dee's skin. I find it highly entertaining, although I am amazed at how she sleeps through it. Every once in a while, I can see the satin of her nightgown move.
I started to play a game with her. The baby, I mean. Yeah, I still think it is a girl. I'll see the baby kick somewhere, and then I'll poke the place where I saw her move. Then I watch to see if she plays with me. She does. We've been playing this game almost every night the past few days. Dee Dee got mad at me the other night because our antics woke her up. I can still hear her voice.
"Stop playing with the baby, Hunter."
This is going to be fun.
7 June 1990
Dee Dee and I attended the childbirth classes tonight. It was the first of six. I loathed every minute of it and truth be told, Dee Dee did, too. We spent 30 minutes before leaving, trying to think of excuses to not go. I sat there on the floor as if I was in kindergarten, with Dee Dee sitting between my legs, leaning against me like an armchair. I don't fit in with these twenty-something youngsters. She does, though, because she is a little over 10 years younger than I am.
They all look so young, so excited, so eager. I feel old, tempermental and worried.
The first thing they showed was the movie. As police officers, we have both had our share of first aid training, and we've seen quite a bit. So, it didn't bother me at all until I felt Dee Dee cringe. She was leaned back against me, and I was holding both of her hands in mine. I felt her unconsciously tighten her grip on me, which was my first clue that she is nervous.
The only reason I am at these classes is because the doctor said I wouldn't be allowed to stay with her if I didn't go. I'd like to see them try to keep me out of the room. I won't let her down, and I won't let her go through this alone. So, here I am.
21 June 1990
Dee Dee is slowing down. She only has a little over 8 weeks to go. With the job change, she's usually home before I am, and has been spending a lot of time getting the baby's room ready. She painted it a soft pastel yellow, trimmed with white. It's very bright and cheerful, I must admit. She's been quiet, too. As if she's always deep in thought, her mind somewhere else.
I ask her about it, and she says she "just has things on her mind." But she doesn't share it with me. I ask her if she's worried, and she tells me no. Her eyes have always been the windows to her soul, and I can tell that it is something serious.
5 July 1990
We spent the Fourth of July holiday at the beach yesterday evening with a large group of cop friends. And a comment that I overheard has shed some light into the behind-the-scenes action in Dee Dee's mind. She was hanging out at the volleyball site as the designated referee since she was unable to play. And as the sun began to set, and I was seated on a beer cooler toward the dunes, keeping my ever-watchful eye over her.
Perhaps they didn't see me, or didn't realize I was sitting there.
"You'd think Hunter would have married her already," the woman said, in that snippy, gossipy tone affiliated with the socialite wanna-bes that I hate. The women were nearby, their voices carried by the wind to my ears.
"Christine said he wasn't very happy about the baby in the first place," the other woman said.
"If I were Dee Dee, I'd be scared, too. There can't be anything worse than knowing you're having a baby in a few weeks, and still not knowing what your future holds."
I blocked out the rest of their conversation as my heart plummeted. I thought I had been supportive. I thought she knew I would be there for her.
31 July 1990
I remember my dad writing in his journal in the wee hours of the morning, the light from his desk illuminating the hallway by my bedroom. He only ever did it when he was extremely troubled. I felt his presence again a few hours ago when I suddenly woke up to find Dee Dee gone from the bed.
True, her frequent midnight trips to the bathroom have become more and more common, but something told me she was awake for other reasons. It was as if my old man was waking me up.
I found her standing in the dark, with only the moonlight illuminating the baby's room where she stood by the baby's crib, caressing the smooth, shiny oak with her hand.
She turned and saw me watching her from my stance in the doorway, and I was saddened to see her quickly brush the tears from her cheeks. I asked her what was wrong. How I could help.
"I'm scared," was all that she told me. Those two words told me a lot more than their face value. I took her into my arms and held her, feeling her wet tears on my bare chest.
I led her to the rocking chair given to her by my mother, and told her not to move. I'd be right back. I hurried to the bedroom and reached up into the box where I keep my .38, unlocked it, and drew out the package wrapped in Christmas paper.
She was still seated where I left her, and I handed the gift to her, kneeling beside the chair so that we were at eye-level. She raised an eyebrow at me and asked me if this was my way of celebrating Christmas in July. But she quickly sobered, her hands beginning to tremble as she opened the paper.
I took the velvet box from her after she sat there and stared at it, unable to snap it open. I heard her breath catch in her throat as I snapped open the lid, the gleaming diamond and band of gold shimmering in the moonlight that was coming in through the window. I told her how much I loved her, and I told her I wanted her to marry me. That I wanted to be with her forever.
I watched her hesitate, and I answered her thought before she could put it into words. "I'm not asking you to marry me because I have to, it's because I want to," I told her. I slid the ring onto her left hand, and then pulled her into my arms, meeting her kiss that told me "yes" before her voice did.
10 August 1990
Well, I'm still single. I had assumed, incorrectly, that I'd be standing in front of the JP within days of sliding the engagement ring over her finger. The woman is stubborn. She refuses to marry me until after the baby comes.
And it was an argument that I fiercely lost. Her moods are on an emotional rollercoaster as it is, so I don't know why I even tried to persuade her. She told me the baby will have my last name on the birth certificate, so getting married wasn't necessary for formality sake. And that pissed me off. Call me old fashioned, but legitimacy is a big deal to me, and I told her so.
That was all it took for fire and brimstone to spark out of her eyes. "If it was such a big deal, why did you wait so long?" she screamed at me.
Well, that comment set me off. Big time. But I held my tongue. This was her hormones talking, right? She saw me swallow my fury and then she motioned for me to sit. I sat down in a kitchen chair as she paced in front of me, like a shark circling its prey. Finally, she apologized for her comment.
"I don't want our baby to look back 20 years from now, thinking we got married because of obligation, okay?" she finally explained, throwing her hands up in the air. "I want to marry you with our family and friends around us, in a church, with flowers and the whole deal." And then she gazed down at her stomach, a flicker of sadness shadowing her face. "And I want to have my body back, too."
Now, how am I supposed to argue with all of that?
I asked her if she planned to wear a white wedding dress.
And that was when she threw a cup at me.
14 August 1990
Dee Dee is in labor, ten days early. Apparantly, it has been going on since very early this morning, and she didn't tell me. I think she knew I'd be worried, and sent me off to work without a word about it.
After I had been at work for a while, I realized she was pretty quiet this morning, a little restless. So, I went home to check on her at lunchtime, and I realized then that something was happening. At first, she said it was only every half hour or so, and then it was every 20 minutes, and just recently, as the early evening approaches, every ten minutes.
She is in the bath tub right now, relaxing. She told me she's not in pain, but I'm not sure if I believe her. She has a high tolerance for pain as it is, but I can see it in her face. Only a few days ago, she was in tears because she was scared. Now that it is happening, she is the calm one and I am the one who is scared.
It occurred to me this afternoon, as I watched her quietly walk around the back yard or read a book to pass the time, that something could happen to her, or to the baby. My heart is beating out of my chest even as I write this. You hear about women stroking out or last-minute deaths of their unborn children. But you assume those things only happen to other people.
I hope my father tells God that He can't have either one of them.
Later, 8:18 p.m.
I am now worried that this is going to go on forever. It is now after 8 p.m., and it has been 15 hours since it started. She is lying on the bed, asleep. Well, sort of. I massaged her for a while and it must have been relaxing enough for her to sleep, but every five or ten minutes, she wakes up again. She refuses to go to the hospital yet, and I am not real happy about that, either.
Midnight
Dee Dee is going to give me a heart attack. She is in the shower. Her water broke about 10 minutes ago and instead of going to the hospital, she wanted to take a shower first. If she insists on putting her makeup on, I'm going to go without her, and get admitted to either the cardiac unit or the psych ward. She'll have three choices -- drive herself, deliver her own baby, or call a cab.
I think she's a lot further along than she thinks she is. The pain is starting to bother her to the point that she has to concentrate on what she is doing. Every time I hear her quiet moan, it rips my heart out.
I don't want to deliver my own baby on the living room floor.
15 August 9:40 a.m.
I will admit that my old-fashioned ways had me worried about being present for the birth, but once I finally got her to the hospital at 2 a.m., I was in charge and gung-ho all the way. It was a good thing, because I realize now why she hesitated for so long about coming in. Once she got to her room, she was no longer in control. And she is definitely one independent woman. She wanted to do things her way for as long as she could.
And that was when I realized what my job was. Because when Dee Dee finally gave up her own control, it was up to me to comfort her, reassure her and encourage her. Since her water had broken they wouldn't let her in the whirlpool, so she was pretty much confined to the bed. It happened pretty quickly after that, and I am so proud of her.
She never screamed, never cried. The only thing I noticed was how her knuckles turned white as she held onto me for dear life.
Our daughter was born at 6:38 a.m. All 7 pounds, 2 ounces and 19 inches of her has been accounted for, and she is beautiful. She is Dee Dee through and through, with the exception of the blue eyes that she got from me. She is the tiniest scrap of feminine humanity I have ever seen in my life.
I cut the cord as the baby cried with her first breaths of air. I kept watch over her as they measured and weighed her, making sure she was okay. It was an easy thing to do since most of the staff taking care of her were about ten to 12 inches shorter than me. The child has a head full of black hair. I am amazed at her feet and hands, so tiny and delicate.
She stole my heart as soon as they wrapped her in a soft blanket and put her into my arms. She fits into the crook of my arm like a regulation-size football. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger in a tight grip, and her blue eyes met mine. And as I met her newborn, minutes-old gaze, my heart stopped.
I was looking into the eyes of my father, and I knew then, that he was with me. Perhaps, he sent her to me. I usually leave the superstitious beliefs to Dee Dee, but I swear, my father is finding a way to speak to me through this perfect baby girl.
As long as I draw breath, no harm will ever come to this child.
I will never forget the moment that I placed her into Dee Dee's arms for the first time. She did not shed one tear when she was in all that pain, so she must have been saving them for that moment.
"I have been waiting my whole life for you," Dee Dee whispered to her, holding her close as she made sure every single part of her was perfect.
I can't believe that I thought I never wanted this.
16 August 1990
I was selfish the rest of yesterday. I asked friends and family not to visit the hospital in an effort to give Dee Dee some time to rest, and for both of us to keep the baby to ourselves. I couldn't keep them away today.
You can barely see anything in the room for the numerous flowers that were delivered yesterday and today. But Dee Dee is oblivious, as she only has eyes for one thing, her new daughter.
After she had rested for a while, we discussed naming her. Amazingly enough, we had never discussed it. There were a lot of things that we never talked about, I realize now. Finally, I borrowed a baby book from the nurses station (apparantly we aren't the only ones who have a baby and don't have a name picked out.)
I found the name Lianna. It means 'bond' in Latin. She was created out of a special bond between two people that will never be broken. So, Lianna Nicole Hunter is what we named her.
Dee Dee's mother is enamored with the baby. And my mother? Well, let's just say that the only other time I ever saw the woman cry was at my father's funeral. She sat down in a chair, and as she stared into Lianna's eyes, she lifted her own tearful ones toward the sky and began a prayer in Italian that I hadn't heard since I was a young boy.
"She has your eyes," she told me in between sniffles. "Your father would be so proud."
17 August
Dee Dee informed me yesterday that it was my job to pick out an outfit for Lianna's first baby picture and trip home. I questioned her as to why she hadn't gotten anything, and she admitted to me that the only thing she packed in the bag for the baby was for a boy. She had thought the entire time that Lianna was a boy, because as she says, only a man would would have caused her that much trouble.
So, I did as requested, and I must say that I am quite proud of myself. I took a picture of Dee Dee as she opened the bag this morning, and pulled out a white newborn outfit with pink pin-stripes, and a matching baseball hat -- both of them with an L.A. Dodger logo. I drove to Dodger stadium to find exactly what I wanted. Even better, Dee Dee loved it.
Both Dee Dee and the baby were given a clean bill of health, and we left the hospital late this afternoon. Both of our mothers were waiting at home for us, and I threw them both out at 8 p.m. Not only was Dee Dee's patience wearing thin from the unwanted, yet well-intended, advice, she is exhausted. And from what I can gather, our daughter has already exhibited night-owl behavior, waking up every two hours to eat.
So, it is going on 11 p.m. Both of my women are asleep, too. Lianna is over my shoulder as I write, her sweet newborn breath on my neck as she sleeps, her tiny body limp now that she is fed and happy.
Today was our first day at home together, a family of three.
Next on my agenda is to get Dee Dee to the altar.
28 October
I am supposed to be on my honeymoon. We became husband and wife today in front of 100 of our closest friends and family. Lianna is 8 weeks old, a beautiful blue-eyed baby girl who smiles at me with her toothless grin when I hold her or play with her.
Dee Dee refused to go on a honeymoon without our daughter. She is still breastfeeding her, and did not want to be away from her. I can't say I blame her, so we decided to take a weekend honeymoon trip to Malibu and took Lianna with us. Unfortunately, Lianna decided she needed Dee's breast more than I did, so I figured I'd write down my wedding day memories while I impatiently wait.
I cannot express how beautiful Dee looked, walking down the aisle in my mother's church on Charlie's arm. A vision in ivory, I felt tears come to my eyes when I saw her. Her dark hair has grown down to the middle of her back, but she chose to wear it up for the occasion, with pink and ivory roses entwined through the dark, curly mass.
Lianna was her flower girl, dressed in a tiny pink dress and pink shoes, a pink headband around her dark head. Our mothers decided to sit in the church together, taking turns with the baby.
They say it's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony, but I am not at all superstitious. Besides, Lianna was screaming her head off in the vestibule as I tried to console her about 15 minutes before the ceremony was to begin. The only one who could fix the situation at hand was her mother. I took her to the back where Dee was getting dressed, and opened the door. Dee Dee reached for Lianna immediately, and told me that she was just going to send someone out for her, her mother's instinct kicking in, knowing full well by the tightness in her breasts that her daughter was hungry. She sat in a chair and opened the robe she was wearing to give Lianna what she desired.
Lianna fell asleep in her arms, and Dee Dee finally gave her up to my mother, five minutes after the ceremony was to begin. Better late than never, I always say.
She asked me to help her get dressed, and I remember zipping up her dress, my hands grazing her slim body that is curved in all the best places. The doctor only gave me permission to make love to her two weeks ago, and Dee Dee told me I had to wait until the wedding night. So, after I zipped up her dress, I turned her into my arms and watched her dark eyes sparkle as I leaned in to kiss her. My hormones got the best of me as I pushed her up against the wall and kissed her longingly while my hands roamed her body.
The priest walked in and interrupted us, clearing his throat in embarassment. I told him I was a good Catholic boy, and was doing my best to procreate. Dee Dee's face flushed as she pushed me away, obviously embarassed. I am just so thankful that she agreed to get married in my mother's church.
Lianna was asleep in my mother's arms just before the ceremony began, but decided to wake up and protest right as we were to say our vows. I stopped the priest and heard Dee's soft laughter, joined by the rest of the congregation, as I took my daughter from my mother and put her over my shoulder, rubbing her back with one hand as I held her mother's hand in the other. We promised to love and honor each other forever, to accept children willingly from God, with Lianna as our witness.
25 December 1990
I spent last night reading in this journal, and the turnaround from beginning to end is one I would have never believed, if I hadn't seen it in black and white. I am ashamed, reading my thoughts from one year ago. I have more happiness than I ever imagined.
Lianna was spoiled today, receving more gifts than I ever thought imaginable. She is too young to appreciate it, but I know that she will be loved and cared for by the many people who have fallen in love with her.
Dee Dee and I sat in front of the Christmas tree last night, drinking some wine after Lianna was put to bed for the night. She asked me if I was drunk when I told her that I wanted to make Lianna all over again with her. But perhaps a boy this time, to even the score.
She didn't believe me at first, and then she smiled at me when she realized I was serious. Maybe, in another year, she said. I said no, right now. I'm not getting any younger. After disagreeing back and forth, I told her we'd flip for it, and despite her protest, I pulled out a quarter, allowing her to inspect it before I tossed.
As usual, she lost.
So next year at this time, I am hoping we are well on our way to a family of four, if we aren't already.
I have been sitting here for thirty minutes, trying to decide how to start this. I have never kept a journal, but due to recent events in my life, I thought that maybe it would help. My own father had a journal. The new-leather smell of this new one makes me remember what my Dad's looked like -- covered with a worn, brown leather exterior -- and I can still see him sitting at his desk at night, writing in it from time to time, usually in the very late evening when our family's day was winding down. It wasn't until years after his death that my mother gave it to me, when I was old enough to appreciate it.
After a long night of reading it, I realized how much of an amazing man he was. I can now see that everything I believe in, everything I do, is due to my father, his beliefs, and how he raised me.
I had been told for years by other family members that my father would have been disappointed in my choice to follow the law. For years, I had struggled with the battle between duty to family and duty to self. But I realized, after reading his thoughts as they were put down on paper, that they were wrong. He had written in his journal how proud he was of me.
I wish my father was around to help me through this. He would know what to do, or what to say. I have had numerous incidents in my life that I have gotten through without his help, not by choice. This is the first time that I think I really, really need his advice. While my father was, indeed, on the wrong side of the law, his deep sense of morality regarding his family was strong.
Early this morning, the person I love more than anything in this world -- the only woman who has permeated my entire soul -- informed me that she is carrying my child. Her look of hope was dashed by my response -- or lack of one -- when the words she was hoping to hear didn't come out of my mouth, but were instead drowned by silence as I turned and walked away from her.
I walked away. I have never walked away from anything in my life. I have always faced up to my responsibilities. But this? Well, I just don't know if I can do this. I can't be a father. I don't want to be a father.
My dad would know what to do. I hope he sends me a sign from wherever he is.
23 December 1989
It has been 48 hours since she told me. I haven't called her and she hasn't called me. I went to the office and she wasn't there, which concerned me. Charlie said she called in sick, and he actually seemed worried. He doesn't know about us -- no one does -- only a very limited number of people in our families know about our personal relationship, and they have been sworn to secrecy.
We have been lovers for almost a year now. We have even discussed marriage. The marquis diamond engagement ring that I bought for her is wrapped in gold and hidden on a brach of my Christmas tree, waiting for her to open it.
The night that I told her I wanted to spend the rest of my life with her was one of the best nights of my life. I told her that I didn't want any children, and I felt that I should be honest with her about that. Ever since I have known her, I knew she wanted children of her own, but let's face facts. I'm too old, too dedicated to the job.
I don't want to have to worry about leaving my child fatherless, the way I was as a young teenager. The risks are just too great.
Yeah, I'm only 42. But I have fellow officers and friends who are the same age as I am who have kids entering college.
I thought for sure that Dee Dee would not want to marry me when I told her this. She surprised me when she told me it was okay. She accepted it. "I'd rather have you forever," she told me.
I should have known that something was wrong. She's been tired and has had no appetite. Her sex drive has been on the back burner as well. She kept shrugging me off when I asked her about it. Two days ago, Charlie was looking for us and she was nowhere to be found. Brad told me he saw her heading outside, and I finally found her out back in the precinct parking lot, in the fresh air, her dark hair blowing in the unseasonal cool winter breeze. I asked her what she was doing outside, and she said that she wasn't feeling well, and thought the fresh air would help. I told her that I thought she should see a doctor because whatever she had was hanging on too long. Truthfully, I was worried. I mean, she is hardly ever sick, and this was really wearing her down.
She looked at me with those huge dark eyes that I get lost in every time she looks at me. Her eyes filled with tears, and then she told me that she had already seen the doctor, and that she was pregnant.
I knew the look I gave her hurt her clear to her soul. I turned around and walked away from her. I still remember the look on her face for that brief second before I turned away. And I hate myself.
24 December 1989
It has now been three days. Neither one of us is at work because we put in for vacation time over the holidays. She hasn't called and neither have I. I can't believe I have abandoned her. It's Christmas Eve, and we had plans to visit my family and hers tonight. I had hoped that we would be showing off her engagement ring, too. We planned to let everyone in on our little secret as part of a joint New Year's resolution. Now I'm afraid to give it to her because she'll think I want to marry her out of obligation, not out of love.
My father always lived up to his reponsibilities, and now, so must I. I am going to be a father, whether I like it or not. She didn't get pregnant by herself, that's for sure. It's time for me to quit hiding and support the woman I love -- act like a man. I'm not ready for this. I know I don't want this.
I would never ask her to terminate the pregnancy. I know she wouldn't do it, and I couldn't live with myself, either. It goes against everything I believe in.
For three days, I've been asking myself how I let this happen, and now I remember. About a month or so ago, she and I got into an argument over a case. It was so insignificant, I don't even remember the details, other than she refused to go on the surveillance with me, and I had to take Coslin with me instead as my backup. We were supposed to take her mother out for a birthday dinner, and she was mad because I chose the surveillance.
There was no way she was going to break her plans with her mother, and she was pissed off because she wanted me to be there with her. She ended up being right -- it was a dead end lead. All I remember is driving to her house at 2 a.m. and getting into bed beside her. Even though I thought she was still mad at me, she came into my arms willingly. We made love slowly and thoroughly. It was our way of making up without actually saying the words. The term 'magical' comes to mind. It was beautiful.
I can count on one hand the times in the past year that we had unprotected sex, tempting the hands of fate. I should have known that it was the right time . . . and she had been sound asleep when I woke her that night and she probably forgot all about it. And I was like a train wreck waiting to happen, I just wanted her so badly. And she felt so good.
I know she didn't do this intentionally to deceive me. She isn't that type of person. It's not her fault that her body was lying in wait for me to get one past the goalie. I should have made sure it didn't happen, and I should have known it would bite me in the ass sooner or later.
I can actually feel my father's presence, and I can almost hear his voice. It's time to make it or break it.
25 December 1989
It's 9 a.m. on Christmas morning. Dee Dee is sleeping, and I am at her house. I showed up on her doorstep yesterday evening at 4 p.m. wearing the navy blue suit that she loves and carrying a dozen long-stemmed red roses. Yeah, it's kind of odd to buy roses at Christmas time, by they are her favorite. She opened the door, took one look at me, and fell apart.
The term "my face fell" probably doesn't do it justice when I say how I felt when I saw her. Her hair was pulled up into a pony tail and she was wearing a yellow warmup suit. No makeup either. She looked like a teenager instead of a grown, 32 year-old woman. Her eyes were red and swollen from crying, her skin red and splotchy. If someone asked me to describe what a broken heart looks like, I'd tell them to take a look at Dee Dee McCall on Christmas Eve of 1989.
I put the flowers aside and pulled her into my arms as the tears flowed down her face. It broke my heart to think that I did this to her, that I had caused her so much pain and grief . . . torture, perhaps. Her small frame shuddered with sobs as I held her, murmuring words of comfort into her ear.
And then, she told me she was sorry. That's when I felt tears burn my eyelids, for it was I who was sorry. It wasn't her fault. I don't deserve her forgiveness.
She curled up on the sofa with me as I told her that it would all work out. I don't think she believes me. Come to think of it, I don't think I believe me.
After we held each other for a while, I suggested that she change and that we should do our first Christmas Eve together as originally planned. I think I surprised her, and I felt better when she gave me a smile. She emerged 45 minutes later wearing a wine-colored dress that took my breath away. She was beautiful.
We spent part of the evening with her family and then spent the late evening at my mother's. I watched her as she interacted with my family. All of my nieces and nephews, of which there are plenty, love her. I was unknowingly standing under a big clump of mistletoe when she came over to me to ask me a question. My oldest wise-ass nephew spotted us and told us we had to kiss. So, I obliged. I have to remember to thank my nephew later, because it was one of the best, sweetest kisses I have ever had. It told me, without words, that I was doing the right thing.
We returned from our evening early this morning and we both fell into bed. She was exhausted and so was I. I realized that we never discussed anything about the child at all, only the fact that we were going to try to work it out. One of the best things about our relationship is that we usually are able to communicate very easily.
This silence is new to us.
26 December 1989
We're still on vacation. Thank God, because Dee is sicker than a dog. I sort of forgot about this concept of morning sickness, and in my male unsensitivity, hadn't even asked her how she had been feeling. Like I said, we seem to be at an impasse, not discussing the issue at all.
She slept most of the day away, and I simply watched her sleep and tried to encourage her to eat something. Just the mere mention of food sends her off retching. I realized for the first time that it's not only my life that is changing.
Finally, about 2 hours ago, we decided to rent a movie. She sat beside me as I put my arm around her, me eating a vegetable pizza and her eating saltine crackers.
When the movie was over, I looked down at her, and I realized again how lucky I am to have her in my life. I asked her if she was happy. I swear I felt her whole body smile. Yeah, she's happy.
She confided in me that she had waited a whole week to tell me she was pregnant. It took that long for her to muster the courage. I feel terrible about this.
I also realize now, as I write this, that she didn't ask me if I was happy. She already knows the answer, which is why she didn't ask.
1 January 1990
Dee Dee and I rang in the new year last night with a group of mutual friends at a New Year's Eve party. She has been fighting morning sickness that seems to be plaguing her in a manner that seems excessive. She insisted on going to this party, though, so I agreed, figuring it would do us both good to get out and be with our friends. I'm sure I'm not the best company right now anyway.
The silence between us is still there, like a big white elephant in the living room that we avoid. We both know it's there, we can see it, but we pretend it isn't.
She looked stunning, wearing a short, almost mini-skirt, and wearing all black. Everything, including her underwear, was black. I love it when she dresses like that. She looks like a shadow.
I held her in my arms as we slow danced together at midnight, and when the New Year was upon us, I leaned down and kissed her as the tune "Auld Lang Syne" played in the background. She had tears in her eyes when I whispered "I love you" in her ear. I do love her. My love for her has not wavered at all, if anything, it has deepened. I am in awe of her unselfishness and the instant, unmeasurable love she has for her child. The entire time I held her in my arms, I had to force myself to remember that a new life we created together is growing inside of her.
Our cop friends are so used to seeing us together that they aren't surprised to see me kiss her. We're partnered police officers, best friends, joined at the hip. Where I go, she goes, and vice-versa. We've been together going on our sixth year. I hope this is a good year. It has to be. I owe it to her.
10 January 1990
I went to the first doctor appointment with her today. The doctor confirmed that the baby should arrive sometime in late August. Everything seemed to be going fine, and he assured her that the nausea and fatigue would pass in another month or so.
Another month? I don't know how she can stand it. I've been volunteering us for a lot of surveillances lately because it gives her a chance to rest when her stomach allows her a few hours of reprieve. I have yet to see her keep down an entire meal.
No one at work knows. We haven't said anything, although I know at some point, the cat will be out of the bag. No one even knows we are even together, as lovers, let alone that she is pregnant. She and I haven't spoken much about the future. Her ring is still wrapped in Christmas paper. She doesn't know I have it. My love for her is what is getting me through this.
I hate to say this, but I still do not want this child.
I am a poor excuse for a man.
12 January 1990
I woke up early this morning to the sight of Dee Dee standing in the doorway of the bedroom. I have no idea how long she had been awake and out of bed. She was white as a sheet and looked scared to death. She whispered two words to me: "I'm bleeding." I wrapped her robe around her and threw my clothes on and took her to the hospital. Neither of us said one word. It broke my heart to see her fight back the tears that I knew were just waiting to let loose like the Hoover Dam.
I was prepared for the worst. I was already practicing what I was going to say -- that it was for the best, it wasn't the right time, we weren't ready for this, and so on. And I am so ashamed to say this, but I was feeling so relieved.
I was standing out in the hall when they came to get me. I went in and saw her lying there, on her side, as she reached her hand out for mine. I held it and saw her lips curve into a smile. The doctor said that she was experiencing some residual bleeding from the exam she had a couple of days ago. The baby was fine. The doctor told her to go home and rest for the day, but he was fairly certain everything would be okay.
I realized today how much her child means to her. She is 100% completely and totally in love with it. That was when I made the final decision. No matter what, I was going to do everything in my power to see her dream come true.
Her child. Her dream. I am still cannot bring myself to say "our."
29 January 1990
I had to take Dee Dee back to the hospital. She spent the last three days in bed, sick. She argued with me for two days about going to the hospital. She finally passed out in the bathroom and I took the opportunity to pick her up and carry her out to the car before she could protest. I don't understand how a slightly over 100 pound woman can win arguments with me, and the only way I can win is if she is literally unconscious. The thing that amazes me is that she hasn't complained once. Not at all.
They are giving her IV therapy to re-hydrate her. I offered to stay with her but she insisted that I leave, stating that she wasn't good company and it wouldn't be any fun watching her sleep and throw up all day. I was happy for the pass, and truthfully, I think she was glad to get rid of me for a while. I haven't been that much fun to be around.
I went to the office and sat down with Charlie, later that evening, when no one else was around the precinct except for some typists and beat cops. He finally knows everything. I had to come clean, because he obviously deserved an explanation. If he told me "congratulations" once, he told me a thousand times. I was not prepared for this type of reaction. He told me he suspected that we had been more than partners for some time, but never said anything. He told me it was about time for us to be together, and how happy he was for us about the baby.
I came clean about how I felt about my impending fatherhood, and Charlie and I had a heart-to-heart talk. He didn't judge me. He just listened. Then he gave me some advice -- the kind fathers share with their sons. He reminded me that the child was created out of love, and something that strong couldn't be a mistake. He said it was meant to be. I am so thankful to have him in my life.
I miss my Dad.
8 February 1990
Dee Dee returned to work a few days ago. She is now practically handcuffed to her own desk, per Charlie. He has turned very "fatherly" to her, very protective. She was angry with me for telling him, and then for taking Charlie's side. I can't let anything happen to her. I see her look of longing when I head out to check on a lead or chase after a perp. I don't know if she's worried about someone else backing me up or if she misses the thrill of the chase. Probably both.
Charlie has agreed to keep our news a secret for a little while longer. Neither of us are ready to answer the questions and do the explanations. Hell, we can't even talk to each other about it.
I don't think anyone suspects anything, not even with Dee Dee staying in the office most of the time. She is still plagued with morning sickness, although it is not as bad as it was when she had to go to the hospital. She is still as thin as a reed. I find myself forgetting that she is actually pregnant.
15 February 1990
Dee and I went to my mother's for her birthday. The whole family was there, and when the last present was opened, Dee went over to my mother, took her hand in hers and whispered into her ear. I swear my mother's eyes almost most popped out of her head. She practically squeezed Dee Dee half to death. Dee Dee wanted to tell my mother about the baby as part of her birthday gift, and I had no problem letting her tell my mother, instead of me. Everyone congratulated us and wished us well.
Later, my mother cornered me in the kitchen, giving me hell about not marrying Dee Dee yet. I told her that it was on the horizon, and that we would do what was right when it was right. I told my mother that I would stand by her, and not to worry. My very devout Catholic mother is probably saying extra novenas for me on a daily basis in an effort to save my soul from eternal damnation and the fires of hell. At this point, I need all the help I can get.
I just realized that I have made my mother a grandmother again, and that as her only son, will give her the first grandchild with the last name of "Hunter."
28 February 1990
I have a new partner and Dee Dee is going to juvenile. A perfect answer. Brad Navarro, one of my best friends, lost his partner when she decided to marry a guy 15 years her senior and run off to Vegas to do so. So, Charlie, in his brilliance, teamed me up with Brad and offered Dee Dee a transfer to juvenile.
At first, she had a hard time accepting someone else as my partner. Truth be told, it will be hard to adjust. But I'm not comfortable with her working in homicide now, especially after the baby comes. An 8-5 job during regular weekdays helped her mindset, and today, everyone threw a small office party for her.
I claimed ownership today.
Just before the party wound down, I pulled her beside me after everyone insisted that I, as her now former partner, should make a speech. I told everyone about she and I being more than just partners. Our friends and co-workers applauded loudly. I don't know what came over me, but when the applause died down, I then announced that she was pregnant, explaining it was the driving force behind our partnership split.
She turned and looked up at me in surprise. She teases me constantly about being a man of action, and not words, and I guess my words shocked her as much as it did me. Our co-workers were speechless as well. But they broke into applause one more time, and congratulated us time and time again. I could see Charlie standing in the threshold of his office, smiling at me and giving me a thumbs up.
I can't tell you how many people came up to me and asked me if I was excited and if I was happy.
I also can't tell you how many times I lied when I said yes.
11 March 1990
The third appointment was today. I went with her again, not wanting her to think that I'm not supportive. Besides, we got to see the first picture today, because the doctor is doing an ultrasound. He wants to check the baby's size, and if everything is okay, because she has been so sick. She's not quite as bad as she was, but it is still there.
I sat beside the bed and watched as the tech rolled the wand back and forth over her stomach. And there, on the screen, was the baby. It was miniature in size, but definitely a baby. The tech pointed out her various body parts, although Dee was quick to say that she didn't want to know the sex. I was amazed at the tiny fingers and toes, and how she was floating in her very own waterpark.
The smile on Dee Dee's face is one that I will keep forever in my heart. I can't get the sight of her reaching toward the screen and lovingly tracing the outline of the child's body with her finger, as if she was touching it for the first time, out of my head. The steady swoosh-swoosh-swoosh sound of the heartbeat remains in my ears like a song I have no control over.
And I have decided now, that this baby is a girl. I didn't see anything on the ultrasound, it is just a feeling that I have. I owe it to her for it to be a girl. One male Hunter in the family is enough. She should at least get a girl out of the deal.
We returned to the office and I found myself showing everyone the black and white picture that the doctor gave to us to keep. I watched Dee smile at me, and it occurred to me that this was another step in the right direction, for both of us.
20 March 1990
Last night was one of the best nights of my life. We had just gone to bed and she had already fallen asleep, or so I thought. I was lying against her back, and had my left arm around her waist, my hand resting against the roundness of her stomach that seemed to appear overnight. It fits right into the palm of my hand. Just as I began to fall asleep, I heard her take in a sharp breath, and then I knew what caused it. Right underneath my hand, I felt it. A light flutter, like butterfly wings, tickled my palm.
She turned onto her back and looked hopefully into my eyes. "Did you feel it?" she asked me. Before I could answer her, I felt it again, and she laughed. I told her how much I loved her, and I loved our baby, too. When I said "our baby," her laughter turned into tears.
I asked her what was wrong, and she told me she had begun to worry that I would never say the word "our." And that she knew how hard this was for me. And that she loved me more than she had ever thought possible.
She then rolled over to her other side and kissed me, the kind of kiss that promises more than just a kiss.
She sat up and straddled me, a mischievious grin on her face that I hadn't seen in months. She pulled her nightgown over her head in one full swoop. We hadn't made love since she told me she was pregnant, mostly because she's been so sick and so damn tired that it was the last thing on her mind. Truth be told, it was the last thing on my mind, too. I don't want to hurt her. She assured me that men have been making love to pregnant women for centuries, and her kiss afterward was all that it took to convince me.
God, I love her.
27 March 1990
One of the things that Dee Dee's doctor didn't share with me was how the hormones kick into overdrive after the morning sickness is over. I can't seem to erase the smile from my face these days. One morning last week, I woke up to find Dee Dee already awake. She was showered and dressed, sitting in the kitchen eating an apple. She had color back in her face and was the picture of health. The change was practically an overnight miracle.
Her energy and her hunger has returned, and so has her sexual appetite, and not necessarily in that order. We hadn't made love in months, and now it seems that's all she wants. And I'm having no trouble granting her every wish.
15 April 1990
Today is income tax day, the day that the federal government takes more of my hard-earned cash. I find myself looking upon next year. Next year at this time, I'll have another tax deduction.
20 April 1990
I was never so scared in my life as I was today. I had returned from interviewing some suspects and was met at my desk by Charlie. He told me that upon returning from a juvenile court hearing, Dee Dee and her new partner, Christine Harris, were involved in a car accident. Before Charlie could even tell me how she was, I headed to the hospital where they took her.
I found her in the Emergency Room with an ice pack on her head. They had been broad-sided by a teenaged driver, and she had hit her head against the side of the passenger window. She wasn't badly hurt, although Christine had sustained some arm and neck injuries.
The doctor assured me that she was fine and the baby was fine.
We ended up in an argument later on that night, after she accused me of smothering her, being too overprotective. Maybe so. Isn't that my job?
1 May 1990
I've been working earlier the past few days, arriving at work at 7 a.m. I returned around 11 a.m. after running down some leads, stopped at Dee Dee's office to say hello, and realized that she still wasn't in yet. At first I began to panic, thinking that something happened to her. Then I looked at her calendar and noticed that she had a red heart drawn over the number one in her appointment book. I realized the significance of the date, and knew where I'd find her.
I drove to St. Andrews Cemetery, and found her kneeling in front of her late husband's grave stone. She had a small garden trowel in her hand, and seemed to be concentrating on some task at hand. She heard me come up behind her, and when she turned to look at me, I could see she had been crying. She didn't seem to be surprised to see me.
Today is her wedding anniversary. She had been married to a friend of mine who had been killed in the line of duty. He made her a widow after only 2 years of marriage.
I watched her dig a small hole in the ground in front of the stone. Then I watched as she pulled her abandoned wedding ring out of her pocket. She held the slim band of gold in the palm of her hand as it glinted in the rays of the late morning sun. She kissed the ring and then dropped it into the hole, covered it with dirt, and smoothed it over. She pulled out a small bouquet of wildflowers and placed them over it, and then wiped her tears with the back of her hand.
"He's happy for me," she said as she stood up and slipped her hand into mine.
Now it's time for me to move forward.
12 May 1990
I was set up today. Christine told me that some of the women on the force were throwing Dee Dee a surprise baby shower at her favorite restaurant, but they needed me to make sure she got there on time. Of course, I was happy to help out.
When I got there, I was informed that the men were invited, too, so I had to stay. Most of the men, including myself, retreated to the bar where we had a few beers, and I was forced to listen to the friendly advice of my brethren who already had children.
Many of my friends told me that I'll make a great father, congratulated me, and said over and over again that "it was about time" Dee Dee and I got it together. Why are they so sure, when I am not?
I am in awe of the generosity of our friends, who bestowed numerous gifts upon us. They are the kindest people I know.
20 May 1990
I don't know how she does it. It is going on midnight and Dee Dee is fast asleep. I've been wide awake, and as I contemplated what to write tonight, I watched as the baby danced underneath Dee Dee's skin. I find it highly entertaining, although I am amazed at how she sleeps through it. Every once in a while, I can see the satin of her nightgown move.
I started to play a game with her. The baby, I mean. Yeah, I still think it is a girl. I'll see the baby kick somewhere, and then I'll poke the place where I saw her move. Then I watch to see if she plays with me. She does. We've been playing this game almost every night the past few days. Dee Dee got mad at me the other night because our antics woke her up. I can still hear her voice.
"Stop playing with the baby, Hunter."
This is going to be fun.
7 June 1990
Dee Dee and I attended the childbirth classes tonight. It was the first of six. I loathed every minute of it and truth be told, Dee Dee did, too. We spent 30 minutes before leaving, trying to think of excuses to not go. I sat there on the floor as if I was in kindergarten, with Dee Dee sitting between my legs, leaning against me like an armchair. I don't fit in with these twenty-something youngsters. She does, though, because she is a little over 10 years younger than I am.
They all look so young, so excited, so eager. I feel old, tempermental and worried.
The first thing they showed was the movie. As police officers, we have both had our share of first aid training, and we've seen quite a bit. So, it didn't bother me at all until I felt Dee Dee cringe. She was leaned back against me, and I was holding both of her hands in mine. I felt her unconsciously tighten her grip on me, which was my first clue that she is nervous.
The only reason I am at these classes is because the doctor said I wouldn't be allowed to stay with her if I didn't go. I'd like to see them try to keep me out of the room. I won't let her down, and I won't let her go through this alone. So, here I am.
21 June 1990
Dee Dee is slowing down. She only has a little over 8 weeks to go. With the job change, she's usually home before I am, and has been spending a lot of time getting the baby's room ready. She painted it a soft pastel yellow, trimmed with white. It's very bright and cheerful, I must admit. She's been quiet, too. As if she's always deep in thought, her mind somewhere else.
I ask her about it, and she says she "just has things on her mind." But she doesn't share it with me. I ask her if she's worried, and she tells me no. Her eyes have always been the windows to her soul, and I can tell that it is something serious.
5 July 1990
We spent the Fourth of July holiday at the beach yesterday evening with a large group of cop friends. And a comment that I overheard has shed some light into the behind-the-scenes action in Dee Dee's mind. She was hanging out at the volleyball site as the designated referee since she was unable to play. And as the sun began to set, and I was seated on a beer cooler toward the dunes, keeping my ever-watchful eye over her.
Perhaps they didn't see me, or didn't realize I was sitting there.
"You'd think Hunter would have married her already," the woman said, in that snippy, gossipy tone affiliated with the socialite wanna-bes that I hate. The women were nearby, their voices carried by the wind to my ears.
"Christine said he wasn't very happy about the baby in the first place," the other woman said.
"If I were Dee Dee, I'd be scared, too. There can't be anything worse than knowing you're having a baby in a few weeks, and still not knowing what your future holds."
I blocked out the rest of their conversation as my heart plummeted. I thought I had been supportive. I thought she knew I would be there for her.
31 July 1990
I remember my dad writing in his journal in the wee hours of the morning, the light from his desk illuminating the hallway by my bedroom. He only ever did it when he was extremely troubled. I felt his presence again a few hours ago when I suddenly woke up to find Dee Dee gone from the bed.
True, her frequent midnight trips to the bathroom have become more and more common, but something told me she was awake for other reasons. It was as if my old man was waking me up.
I found her standing in the dark, with only the moonlight illuminating the baby's room where she stood by the baby's crib, caressing the smooth, shiny oak with her hand.
She turned and saw me watching her from my stance in the doorway, and I was saddened to see her quickly brush the tears from her cheeks. I asked her what was wrong. How I could help.
"I'm scared," was all that she told me. Those two words told me a lot more than their face value. I took her into my arms and held her, feeling her wet tears on my bare chest.
I led her to the rocking chair given to her by my mother, and told her not to move. I'd be right back. I hurried to the bedroom and reached up into the box where I keep my .38, unlocked it, and drew out the package wrapped in Christmas paper.
She was still seated where I left her, and I handed the gift to her, kneeling beside the chair so that we were at eye-level. She raised an eyebrow at me and asked me if this was my way of celebrating Christmas in July. But she quickly sobered, her hands beginning to tremble as she opened the paper.
I took the velvet box from her after she sat there and stared at it, unable to snap it open. I heard her breath catch in her throat as I snapped open the lid, the gleaming diamond and band of gold shimmering in the moonlight that was coming in through the window. I told her how much I loved her, and I told her I wanted her to marry me. That I wanted to be with her forever.
I watched her hesitate, and I answered her thought before she could put it into words. "I'm not asking you to marry me because I have to, it's because I want to," I told her. I slid the ring onto her left hand, and then pulled her into my arms, meeting her kiss that told me "yes" before her voice did.
10 August 1990
Well, I'm still single. I had assumed, incorrectly, that I'd be standing in front of the JP within days of sliding the engagement ring over her finger. The woman is stubborn. She refuses to marry me until after the baby comes.
And it was an argument that I fiercely lost. Her moods are on an emotional rollercoaster as it is, so I don't know why I even tried to persuade her. She told me the baby will have my last name on the birth certificate, so getting married wasn't necessary for formality sake. And that pissed me off. Call me old fashioned, but legitimacy is a big deal to me, and I told her so.
That was all it took for fire and brimstone to spark out of her eyes. "If it was such a big deal, why did you wait so long?" she screamed at me.
Well, that comment set me off. Big time. But I held my tongue. This was her hormones talking, right? She saw me swallow my fury and then she motioned for me to sit. I sat down in a kitchen chair as she paced in front of me, like a shark circling its prey. Finally, she apologized for her comment.
"I don't want our baby to look back 20 years from now, thinking we got married because of obligation, okay?" she finally explained, throwing her hands up in the air. "I want to marry you with our family and friends around us, in a church, with flowers and the whole deal." And then she gazed down at her stomach, a flicker of sadness shadowing her face. "And I want to have my body back, too."
Now, how am I supposed to argue with all of that?
I asked her if she planned to wear a white wedding dress.
And that was when she threw a cup at me.
14 August 1990
Dee Dee is in labor, ten days early. Apparantly, it has been going on since very early this morning, and she didn't tell me. I think she knew I'd be worried, and sent me off to work without a word about it.
After I had been at work for a while, I realized she was pretty quiet this morning, a little restless. So, I went home to check on her at lunchtime, and I realized then that something was happening. At first, she said it was only every half hour or so, and then it was every 20 minutes, and just recently, as the early evening approaches, every ten minutes.
She is in the bath tub right now, relaxing. She told me she's not in pain, but I'm not sure if I believe her. She has a high tolerance for pain as it is, but I can see it in her face. Only a few days ago, she was in tears because she was scared. Now that it is happening, she is the calm one and I am the one who is scared.
It occurred to me this afternoon, as I watched her quietly walk around the back yard or read a book to pass the time, that something could happen to her, or to the baby. My heart is beating out of my chest even as I write this. You hear about women stroking out or last-minute deaths of their unborn children. But you assume those things only happen to other people.
I hope my father tells God that He can't have either one of them.
Later, 8:18 p.m.
I am now worried that this is going to go on forever. It is now after 8 p.m., and it has been 15 hours since it started. She is lying on the bed, asleep. Well, sort of. I massaged her for a while and it must have been relaxing enough for her to sleep, but every five or ten minutes, she wakes up again. She refuses to go to the hospital yet, and I am not real happy about that, either.
Midnight
Dee Dee is going to give me a heart attack. She is in the shower. Her water broke about 10 minutes ago and instead of going to the hospital, she wanted to take a shower first. If she insists on putting her makeup on, I'm going to go without her, and get admitted to either the cardiac unit or the psych ward. She'll have three choices -- drive herself, deliver her own baby, or call a cab.
I think she's a lot further along than she thinks she is. The pain is starting to bother her to the point that she has to concentrate on what she is doing. Every time I hear her quiet moan, it rips my heart out.
I don't want to deliver my own baby on the living room floor.
15 August 9:40 a.m.
I will admit that my old-fashioned ways had me worried about being present for the birth, but once I finally got her to the hospital at 2 a.m., I was in charge and gung-ho all the way. It was a good thing, because I realize now why she hesitated for so long about coming in. Once she got to her room, she was no longer in control. And she is definitely one independent woman. She wanted to do things her way for as long as she could.
And that was when I realized what my job was. Because when Dee Dee finally gave up her own control, it was up to me to comfort her, reassure her and encourage her. Since her water had broken they wouldn't let her in the whirlpool, so she was pretty much confined to the bed. It happened pretty quickly after that, and I am so proud of her.
She never screamed, never cried. The only thing I noticed was how her knuckles turned white as she held onto me for dear life.
Our daughter was born at 6:38 a.m. All 7 pounds, 2 ounces and 19 inches of her has been accounted for, and she is beautiful. She is Dee Dee through and through, with the exception of the blue eyes that she got from me. She is the tiniest scrap of feminine humanity I have ever seen in my life.
I cut the cord as the baby cried with her first breaths of air. I kept watch over her as they measured and weighed her, making sure she was okay. It was an easy thing to do since most of the staff taking care of her were about ten to 12 inches shorter than me. The child has a head full of black hair. I am amazed at her feet and hands, so tiny and delicate.
She stole my heart as soon as they wrapped her in a soft blanket and put her into my arms. She fits into the crook of my arm like a regulation-size football. She wrapped her tiny hand around my finger in a tight grip, and her blue eyes met mine. And as I met her newborn, minutes-old gaze, my heart stopped.
I was looking into the eyes of my father, and I knew then, that he was with me. Perhaps, he sent her to me. I usually leave the superstitious beliefs to Dee Dee, but I swear, my father is finding a way to speak to me through this perfect baby girl.
As long as I draw breath, no harm will ever come to this child.
I will never forget the moment that I placed her into Dee Dee's arms for the first time. She did not shed one tear when she was in all that pain, so she must have been saving them for that moment.
"I have been waiting my whole life for you," Dee Dee whispered to her, holding her close as she made sure every single part of her was perfect.
I can't believe that I thought I never wanted this.
16 August 1990
I was selfish the rest of yesterday. I asked friends and family not to visit the hospital in an effort to give Dee Dee some time to rest, and for both of us to keep the baby to ourselves. I couldn't keep them away today.
You can barely see anything in the room for the numerous flowers that were delivered yesterday and today. But Dee Dee is oblivious, as she only has eyes for one thing, her new daughter.
After she had rested for a while, we discussed naming her. Amazingly enough, we had never discussed it. There were a lot of things that we never talked about, I realize now. Finally, I borrowed a baby book from the nurses station (apparantly we aren't the only ones who have a baby and don't have a name picked out.)
I found the name Lianna. It means 'bond' in Latin. She was created out of a special bond between two people that will never be broken. So, Lianna Nicole Hunter is what we named her.
Dee Dee's mother is enamored with the baby. And my mother? Well, let's just say that the only other time I ever saw the woman cry was at my father's funeral. She sat down in a chair, and as she stared into Lianna's eyes, she lifted her own tearful ones toward the sky and began a prayer in Italian that I hadn't heard since I was a young boy.
"She has your eyes," she told me in between sniffles. "Your father would be so proud."
17 August
Dee Dee informed me yesterday that it was my job to pick out an outfit for Lianna's first baby picture and trip home. I questioned her as to why she hadn't gotten anything, and she admitted to me that the only thing she packed in the bag for the baby was for a boy. She had thought the entire time that Lianna was a boy, because as she says, only a man would would have caused her that much trouble.
So, I did as requested, and I must say that I am quite proud of myself. I took a picture of Dee Dee as she opened the bag this morning, and pulled out a white newborn outfit with pink pin-stripes, and a matching baseball hat -- both of them with an L.A. Dodger logo. I drove to Dodger stadium to find exactly what I wanted. Even better, Dee Dee loved it.
Both Dee Dee and the baby were given a clean bill of health, and we left the hospital late this afternoon. Both of our mothers were waiting at home for us, and I threw them both out at 8 p.m. Not only was Dee Dee's patience wearing thin from the unwanted, yet well-intended, advice, she is exhausted. And from what I can gather, our daughter has already exhibited night-owl behavior, waking up every two hours to eat.
So, it is going on 11 p.m. Both of my women are asleep, too. Lianna is over my shoulder as I write, her sweet newborn breath on my neck as she sleeps, her tiny body limp now that she is fed and happy.
Today was our first day at home together, a family of three.
Next on my agenda is to get Dee Dee to the altar.
28 October
I am supposed to be on my honeymoon. We became husband and wife today in front of 100 of our closest friends and family. Lianna is 8 weeks old, a beautiful blue-eyed baby girl who smiles at me with her toothless grin when I hold her or play with her.
Dee Dee refused to go on a honeymoon without our daughter. She is still breastfeeding her, and did not want to be away from her. I can't say I blame her, so we decided to take a weekend honeymoon trip to Malibu and took Lianna with us. Unfortunately, Lianna decided she needed Dee's breast more than I did, so I figured I'd write down my wedding day memories while I impatiently wait.
I cannot express how beautiful Dee looked, walking down the aisle in my mother's church on Charlie's arm. A vision in ivory, I felt tears come to my eyes when I saw her. Her dark hair has grown down to the middle of her back, but she chose to wear it up for the occasion, with pink and ivory roses entwined through the dark, curly mass.
Lianna was her flower girl, dressed in a tiny pink dress and pink shoes, a pink headband around her dark head. Our mothers decided to sit in the church together, taking turns with the baby.
They say it's bad luck to see the bride before the ceremony, but I am not at all superstitious. Besides, Lianna was screaming her head off in the vestibule as I tried to console her about 15 minutes before the ceremony was to begin. The only one who could fix the situation at hand was her mother. I took her to the back where Dee was getting dressed, and opened the door. Dee Dee reached for Lianna immediately, and told me that she was just going to send someone out for her, her mother's instinct kicking in, knowing full well by the tightness in her breasts that her daughter was hungry. She sat in a chair and opened the robe she was wearing to give Lianna what she desired.
Lianna fell asleep in her arms, and Dee Dee finally gave her up to my mother, five minutes after the ceremony was to begin. Better late than never, I always say.
She asked me to help her get dressed, and I remember zipping up her dress, my hands grazing her slim body that is curved in all the best places. The doctor only gave me permission to make love to her two weeks ago, and Dee Dee told me I had to wait until the wedding night. So, after I zipped up her dress, I turned her into my arms and watched her dark eyes sparkle as I leaned in to kiss her. My hormones got the best of me as I pushed her up against the wall and kissed her longingly while my hands roamed her body.
The priest walked in and interrupted us, clearing his throat in embarassment. I told him I was a good Catholic boy, and was doing my best to procreate. Dee Dee's face flushed as she pushed me away, obviously embarassed. I am just so thankful that she agreed to get married in my mother's church.
Lianna was asleep in my mother's arms just before the ceremony began, but decided to wake up and protest right as we were to say our vows. I stopped the priest and heard Dee's soft laughter, joined by the rest of the congregation, as I took my daughter from my mother and put her over my shoulder, rubbing her back with one hand as I held her mother's hand in the other. We promised to love and honor each other forever, to accept children willingly from God, with Lianna as our witness.
25 December 1990
I spent last night reading in this journal, and the turnaround from beginning to end is one I would have never believed, if I hadn't seen it in black and white. I am ashamed, reading my thoughts from one year ago. I have more happiness than I ever imagined.
Lianna was spoiled today, receving more gifts than I ever thought imaginable. She is too young to appreciate it, but I know that she will be loved and cared for by the many people who have fallen in love with her.
Dee Dee and I sat in front of the Christmas tree last night, drinking some wine after Lianna was put to bed for the night. She asked me if I was drunk when I told her that I wanted to make Lianna all over again with her. But perhaps a boy this time, to even the score.
She didn't believe me at first, and then she smiled at me when she realized I was serious. Maybe, in another year, she said. I said no, right now. I'm not getting any younger. After disagreeing back and forth, I told her we'd flip for it, and despite her protest, I pulled out a quarter, allowing her to inspect it before I tossed.
As usual, she lost.
So next year at this time, I am hoping we are well on our way to a family of four, if we aren't already.