Author's note: Others have written their take on how Angela Turner got her name. Here is mine. Also there's dancing...because if I had my way there would always be dancing.
"…'til we meet again."
The song ended and the record spun to a stop, but they remained, entwined and swaying, in the middle of the sitting room.
Shelagh broke the silence first. "Patrick, since we got the letter from the adoption agency – well, when we do meet our baby – " her smile broadened and her cheeks pinked at the words – "Have you thought at all about names?"
He hadn't. The last few days his thoughts, when not at work, had been about his argument with Shelagh, their reconciliation and their resolution to talk – always to talk – about the things that worried them. They'd spent far too long in silence.
"I haven't actually." Our baby. They were going to be parents again. The wonder of it stilled his movements and he pulled his wife closer. "It doesn't seem real yet."
"I know," she said, shivering in delight. "Before, when we –" her gaze dropped momentarily. Thinking of those months past in the hospital would always bring her some pain. But without it, the blessings of the present wouldn't be as sweet. She met Patrick's eyes again and continued. "Then, I had thought about a few options. James, for a boy. Celia or maybe Emily for a girl." She frowned. "But none of those seem to fit now."
"If Tim had been a girl, Margaret wanted to call him Janet. And for a boy we'd settled on Douglas." Shelagh wrinkled his nose in distaste and he chuckled. "I know. But then when he arrived, he just didn't seem like anything but a Timothy."
As they did another turn on the carpet, he glanced toward the hallway that led to his son's bedroom. Eleven years ago and it felt like yesterday sometimes. Then he'd look in the mirror at the grey threads in his hair and the laugh lines on his face and wonder where the time had gone.
"Sometimes, these things just settle themselves," he said, with a sigh. "Anyway, we've probably got weeks yet to decide. So start making a list." He twirled her spontaneously and she giggled.
"All right," she said, returning to rest her hand on his shoulder. "But not Douglas."
They stood in the middle of the nursery, swaying ever so slightly, to a tune only the three of them could hear.
"We have a daughter," she whispered in wonder and he grinned back, light-headed and giddy.
The nurse came over to tend to another baby standing in a nearby cot. She smiled at the couple. "She's good as gold, that one. Quiet little angel."
"Little angel," Shelagh repeated softly. She reached out to stroke the child's soft cheek and the little girl grabbed her fingertip, her grip tiny but strong, as if she were saying hello.
Little angel. She had her name.
Shelagh smiled at Patrick. "Angela. Angela Turner."