MY HANDS FEEL SWEATY AS I pace the length of the barn.
I think about putting all of this nervous energy to use and make something, but I can’t. My nerves are getting to me and I’m afraid I’ll chop off a finger or something. Besides, the barn is beginning to look like a furniture store with all of the odds and ends pieces sitting around.
My dad asked me last week what I was planning on doing with it all, but I have no clue. He suggested I sell it, and honestly, that thought hadn’t even entered my mind. I’ve been building things to relieve stress and clear my head. It never dawned on me that someone would want to buy any of it, and I’m still not convinced they would.
The bassinet for the new baby did turn out pretty awesome. I put a hundred pound weight in it to check out the sturdiness, and it held up just fine. I’m kind of impressed with myself.
When I hear a car coming down the dirt road, my heart leaps into my throat and I hurry to the barn door to see if it’s the same one from last week. I know it’s not my dad or Kay, they left half an hour ago to make their weekly shopping trip to Baton Rouge and should be gone the better part of the afternoon.
Kay always talks my dad into lunch before they come back home.
At least, that’s what I’m banking on.
As the car gets closer, I notice it’s driving slowly, slower than cars usually drive, but it’s finally close enough for me to see that it’s Sophie.
I wonder if she’s as nervous as I am.
Who am I kidding? She’s probably scared out of her mind.
I would be.
Over the past week, I’ve caught myself getting sucked into a dark hole, where I try to put myself in her place—trying to feel what she feels—and it’s horrible.
It feels like I’m suffocating.
It feels like desperation.
However, I’m not Sophie. I don’t know what it’s like to be a parent. I only just found out about the potential, so I can’t truly empathize with her.
I watch as the car pulls in, and without being obvious, I try to catch a glimpse of Sammy, but I don’t see her. Maybe Sophie changed her mind.
But then, she parks the car and eventually gets out and goes to the back seat, opening the door and disappearing from my line of sight for what feels like forever, but is probably only minutes. I think about calling out for her, wondering if she needs my help, but not wanting to rush her.
When she emerges, a small head of blonde curly hair follows her out of the car.
The world stops spinning for a brief moment. I forget to breathe. My heart continues to pound in my chest, but other than that, my body freezes.
I’d recognize that mess of hair anywhere.
It’s just like mine.
The closer they get, the more her features come into focus. She has light brown skin that reminds me of cafe au lait, and her pale blue eyes, like Sophie’s, are stunning. I can imagine people stare at her, maybe even stop her on the street, because she might be the most beautiful little girl I’ve ever seen.
And it has nothing to do with the fact that she’s mine.
Because just like Cami said, I know.
I’d hope that even if we met on the street somewhere, I’d still recognize her. Something inside me pulls me to her. I expect her to hide or shy away, something most kids her age do, but she doesn’t. She holds her head up and meets my eyes, giving me a wide smile.
“Hi,” she says, crinkling her nose against the sun and I instantly see Cami.
“Hi,” I reply, unable to fight the smile on my face.
“I’m Sammy.”
“I’m Tucker,” I tell her, squatting down to her level. “Nice to meet you.”
“I like your barn. Do you have horses?” She looks past me, searching the open space for animals.
“No, no horses,” I tell her, feeling the disappointment inside my chest. I wish I had a fucking horse.
“You’ve got lots of furniture. Is this your house?” Her brows furrow in confusion.
I look up at Sophie who’s wearing a faint smile, like this is completely normal behavior. She also looks tired and fragile, thinner even, like she’s lost weight since last week.
“Wanna sit on one of my chairs?” I ask Sammy, but I’m hoping Sophie will take me up on the offer as well.
“Sure.” She lets go of Sophie’s hand and walks confidently into the barn, testing out one chair, before moving to another, until she finds one she’s satisfied with. “Do you have a baby?”
“Sorry,” Sophie says quietly. “I should’ve warned you that she asks a lot of questions.”
“It’s okay. She talks really good for four,” I comment, watching Sammy swing her legs and take inventory of the rest of the barn.
“Yeah, product of always being around adults, I guess.” Sophie shrugs and takes a deep breath, her eyes closing for longer than necessary.
“Do you wanna sit?” I ask, motioning to an open chair.
“Thanks.” She finally sits and smiles over at Sammy.
“So, do you have a baby? Or is this for a doll? I have one like this, but it’s not big.” Sophie gets up from her chair and walks over to the bassinet, swinging it and frowning when she sees the bricks inside. “Why’s the rocks in it?”
I laugh, walking over and taking the bricks out and setting them on the ground. “I was testing it out for my nephew.”
“What’s a nephew?”
“My sister’s havin’ a baby. So, he’ll be my nephew. I already have one. His name is Carter.”
She nods thoughtfully. “You have a sister?”
“I do,” I nod, still completely mesmerized by this tiny person and how much I see myself in her. I want to reach out and touch her soft skin, feel her curls . . . see if she’s real. Hug her. There’s so many foreign feelings rushing through my body, my head is spinning, but I force myself to keep it together. “Her name is Cami.”
“Rhymes with my name.”
“It does,” I agree. “Well, it’s actually Camille, but we call her Cami.”
“Mama calls me Sammy. I’m actually Samanie,” she says, repeating my word choice with care.
I look to Sophie for explanation.
“Samanie is Creole. It’s an old family name. I just wanted her to have something to remind her of where she came from. The name originates in Houma, where I’m from.”
“How do you spell it?” I ask with an odd need to know everything there is to know about Sammy.
“S-A-M-A-N-I-E. Sa-mon.ee.” She spells it and sounds it out for me with a smile and a crinkle of her nose. “I know it’s different.” She shrugs.
“Samanie,” I say, trying it out. “No, I like it.”
“Samanie,” Sammy chimes in with a big smile, like it’s a game.
“That’s really pretty,” I tell her. It fits her. Somehow the name encompasses her—the blue eyes, the tone of her skin, the blonde hair. She couldn’t have an average name. It just wouldn’t work.
She smiles at the compliment and just like everything else I’ve witnessed from her, she takes it in stride and says, “Thank you.” Her attention goes back to the bassinet for a minute as she swings it lightly. “Are you actually somethin’ else?”
I start to laugh, but remember how Carter is when someone laughs at something he’s serious about, and I can tell this is a serious question. Straightening my face, I reply, “nope, just Tucker.”
I’m your dad, I think to myself, but I don’t say it, because that’d be weird and I don’t want to freak her out. I’m sure there’s some sort of process for that kind of revelation. Hopefully, Sophie knows how to do that, because I’m at a loss.
Sammy takes a deep breath in and then lets it out, and I can see the wheels in her little mind turning. “Is that your swing?”
I look out the back door of the barn, where the old tire is tied to the large oak, and I nod my head.
“Would you like to swing on it?”
A smile grows on her face, so wide it forces her eyes into tiny crescent moons, as her blonde curls bounce with a vigorous nod of her head.
“If it’s okay with your mom.” I look over at Sophie who smiles her approval. As Sammy runs out to the swing, I watch as a world of emotions pass across Sophie’s face—adoration, happiness, sadness, worry . . . maybe even a hint of relief.
“Do you need help?” I call out to Sammy, but I know she can do it. Carter has been swinging on that thing since he was old enough to walk. My dad lowered it to the ground so he could get in it on his own, and also so my dad wouldn’t fret over him falling out. I swear, when Cami and I were kids, we swam in the river and climbed trees, but none of that is safe enough for Carter.
“I can do it.” Her tenacity and independence shines through in every move she makes and I feel like I could watch her for hours.
“She’s amazing,” I say without thinking, to myself, to Sophie.
“She is,” Sophie agrees and I can see that she’s fighting back emotions. “I’m sorry.” She shakes her head and presses her lips together before continuing. “I know I came to you. And I’ve had a lot of years to come to terms with this, but it’s so hard. I feel like I’m forcing myself to put one foot in front of the other. My head knows what I need to do, but my heart fights it every step of the way.”
“I’m sorry.” It’s the only thing I know to say and my throat tightens as my own emotions rush to the surface. “This fucking sucks, Sophie. I . . . I don’t know what to say.”
She clears her throat and sits up straighter. “Sorry.” She blows out a breath, collecting herself. “Look, I know you didn’t ask for this and I’m sure you still have your doubts—”
“I—” I start to cut her off and tell her I don’t have doubts, not anymore, but she doesn’t let me. She keeps going, like she needs to get it all out.
“Here,” she says, handing me an envelope I didn’t notice before. “Sammy’s swab is already in there. You just have to do yours.”
“What’s this?”
“A paternity test. You just swab your cheek, put it in the other tube, and mail it in.”
“Okay,” I tell her, a brief wave of reality hitting me.
Right. A paternity test. Because there’s still a chance that the little girl swinging on the tire swing, with her head tilted up to the sky and her little purple sneakers up in the air, isn’t mine.
Right.
“I had my doubts and I didn’t ask for this,” I begin, working through the kaleidoscope of feelings swirling through my chest. That part’s true. But how do you ask for something you didn’t know you wanted? How do you know that when you’re face to face with something you helped create that the world shifts on its axis and you realize you’d move heaven and earth to make them happy and safe. “I can’t explain it, but somehow I just know . . . I know she’s mine. I’d like to think, even if you hadn’t told me, I’d still know.”
“I’ve been doing some research on the process of adding you as Sammy’s father,” Sophie says, her tone turning more business than I’ve heard before, like she’s separating herself from the situation. “If the test comes back positive, we’ll have to file an Acknowledgement of Paternity in front of a notary. The paperwork has to be filled out and filed at the vital records office.”
“Okay.” The numbness from last week begins to seep back in as the truth of what all of this means comes crashing down around me. Paternity tests, vital records . . . father—all of it seems so surreal, yet right, like this is how it’s supposed to be.
“If . . .” Sophie begins, but hesitates as she watches Sammy swing for a minute. “If you don’t want her, I’ll understand.”
The words literally break my heart. I feel my chest fracture and practically crumble as I too watch the little girl swing like she doesn’t have a care in the world.
“I don’t have a doubt she’s yours,” Sophie continues. “But if you can’t take her, I’ll figure something else out. I know I blindsided you with this. Showing up here last week, out of the blue. It was a pure shot in the dark. I was so desperate. After my last doctor’s appointment, I went into panic mode and all I could think about was getting Sammy somewhere safe—somewhere she’ll be happy. I didn’t even know if you’d be here or if I had the right Tucker Benoit. When I contacted Tracy and she said y’all weren’t touring anymore, I took it as a sign from God. And when I drove up and saw you in the barn, working . . . and this peaceful house . . . I felt like I was doing the right thing. But after I left, all I could do was think about how much of a shock this must be to you.”
I listen to her and try to find the right way to say what I’m feeling. It’s off the cuff and more transparent than I’ve been with anyone in a long time, but somehow, my confession feels safe with Sophie.
“To be honest, I’ve been home off the road for a few months now and I don’t know what I’m doin’ with my life. I’ve been tryin’ to figure that out, takin’ it a day at a time. Most days, I feel like I’m barely takin’ care of myself. I don’t know how I’m gonna take care of Sammy. I have a nephew, but all I’ve about is bein’ a good uncle—playing army men and running around the yard . . . feeding him chocolate.” I chuckle, shaking my head. “That’s the extent of my experience when it comes to kids.”
“Well, you’ll be happy to know Sammy is very self-sufficient,” she says with a small laugh, both of us trying to make light of the situation. But the heaviness is still sitting around like a thick fog.
“I need time,” I confess. “But I’ll do this.” I hold up the test. “And I’ll meet you in Houma for the paperwork.”
I can at least give her that much.
“Thank you.”