"I said, Isle," Peter said, louder this time, taking the disks in his hand. "My daughter's name is Isle."
PART IV
Chapter 17
"That's a good girl," Peter said, cradling the tiny Isle in his arms. He checked her bottle. "Almost done."
For one and a half months she had been home with Peter, deemed well enough leave the hospital after a touch-and-go stay for the same length of time. She weighed a scant six and a quarter pounds. Her eyes were curious and alert, just like her mother's. Peter longed for her eyes to keep the clear sapphire color, a glittering reflection of Ivy. Isle's hair was beginning to outcrop in satiny brown whorls, the same color as her father's.
"Your little jewel," Grace said all smiles as she came into the living room. "Go ahead, I'll finish up with her."
"Okay, shrimp, over to Grace," Peter said, handing over the little pink bundle.
Peter stood beaming at his infant in Grace's lap, her tiny mouth puckering the nipple of the bottle, tiny hands clutching and uncurling, tiny stocking feet kicking. So fragile, yet strong.
"Petey!" Byron boomed from elsewhere in the house. "Let's go!"
"Better hurry before the bear comes out of his cave looking for you."