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They’d painted a stone and pressed her fingerprint into it, something Annie called “a memory that could outlive paper.” It was her idea, of course. Always finding the meaning in the smallest things.
It was a slow kind of June in Mississippi. Hot, humid, and boring as hell. The kind of day where time stretched out so long it felt like it might never end. Cicadas screaming in the trees, clothes sticking to skin, and the thick smell of honeysuckle. Smoke sat perched on a porch step, one leg propped up with his arm resting on it, and the other one babysitting a fresh mason jar of sweet tea. His shirt was damped with sweat and slightly unbuttoned to cool him as he watched Annie a few feet away, seated with Alice in her lap.
"She don't like the paint," Annie said with a laugh as Alice protested in her arms, face scrunched up in disapproval. "I'm sorry, I know you're hot, baby. I'm hot too."
At five months old, Alice was all smiles and babbles, a little bundle of giggles. Her eyes were still that new-baby grey, with the slight hue of brown coming in. They were still learning her little personality and all of the things that made her.
"C'mere, let me have her." Smoke reached out his arms , and Annie passed her over, a grin spreading across her face.
"She's gonna start crying."
"Nah, she loves her Papa," Smoke shook his head. He set the baby on his lap facing him and leaned forward to kiss her little cheek. Alice gave him a look but otherwise seemed uninterested.
"Look at her," he laughed. "She knows she's my favorite girl."
Annie snorted, shaking her head. " Well, see if you can get her to put her hand in this paint." She dipped her finger in and held it up.
"She can barely stand grass, you think she's gonna get her hand in there?"
"If she wants to."
"Alright, smartass." Smoke scooped up some black paint onto his own finger and brought it towards the baby. "Come on, girl, give Papa your hand."
Alice looked at the paint curiously, reaching her hand towards it, then jerking it back when Smoke's hand got too close.
"What's the matter? You scared?"
"She ain't scared, she just don't know what it is." Annie said.
Smoke held his hand out further, and finally Alice reached her arm out and grabbed his finger, letting her hand get covered with paint. He grinned at her, and she giggled and waved her hand around. "Now's your time," Smoke instructed Annie. They worked quickly, Annie guiding Alice’s tiny fingers down onto the smooth river stone they’d found out back. The print was messy, smeared a little at the tips, but clear enough.
"Looks like a ghost hand," Smoke said with a chuckle.
"She's five months old, what do you expect? A signature?" Annie shot back.
Alice squealed, pleased with herself, and then, just like that, her smile slipped. Her face scrunched, but no sound came out right away. She let out a soft, almost hoarse whimper and buried her face against Smoke's chest.
"You tired, little bit?" he asked, gently bouncing her in his arms. She felt heavier than usual, or maybe it was just the heat getting to him too.
Annie leaned in to check her forehead with the back of her hand. "She’s warm."
"It’s damn near a hundred degrees out here," Smoke said, brushing his thumb across her back. "We’re all warm."
"Still," Annie murmured, her brow furrowing slightly before smoothing out. "She skipped her feeding. You noticed that?"
"She did?" He frowned, looking down at the baby, now quietly sucking on her fist. "She doesn't seem hungry now."
"It's been a few hours, though."
"Well, then she's probably just full."
"It ain't like her."
"Well, babies are finicky, sometimes. It's fine." He said. "You worried?"
"No, no," Annie shook her head. She tried to smooth the concern out of her face.
*****
The stone dried on the windowsill, the afternoon sun helping along. Annie placed it on a mantel, making sure that whoever would visit could see.
"That's how we're doing it, then?" Smoke asked, standing behind her with a hand on her waist.
"It's the best way I could think of," she shrugged, leaning back against him.
"It is," he agreed, kissing the side of her head. "You did good . I love ya. "
"I love you too," she said, turning to him. " Is there anything you want to eat tonight? I figured if she won't take the breast, she may be open to something more solid.
Smoke rocked back on his heels, thinking. “We got any of them sweet potatoes left?”
Annie nodded, already halfway toward the kitchen. “Might be just enough for mash. You think she’ll go for it?”
“Only one way to find out,” he said, peeling off his sweat-damp shirt and tossing it over a chair. “I’ll keep her busy while you work your magic.”
Annie smirked, pulling herbs off the hook by the window. “You mean while I do everything.”
Smoke grinned, scooping Alice up from her blanket on the floor. “I’m doin’ my part,” he said, lifting their daughter like a dance partner. “This here is morale support.”
He started to sway with her, slow and easy, one hand supporting her back, the other cradling under her cloth-covered bottom. Alice blinked up at him, sleepy but awake, her cheek pressed against his bare chest.
Annie watched from the counter as she peeled the potato, eyes flicking back to them every few seconds. The baby’s breath came slow, her mouth slightly open as she sucked gently on her lower lip. Her little hands didn’t flail like usual. She was quieter today.
“She looks so peaceful,” Annie said, not turning around.
“She’s got her mama’s heart,” Smoke murmured, twirling slightly to the hum of a song that wasn’t playing. Alice smiled up at him this time. A real smile. As he looked at her, he couldn't help but think that she was all his. Even down to the deep dimples.
Annie turned her attention back to the pot, humming to herself.
Smoke looked down at Alice, smiling, and for a moment , he was so wrapped up in the rhythm of his own movements and the sweet sound of his wife singing that he didn't notice right away. But he caught it eventually. The stillness.
"You hear that?" He asked Annie.
"What?" She glanced over to him, still swaying slowly.
"Peace, baby. That's what I'm talkin' about."
" Sure is nice," Annie nodded. Smoke kept the baby distracted and comfortable as they both worked in silence.
*****
"I don't know," Alice sighed. "I don't think she likes them." She dropped her hand down to the bowl, brows knitting just a little. The mashed sweet potatoes sat there, untouched, on the spoon.
"Just try again, Mama. Maybe this time she'll bite." Smoke encouraged, bouncing the baby a little on his knee. Alice frowned, leaning her chin against the edge of the table, and Smoke reached his free arm around her. He rested his hand on the small of her back, rubbing her through the thin fabric of her little dress.
"Hey," he said . "Your mama made this good food for you. You should go on and eat now."
Annie smiled gratefully at him, reaching over to stroke the baby's cheek. Alice's frown softened a little, her lips parting slightly.
"See," Annie said. "She wants it. Here, open up."
She offered the spoon to the baby, who took it into her mouth, a little bit dribbling down her chin. Her mother beamed.
Alice smacked her lips together, considering the flavor, and then swallowed it. Her eyes seemed to light up as she reached out for the spoon with her chubby hand .
"There she goes," Annie said, her voice full of relief. "She's finally hungry. When her Papa tells her something, she does it. "
Smoke laughed. "I don't know, Mama. You've had the best track record, so far."
Alice gurgled happily as she brought the spoon to her mouth, mashing the potatoes into her cheek.
"Oh, she's a mess," Annie said. "Let me have her."
"No, no, it's alright," Smoke assured her, gently tugging the spoon from Alice's grasp. "She's just exploring."
"You're so good with her," Annie mused. She loved watching them together. She loved seeing the way Smoke's rough hands could turn so gentle, how Alice seemed to melt into him like she'd been born knowing him.
Smoke grinned, glancing up at her with a touch of pride. "She makes it easy."
Alice gave a little hiccup and smiled widely, dimples flashing, cheeks smeared with orange. Smoke took the corner of his shirt and wiped at her mouth.
"Look at that face," he said. "That’s all me."
Annie chuckled as she rose to gather a damp cloth. "That dimple is definitely yours. But the stubbornness? That's mine and maybe a little of her uncle Stack."
"Whole lotta you in this one," he said, bouncing Alice lightly. Her arms flopped against him, heavier than usual. She blinked, then blinked again, slower this time. Her head dipped forward just slightly.
Annie paused, watching. "She sleepy already?"
Smoke shifted her upright a bit. "Guess so. Didn't eat much, though."
"She’s probably just full off the milk from earlier." Annie tried to keep her voice easy, light, even as a small pinch of worry formed in her stomach. Alice usually fought nap time. Fought everything.
"I'll rock her a bit," Smoke said, pushing up from the table with her in his arms. "You get to eat while it’s hot for once."
Annie smiled, watching as he swayed gently near the window, the golden light catching on the baby’s curls, her fingers curled tight against his chest.
She turned back to the bowl of mashed sweet potatoes and took a bite, chewing slowly as she listened to Smoke hum something low and familiar.
And yet… something tugged at the edge of her thoughts. Just a flicker. When she was done with her food, she washed the bowl and set it aside.
"I want to try feeding her again," She thought.
"You wanna get her?" Smoke asked, rocking with the baby, her little head lolling against his shoulder. "She's pretty comfy here."
"No, I’ll leave her," Annie said, a hint of regret in her voice. "Let’s get her to bed early. Maybe she’ll sleep through the night."
Smoke nodded, still swaying, still humming. “She’s already halfway there.”
He turned slightly, giving Annie a better look at their daughter’s face. Alice’s eyelids fluttered, lashes casting tiny shadows on her cheeks. Her breathing was soft, steady… but slower than usual, maybe. Or maybe Annie was just imagining it.
“You okay?” Smoke asked, catching the change in her expression.
“Yeah,” she said too quickly. “Yeah, I just… she’s growing so fast.”
Smoke smiled, walking over to pass her the baby. “She’s still little. Still ours.”
Annie took Alice into her arms, cradling her close. Her warmth, her weight. The familiar scent of baby powder and milk. Everything was right.
And yet.
“I’ll get her blanket,” Smoke offered, moving toward the crib in the corner of the room. Annie stood still for a moment, swaying lightly with Alice pressed to her chest. The baby gave a little exhale, not quite a sigh, and Annie felt it against her collarbone, like a whisper. She kissed the top of her head.
"You're okay, baby girl," she murmured. "Mama’s right here."
Smoke returned with the soft knit blanket, folding it around Alice with practiced hands. He leaned in to kiss her temple, then Annie’s.
“She’s alright,” he said. “You worry too much.”
Annie nodded, though her arms stayed wrapped around Alice for just a second longer than necessary before placing her gently in the crib. She stood watching her for a moment longer. As usual, Alice kicked her feet and took a shaky breath. It was an indicator of deep sleep and something she had always done since the moment she was born.
"Sleep tight," Smoke whispered. "You be good for your Mama and Papa, yeah? Even in your dreams. "
He reached down and stroked her soft cheek with love in his eyes . They both lingered, just looking. Just being.