The Three of Us

53. A Last Goodbye

"Mr. Blythe," Anne whispered.

He did not say her name, but his eyes said everything.

She took his hand and squeezed it, wishing she could pour some of her own energy into him.

"I know I already told you I have to leave today, but I wish it wasn't true," she told him regretfully. "I wouldn't leave you if I didn't have to. But I don't have any choice. We have to go to where we're staying, so I'll be near the hospital. ...I wish I could stay with you."

There was quiet for a moment, Anne wanting to speak but not wanting to cry while she did.

Suddenly she felt a soft nudge from inside.

"Oh," she almost laughed. "I'm sorry. I forgot about you."

"Hmm?" Mr. Blythe breathed.

"The baby, Mr. Blythe. You see, I told it that we were coming to see you today before we went on the train. I think...I think it just wanted to make sure I didn't forget about it."

He smiled.

"I think it wants to talk to you," she told him. "It always pokes at me when it has something to say. We talk to each other a lot, the baby and I. ...Do you want to see what it wants to tell you?"

He answered again with a smile.

Anne picked up his fragile hand and held it to her belly. After several moments, the baby greeted him with a healthy kick. When she looked back at Mr. Blythe, she saw a tear, shining like a pearl, caught in the corner of his eye.

"It says it likes you," Anne said to him, trying to ignore the tear, because she felt a sob rising in her throat. "When we come back home, I'll bring the baby here to visit...all right?"

He smiled again, but it was the sort of smile you give when you know somebody is trying to make you feel better.

Anne was not sure even at that moment whether she really wanted to bring the baby home at all- but she'd figure that out later. For now, it didn't matter- the only thing that mattered was keeping Mr. Blythe smiling.

"Gilbert thinks it's a girl," he said, struggling to get the words out.

"I haven't even thought of it as a boy or a girl," Anne admitted. "I've just thought of it as a baby. And sometimes I've thought of it as a potato. ...Once I thought of it as an onion."

Gilbert gave Anne that impish smile he had, the one that made his eyes sparkle.

"An onion, eh?" Mr. Blythe asked. Mr. Blythe did not know what she was talking about, but he couldn't help but laugh- which only came out as a broken, raspy cough.

"Oh, no," Anne said worriedly.

"No," he breathed. "I'm...all right."

Anne held his hand again. "Mr. Blythe, I love you," she said, unable to keep two fat tears from slipping down her cheeks. "And my baby loves you, too."

She could sense him struggling to respond, and she quickly begged, "Don't say anything. You don't have to say it back to me. I already know. ...I've known from the very first day I met you. When Gilbert and I skipped school...and he brought me here, to your house...and you didn't ask me why I didn't want to go to school...you just told me to come on in and make myself at home...and...and the pancakes," she choked on her words and could not continue.

She tried to get herself back together: "And the stories. The magazines. Walden. But it isn't just in the things. It's in everything you say and do, Mr. Blythe. You've always made me feel..."