He reached farther into the darkness, closing his eyes to those stars, imagining he could rake his fingers through their shimmer, gather up their light. Oh, that he could wrap that light in a parcel of brown paper, tie it with string, and send it to the wee child growing within Juliette. He was desperate to tell him—or her—to look to the skies when things were dark. For there always would be light. Steady and sure.
