“What’s that?”
“What are you going to call it?”
Lawson blinked, stared at me, then out the windscreen, then back at me. “I don’t know,” he whispered. “You name it.”
“No, I will not.”
“Yes, you can.”
“Okay, call it the Lawson.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Why is that ridiculous?”
“Because it’s egotistical and self-serving.”
I snorted. “Then you name it.”
He sighed, his conversation derailed. “I would need to consider a great deal of factors.”
I took his hand and kissed his knuckles, smiling at how much calmer he was now. At least he was breathing normally. “Are you still considering handing it over to someone else?”
He chewed on his bottom lip and stared out the windscreen for a bit, then nodded. “I think so. Once the prelims are done and the groundwork is established. There’s still a lot of work in that, but by then the weather will have warmed up and my work at home will be in full swing. I’ll have enough to worry about. Plus, I meant what I said. I don’t want to be traipsing all over anymore, Jack. I want to be home with you and Brennan.”
I kissed his knuckles again. “I love you.”
He smiled at me, clearly tired but happy. “And that makes me one very lucky, very happy man. I love you too, Jack.”
He scrolled on his phone for a while, sent some emails off to Piers in Queensland, asking him to come at his earliest convenience, then went back to scrolling. He was quiet, reading, researching, double-checking, and we were soon pulling into our driveway. The clouds were low and dark, the weather had turned miserable, but there had never been a prettier sight to me.
Brennan ran out onto the porch, his coat, boots, and beanie on, his grin wide. “Daddas!”
Lawson was out of the car and had him in a big hug before I’d even opened my door. I walked over and collected them both in a big bear hug and said hello to my mum and sister over the top of Lawson’s head.
“Did you save the butterflies?” Brennan asked, his brown eyes wide with innocent wonder.
Lawson tweaked his little chubby cheek. “We sure did.”
The cold wind snapped around us. “How about we get all of Daddy’s gear into his butterfly house, then make hot chocolates and we can tell you all about it?”
We all carried bags, and Brennan carried one with the utmost importance. His daddy’s work made him a superhero according to Brennan, and that was the sweetest thing ever. Raising our son to understand ecology and conservation like he understood colours, shapes, letters, and numbers was never a question. Between my work at the national park and Lawson’s butterflies, Brennan was always going to be aware of the world around him.
But then we sat at the dining table, hot chocolates all ’round, and told Mum and Poppy all about the butterfly. Brennan sat on my lap, listening to every word.
Lawson’s phone rang and Piers’ name appeared on the screen. He flashed me a smile before excusing himself to answer the call.
Mum watched Lawson disappear down the hall. “Life’s about to get a whole lot busier,” she mused.
“A whole lot better,” I corrected gently. I gave Brennan a squeeze. “Daddy’s a superhero, isn’t he?”
Brennan nodded. “He saves butterflies every day.”
Smiling, I kissed the side of his head. “He sure does.”
Three Months Later
“I finished it,” Lawson said nervously as he handed me a copy of his submission to the Australian Lepidopterist Society. His work on the new butterfly had created interest from all over the world. Piers had spent some time here helping him, mostly spending time in Lawson’s butterfly house. He wasn’t up for the hike or the abseiling, which was understandable.
Lawson and I had made that trek more than a few times in the last three months. We never did find any other specimens in any other caves in the area, but the size and health of the colony led Lawson to believe they might be found in other caves in colder parts of Australia and even New Zealand.
They were out there, just waiting to be found. They just happened to be hiding in places no one would have ever expected to find butterflies. They had taken everything ever known about butterflies and turned it on its head.
Other butterfly enthusiasts were now actively searching their local caves in hopes of finding them. This new species, a remarkable find, had set the Lepidoptera world abuzz, but even further afield, the whole insect and even reptile world had taken note. This was a cold-blooded animal that never saw the sun. It preferred and thrived in absolute darkness in the colder months. Sure, the cave was protected and had a steady climate all year round, but that climate was cold, and this was an exciting find.
Even the lichenology and mycology world was abuzz. The pink lichen turned out to be known in the Cryptothecia rubrocincta family, but not in caves and not at these temperatures. It was basically a fungus living off the water source, and the algae and cyanobacteria deterred the bats from eating both the lichen and the butterfly, and the bats protected the butterflies from other predators.
It was such a remarkable symbiosis.
And the butterfly was also, still to this point, nameless.
I’d suggested something to do with the cold or winter. Even something to do with the colour. It was pink, after all. And pink in the animal kingdom was rare.
“But they’re not pink,” Lawson had argued. “There has been much debate regarding this, as you know.”
“Uh, I don’t know everything about butterflies like you do, but I know what the colour pink is,” I’d replied.
To which Lawson gave me a condensed rundown on structural colourisation. The butterfly was technically purple but appeared pink due to iridescence. They looked pink to me, but I wasn’t about to argue the point with Lawson.
Anyway, the newfound butterfly was still nameless. Until now. If he’d finished his submission, which meant he’d given it a name.
I took the folder he’d handed me. He raked his fingers through his hair, patting it down, blinked quickly a few times, and licked his lips. I stood up. “Lawson, my love. What are you nervous about?”
“I’m not nervous,” he lied. Then he frowned at the folder. “I’m not nervous, but if you’d care to read the first page, that would be most appreciated. Put me out of my misery, at least. And if you don’t like it or would rather it be called something else, I will understand, but I am of the opinion—”
“Hey,” I murmured soothingly. I put my palm to his cheek. “Don’t be anxious about it.”
Then his expression became one of annoyance. “Would you just please look at it?”
I opened the folder, and under a photograph of the butterfly in question was its name.
The Brighton-Gale Butterfly.
I read the name again and looked at Lawson. He’d put our name on it.
He’d named it after us.
“Lawson . . .”
“If you don’t like it—”
“Are you kidding?” I was a little teary, not gonna lie. “I love it. I’m honoured. I’m flattered, and I don’t know what to say, to be honest. I’m speechless . . . But you named it after us?”