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Chapter one
DEACON
Just outside of Atlanta, I tap the GPS, as if I can knock the red right off the digital road map. Still says three hours to Greenwood, Georgia, even though I only have about thirty miles left to go. I will not miss this type of traffic. Not one bit.
"Hey, Daddy?"
"Yeah, sweetie," I reply to Sasha. She is seated with her hands under her chin, staring out the window. Her expression is sullen, and I’m sure she's feeling nervous. I'm moving her away from everything she knows, a big change for a six-year-old.
"Can I see the picture of my new bedroom again? I want to plan where to put my toys and stuff."
This is what my daughter does when she gets anxious. She plans and organizes, just like her mother.
"Sure," I say, handing her my phone.
She scrolls through the pictures of the new house, looking at each one carefully.
"It's a big house, isn't it?" she asks, glancing at me for the first time during the ride.
"A lot bigger than our apartment in the city was," I confirm. "You see that big oak tree outside? Isn't that beautiful? I bet we can climb that."
"What's all that gray stuff on the branches?"
"That's called Spanish moss. It hangs everywhere in the south. It's creepy, but I like it."
"Me, too," she agrees, and I just smile. Sasha has a tendency to do that also—agree with the things I say. That, she definitely did not get from her mother.
"Daddy?"
"Mmm-hmm?"
"Do I have to go to a school there?" She sounds forlorn.
"Of course, remember? We talked about it. It'll be fun. You'll meet lots of new friends."
She's biting her lower lip and narrowing her big brown eyes at me, like she isn't quite sure about this. I have to admit, I'm not totally sure about it either. When my parents called to say they wanted to retire, the last thing I wanted to do was leave Manhattan and come back home.
But the more they went on—about how they were getting older and wanted to be close to their granddaughter, and how much they wanted the resort to stay in the family—the guiltier I began to feel about living so far away. Ultimately, I decided to move back to Greenwood, resigned to the fact that my life would be permanently altered. But they don't know that yet. They are just hoping I'll make it to their grand reopening party tonight like I promised.
As I watch Sasha pick at the hem of her dress, her legs nervously swinging, I feel terrible all over again for uprooting our lives. I'm not sure if I qualify as a good father, but I do try my best to give her the stability she needs. After her mother leftwhen she was just six weeks old, I was in shock, panicking at the prospect of having to raise a child all by myself. But you'd be surprised how fast you pick up being a single dad when you don't have any other choice.
As for Sasha, the older she gets the more she seems to need some maternal presence. There are things about being a girl that I obviously don't understand. Hopefully, spending more time with my mother will give her that connection.
She needs friends her age, too, something she's struggled to find in the city. She is such an old soul, preferring the company of adults to other kids. But from my experience growing up in the South, the kids are very friendly, at least they were when I went to school here. I'm hoping that'll make it easier for her. Plus, she can spend a lot more time with her grandparents, who she absolutely adores, even though she’s hasn’t gotten to see them frequently.
My eyes flit to the clock on the dash and I groan. "We're going to be so late to the party," I grumble. "And I really wanted to get off to a good start with your grandma."
I had the timing down to a science before the traffic. I was going to stroll in to see her big speech at the party, when everyone was fawning over her about the resort’s remodel. When it was over, I'd surprise her by saying I agreed to take over the resort. Now, I'm not even sure we'll get there by the time the party ends.
Mom is going to kill me.
I've tried calling her a few times, but she's no doubt busy mingling. I sent her a quick text when we first hit the endless line of traffic in Atlanta. So when she checks her phone, she will at least know that we're alive and on our way. But who knows when that will be. She doesn't always carry it around on occasions like this.
Traffic is still crawling when we leave the city behind and enter a more rural area. I glance at my daughter in the rearview mirror. She's clutching the stuffed elephant I bought her for the road trip, her fingers working the soft fabric. We are creeping alongside a pasture, and she sits up straight when a cow comes into sight.
"Ooh, look Daddy!"
"Plug your nose," I warn as I roll down the window so she can get a better look. Sasha watches the cow ambling toward the fence line. It looks like it has all the time in the world to get where it's going. Oh, to be a cow right now.
