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“I have a daughter,” she said, voice hushed and awed like we were in some centuries-old holy place, and she didn’t want to disturb the peace. “Sage. She’s … she’s everything. My whole world. And the only reason I came back here.”
“Show me,” I asked, my stomach tied in knots at the thought of her as a mother. That I’d missed all this.
Her teeth held down her lower lip while she flipped through her camera roll and then gave the phone over.
“Holy shit, she looks like you,” I whispered. Their smiles were identical, and the big dark eyes. Sage had reddish hair and freckles dotting the bridge of her nose, but her face was like looking into my past. I handed the phone back and held Harlow’s gaze. “She’s beautiful.”
Pink dusted her cheekbones and she swallowed. “That’s my most important thing. Nothing else in my life comes close.”
“All the best moms would say something like that.”
Her eyes brimmed with sudden tears, and she looked away, blowing out a slow breath. “I don’t feel like the best mom most days.”
I glanced at her empty ring finger. “No partner to go with that daughter of yours?”
She snorted. “No. He hardly hung out past the positive pregnancy test.” But then her face softened. “Just her and me. We’re a pretty good team, though.”
“Tell me about her in the car?” I asked.
Tell me everything, I wanted to say. Just stay and I’ll listen to you talk for the rest of the night. One story for every day we missed. I swallowed that down, reminding myself that we were both here now.
For the first time in seventeen years, we were both here.
Holy hell.
Harlow nodded. “Yeah, I can do that.”
I took the long way to her parents’ house, and if she noticed, she didn’t say anything. She told me about Sage, who sounded like a really fricken awesome kid. As I took another detour down a gently winding road, I happily listened until she fell into a thoughtful silence. Her gaze was heavy on the side of my face.
I knew what was coming next, and even though I didn’t want to talk about it, I still let her ask.
“When were you going to tell me your dad passed away?” she asked quietly.
Harlow had her knees tucked up against her chest as I drove, and suddenly, I was glad we weren’t facing each other. My throat was tight, and my heart was probably the thing doing it because it crawled up much higher in my body than it had any right to be.
When I felt like the grip loosened enough to let words out, my voice was a little rough at the edges.
“Would’ve gotten there eventually.” I glanced at her briefly, and her eyes were big and sad. “How long have you known?”
“My mom told me when I moved back for good,” she said. “She didn’t know much, just that he had cancer again. She said practically the whole town showed up for his memorial service.”
It was impossible to answer right away, so I simply nodded, and she respected it, carefully reaching over to lay her hand on mine where it was resting on the console.
“I’m so sorry, Ian.” She shook her head. “I wish I’d been here.”
I wish she had been too, but I kept that truth locked up tight because it led to a bigger conversation that she and I would still need to have. And there wasn’t enough time for that. Not when I took the last turn toward her parents’ house.
It looked exactly the same as in high school—the same faded light blue siding and black shutters, though the front door had been painted with a fresh coat of white. It was small but tidily kept, and in the single-stall garage was an old black truck with a few rust spots on the bumper.
“Like a time warp, isn’t it?” she asked.
“Yeah.” My voice was a little gruff, my emotions still a little unsteady after the mention of my dad. “Your daughter here? I’d love to meet her.”
Harlow’s eyes cut to mine. “Does that mean you’ve learned to be nice to strangers now?”
I gave her a dry look that had her exhaling a quiet laugh.
“Depends on the stranger,” I told her. “But I think I could manage for your kid.”
