She doesn’t respond, and Richard gives me a quick, affectionate clap on the shoulder before I slip out. When the door clicks closed behind me, I breathe a heavy sigh of relief. As a child and adolescent psychiatrist, I’ve mediated countless arguments between family members, but I haven’t experienced something that intense in a long time.
The frigid air nips my skin as I walk down the sidewalk, wondering when I’ll get the chance to speak to Evie again. It’s been so long since she’s let me getthatclose. She barely looks at me these days, let alone speaks to me or allows me to get her alone long enough to hold a meaningful conversation. She won’t even answer my calls or texts anymore.
Can you blame her?
My phone buzzes in my back pocket, and I fish it out, hoping it’s who I think it is. My mood brightens.Cora Jacobs.Swiping right, I accept the video call.
“Daddy!”
“Hey, sweet boy,” I croon, grinning so hard it feels like my face might split. My three-year-old son, Theodore Timothy Wright, is the light of my life. His rosy cheeks are covered in mashed potatoes and gravy. “Are you enjoying your Thanksgiving dinner?”
He shows me his mucky hands and flashes a toothy smile. “Yes!”
I chuckle. “What’s your favorite food so far?”
His head tilts with a cheeky grin. “Mashed potatoes and gravy.”
Cora angles the phone toward her and her husband, Malcolm. “Theo has been missing Daddy today. Right, Teddy?” She turns the phone back toward our toddler.
Teddy bangs his hands against the table in response, knocking the bowl of mashed potatoes over the edge. Food catapults onto his face and into Cora’s hair. He laughs like that was his intent, and I’ve no doubt it was. The ornery little rascal.
“Really?” Cora groans. “Again?”
That’s my boy. “You love making a mess, don’t you, son?”
He responds with another wide, toothy smile, and I laugh.
“Are you excited to see Daddy next weekend, Teddy?” Cora asks.
Teddy squeals, and I laugh again, unable to contain my own joy as I push my front door open. Silence greets me on the other side. Coming home to this big, empty house never fails to inspire mixed feelings, especially considering my son is with his mother when it was my turn to have him . . .
I’m about to step inside when a blue Corolla blazes down the road, rock music blaring.
Evie.
Frowning, I watch her car come to a screeching halt at the stop sign at the end of the road.Strange. . . Evie isn’t a reckless driver. But then again, she’s upset right now.
Shame and regret coil around my heart as I stare at her license plate.SPTFRE.Spitfire. The nickname Jamie gave her when she was just an outgoing kid with a hilarious, spunky personality and a whole lot of pent-up anger.
Every time I look at my best friend’s little sister, all I see are my past mistakes, outlined and underlined in red. Of all the terrible things I’ve done, Evie is my biggest regret. My most selfish mistake.
She hates me. And I deserve it.
Lord, when will she forgive me? Do I even deserve her forgiveness?
When she peels around the corner, tires screeching, the urge to follow her flickers inside my chest like an emergency beacon. The forecast calls for heavy snow, and emotional driving can be as unsafe as driving under the influence.
I rush toward my car. “Hey, Cora? Can I call you back?”
“Oh, sure. Better yet, can we talk tomorrow? It’s almost Teddy’s bed time.”
“No problem.” I fling my car door open, willfully ignoring the familiar pang of resentment in my gut at the thought of losing more time with my son. Dropping into the seat, I turn the key in the ignition and pull out of the driveway.
Cora angles the phone toward Teddy.
“Bye, son. We’ll talk tomorrow, okay? I love you.”
“Love you, Daddy.” Those three simple words make my heart flutter like it has wings.
