She folds her lips in, and sadness passes across her expression.
I nearly flinch at my cruelty. But I don’t. Any chance Rosie and I had at reconciling ended when she revealed the truth to me about this secret she’s been keeping.
“Where is she?” I glance around inside the cottage. Even though I’ve been here recently, having Rosie here too forces the memories to bleed into the present.
“She’s out on the front porch.”
I spin and head in the direction, not bothering to take off my boots. I can almost hear Dottie’s voice sayingwhen you’re in my house, it’s a home. And shoes don’t belong in a home. My chest rumbles with each step I take, and my heart threatens to break free.
“Wait,” Rosie calls out, scampering behind me.
Heat fills my cheeks. “What?” I bark, whipping around. “What could you possibly have to tell me now?”
Her brows slant over glassy eyes. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve told her about you?”
Exhaling a long sigh, I run a palm over my stubbled face. The ocean peeks through the slice of the open front door. It’s like a calming reminder in this chaotic moment. I do have questions.A lot of questions. But my guess is, that little girl out there has more. And my feelings don’t matter as much as hers.
“No,” I finally reply. “Because it doesn’t matter. I just want to meet my daughter.”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees, shaking her head and fidgeting with the cuffs of the sleeves of the yellow sweater she’s wearing. “Did you want me to leave you two alone?”
“Something tells me she’d be more comfortable with you there, and so what I want doesn’t matter.” Gesturing my chin for her to follow me, I turn and step through the open door.
Charlotte is lying on the porch swing, coloring. The sight of the swing hits me like a blow to the chest. There were many makeout sessions with Rosie on that spot. Many late-night conversations, sunset gazing, tears shed. It’s the place I proposed—the first time. And it’s the place Rosie told me she was bleeding and cramping, and we assumed we lost the baby.
Now I’m standing here, nearly seven years later, and staring at the very baby I thought I’d lost. The one I mourned. Alone. Because my wife left me.
The irony is not lost on me. That I’d meet Charlotte here. That she’d learn I’m her father in this place. It’s a full-circle moment for my and Rosie’s relationship.
I push away the nerves threatening to unravel me. “Hey, there, Charlotte,” I mumble.
The little girl glances up at me, her crayon stilling in her hand. She gives me a curious look. A slight frown appears on her face.
“Charlie,” I quickly correct myself, remembering she prefers the nickname over her given name. That grants me a smile which eases my anxiety somewhat. “Um, hey, do you remember me? From yesterday?”
She bobs her head and sits up, crossing her legs. “From the park.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Beck.”
Her gaze drops to the stuffed mermaid in my sweaty hand. “Is that for me?”
“Charlotte,” Rosie hisses from behind me.
“No, no, it’s all right.” I wave off Rosie. “Yeah. I got it at the bookshop. Do you like mermaids?” I offer it to her.
She pats it, probably wondering why it’s damp, but hugs it to her chest anyway. “I love them. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” I exhale a shaky breath, the tension rolling off my shoulders a little. The sound of seagulls squawk, reminding me why I’m here. “Mind if I sit?”
Charlie shakes her head and scoots over to give me more space.
Rosie leans against the porch railing across from us. “Charlie, Beck has something really important he wants to talk to you about.”
I smile at Charlie, taking an extra moment to admire this little girl who has my shade of brown eyes and my dimpled chin.
Here goes nothing.
9
