Dani's excitement keeps a smile on my lips all the way to the grocery store—until I realize why locals never go to the grocery store on weekends. The tourists checking in for their stays are out in droves, tired from their long drives and impatient to get settled. The shelves look a little bare as Dani and I make our selections, and a few items are completely out of stock. "Welcome to summer at the beach," I hear someone say as they pass by us and see us staring at the empty shelf.
It takes three times as long to get the items on the list and head back to the house. By then, the heat of the day has fully kicked in, and my stomach is churning in that weird space between being a little hungry and feeling a lot sick.
Dani helps me carry in the bags and boxes and put things away, all the while asking repeatedly when she can ride her bike. I'm forced to say no since it took so long at the store, because we don't have time before piling back into the car to go pick Kace up from PT.
Dani's not a happy camper, and I can feel my own frustration growing because no one seems to be in a decent mood today. And post PT, Kace is practically fuming, with smoke coming out of his ears, by the time we get him settled. He's visibly drawn and pale, yet his cheeks hold red, and he repeatedly locks and unlocks his jaw, making me feel sorry for his poor teeth. I know without asking that PT had not gone well.
I manage to stow the wheelchair and take a moment to catch my breath before moving to the driver's door.
Patience, I have. But this?
This day is requiring a lot more from me than mere patience.
Kace barely says two words the entire trip back to the house. And that's fine. I listen to music and think of something I need to add to my résumé along the way. I've been working to polish it before sending it out, wanting to put my best foot forward, so to speak. Especially considering that by the time I go on interviews, my belly may be the part of me that enters a room first.
I get Kace inside and settled, working up a sweat from the effort it takes to roll and balance someone twice my size who's spent the last few hours at PT and worn himself out. At least I don't have to lift him. Not that I could.
Kace is so exhausted; he falls asleep in the recliner almost instantly despite the white line of pain around his lips. Another sign of his day and the toll it's taken on him.
But just when I think I can take a break myself, Dani starts begging to ride her bike. Over and over and over again. I don't feel up to it, but I compromise by saying I'll sit outside with her while she rides her bike in the shade of the carport.
So here I am, in the ninety-three-degree southern heat and mugginess of North Carolina in late July, watching Dani and barely able to keep my own eyes open. I blink hard, shift in the camp chair and try my best to stay awake.
Dani's riding in circles. Round and round and round. Her tires make a soothing, rhythmic noise against the concrete and grit of the ever-present sand.
Round and round and round.
Round and round and round.
Only a few feet away and right in front of me.
Round and round and round.
I let my eyes rest for just a second…
Chapter
Fourteen
Kace
The loud blaring of a car horn rips me awake. I jerk upright in the recliner, and since I'm sitting by the window, I have a clear view of what's going on outside.
My heart stops in that instant. "Dani!"
My baby girl is frozen in the street. The blare of the horn sent her teetering, and she's wrecked her bike in the middle of the road. I curse, trying to get out of the recliner and onto my good foot, my gaze locked on the window as Lindsey goes running into the road to retrieve Dani and the bike, dragging it toward the yard to get it out of the street.
For one sickening second, all I can imagine is twisted metal and the kind of grief and pain that never lets a parent breathe deep again. One glance tells me Dani had “only” fallen off her bike and hadn’t been hit.
I get vertical, then hop to the couch, using it as support until I can hop to a table. Then a wall, another table, and finally the door. Every hop leaves my body throbbing, but I keep going.
I yank open the door and continue cursing and fumbling my way across the porch furniture until I get to the carport and hold onto a post, head swimming and uninjured leg weakly shaking and barely strong enough to hold my weight. "Dani!"
Dani and Lindsey are at the end of the short driveway, surrounded by one of Dani's little friends and her parents, all on bikes. I ignore them and focus on my daughter. "What just happened?"
Dani's crying, and I get that she probably just had the fear of God instilled, but I'm shaking so hard from the rush and pain and fear that I can't lower my voice.
"She's okay," Lindsey calls as she straightens with Dani in her arms. She cuddles and pats and carries Dani toward me after murmuring a soft thanks to the couple. I focus entirely on Dani and ignore the others as they shove off on their bikes to continue on their way.
