I do remember. The bird, a juvenile robin, had a broken wing. I'd been so determined to save it, and Cade had helped withoutcomplaint, even though he'd had to work an early shift the next morning.
"It died anyway," I say.
"But you tried." Cade's shoulder brushes mine. "That's what mattered. You always tried to save things."
Did I try to save him? Or did I give up too easily, let him go when I should have fought harder?
"Can Scout come visit us sometime?" Ruby asks, breaking the moment. She's sitting on the floor now, Scout in her lap, both of them looking content.
"Cats don't really travel well," Cade says. "But maybe, if you came to visit again, you could see her then."
"When can we come back?" Ruby looks up at us. "Can we come next weekend? Or the weekend after?"
"That's something your mom and I need to talk about," Cade says. "But I promise we'll figure something out. You'll see Scout again."
Ruby accepts this, returning her attention to the cat. I watch them for a moment, then force myself to look around the apartment again, really taking it in.
It's so empty. Not just of stuff, but of life. There are no photos, no decorations, nothing that speaks to who Cade is beyond the bare minimum. The coffee table has a thriller novel face-down on it, the only personal item I can see. The kitchen counter is clear except for a coffee maker and a bowl that probably belongs to Scout.
"You really weren't kidding about the small space," I say, trying to lighten the mood.
"Told you." Cade shoves his hands in his pockets. "It's enough for me though. And Scout."
"Have you always lived here? Since you moved to Blackwater Falls?"
"Yeah. Found this place my first week. Landlord's good, rent's reasonable, location's convenient." He pauses. "It's temporary, you know? Always meant to find something bigger, more permanent. Just never got around to it."
Eight years of temporary. Eight years of not quite settling, not quite committing to the idea that this is home.
"Do you like it here?" I ask quietly. "Blackwater Falls, I mean. Are you happy?"
Cade considers the question, his eyes on Ruby and Scout. "I'm... content. I have good friends, a job I believe in, a routine that works. But happy?" He's quiet for a moment. "I don't know if I've let myself be happy since the fire."
The honesty of it breaks something in my chest. "Cade—"
"It's not your fault," he says quickly. "That's not what I meant. I've spent eight years in maintenance mode. Surviving, functioning, doing the work. But actually being happy? Letting myself feel joy without guilt?" He shakes his head. "I don't know how to do that."
"Maybe you could learn," I suggest softly.
"Maybe." He looks at me then, really looks at me, and I see so much in those blue eyes. Pain and possibility and something that might be longing. "Yesterday, when you walked into the station, I thought my world was ending. Thought everything I'd built here was about to collapse."
"And now?" My voice is barely a whisper.
"Now I think maybe it was actually beginning." He nods toward Ruby. "She's the best thing that's ever happened to me, and I've known her for less than twenty-four hours. That has to mean something, right?"
"It means you're a good father already." The tears are back, threatening to spill over. "It means she's lucky to have you."
"I'm the lucky one." His voice is rough. "And I know we have a lot to figure out… Where we're going to live, how custody works, all the practical stuff. But Sierra, I need you to know that I meant what I said. I'm not running. Not from Ruby, and not from the hard conversations we need to have."
"I know." I do know. I can see it in every interaction with Ruby, hear it in every word he says. "I'm not running either. Not anymore."
We stand there, two feet apart but somehow closer than we've been in eight years. I want to close the distance, to touch him, to see if the connection we had all those years ago is still there or if I'm just desperately wishing for something that's long dead.
"Mom, can I use your phone to take pictures of Scout?" Ruby's voice interrupts the moment. "I want to show Grandma and Grandpa."
"Sure, baby." I dig my phone out of my purse, grateful for the distraction, for a reason to look away from Cade before I do something stupid like cry or confess that I never stopped loving him.
Ruby takes approximately forty-seven photos of Scout from every conceivable angle while Cade and I maintain our distance. He offers us something to drink—water, coffee, tea—and I accept water just to have something to do with my hands.
