I shake my head. “If something ever happened to Lila…”
Dad rests a hand on my shoulder. “You can’t think like that, son. Always anticipating the hit.”
“That’s what I’m paid to do.”
“So lay down your sword. Or your hockey stick, as it were. You only get one shot at this life. Loving someone and being loved, that’s all that matters in the end.”
He gestures across the windswept valley in the twilight. “Look at these animals out here. You think they spend their lives thinking about the grief that’s to come? Does the eagle pluck out her own feathers worrying about her hatchling falling from the tree? Does the wolf spend summer grieving his mate who won’t live through winter? Wild things only know how to live in the moment. Make their peace your own.”
“I’m quiet. Not peaceful. There’s a difference.”
Dad just smiles at me. “Then find what makes you feel at peace.” He tilts his chin towards the house. “I do believe I see her in there.”
Through the window, I see Lila. Pink and radiantly beautiful and so improbably mine. Dad stands beside me, both of uslooking through the glass at our family and friends filling up the house with noise and light and life.
“I’m gonna go catch up with her,” I tell him.
Dad winks. “You do that, son.”
I make a beeline for Lila. As I get close to her, I realize Dad is right:sheis what makes me feel at peace. Settled. Living with her is the difference between a cold dark room and one with a fire going: same four walls, entirely different place to be.
Maybe I ought to enjoy the peace that gives me while I can. Before I have to let it go.
I touch her elbow. “Come with me a minute.”
She looks up at me. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just want to give you your birthday present.”
Her eyes widen. “You got me a birthday present?”
“Of course.”
I take her hand and lead her through the kitchen and out the back door. Her fingers are warm and small in mine and I don’t let go until we round the corner of the barn.
The brand new Range Rover comes into view, the subtle rose-gold paint job giving off a soft glow in the porch light.
Lila stops walking. I stop with her.
“Your birthday present,” I explain. “It won’t let you lock your keys inside and it’s got all the newest and best safety features.”
She laughs before covering her mouth with both hands. Her eyes are enormous as she walks toward it, one hand trailing along the hood, fingers catching the light. Pink nails on rose-gold paint. I put my hands in my pockets and watch her.
She turns around. “It’s pink.”
“Rose gold. To match your hair.”
“This car. You would never buy it for yourself.”
“Didn’t buy it for myself. Bought it for my wife.”
“It’sflashy.”
“It’s distinctive.”
“Ridiculously girly.”
“Delightfully girly.”
