Page 128 of The Daddy’s Girl

“Bonjour, Monsieur Moreau,” the attendant at the front desk greets me. “She’s in the garden playing chess.”

I pause, my feet halting on the path toward her room. “In the garden?”

“Yes, I thought you knew.”

My brow furrows even more, and when the phone at the front desk rings, her attention is averted. So I pass by the desk to the garden in search of my mother.

When I turn the corner on the stone path, I hear a familiar voice, so I pause my steps. Hiding behind a large oak tree, I listen to Amelia cheerfully talking to my mother.

“Did he ever tell you about the time we visited him in the Riviera and all he had was this tiny Italian car, so we had to pile into it like clowns?”

I smile at the memory, chuckling at the vision of Amelia pressed up against the ceiling of the back seat on her mother’s lap.

“Then he let me and Julian drive it because we asked, and we ended up popping the tires and throwing off the alignment. I could tell he was upset, but he never said anything.”

There is no response from my mother, although I knew there wouldn’t be. So Amelia continues.

“He means well, doesn’t he?” I hear the pieces on the board moving, and I’m not sure if it’s my mother or Amelia playing. Or both. “He’d give a stranger the shoes off his feet, but sometimes I worry that he doesn’t ever do enough for himself. He loves with his whole heart. You know that, don’t you? You raised him.”

My smile fades as I listen. I have a feeling I know where this is going.

“I really wish he’d take this job because I know he’d be so good at it. And he’d be happy doing what he loves again.” Her voice takes on a quiet glumness. “But at the same time, you know…I’d miss him so much.”

Just hearing her say that makes my chest ache and soar at the same time. I want to know Amelia would miss me, but I hate the idea of her in any pain.

And what I truly grasp from this conversation is just how much I love her. And not only for how beautiful and brilliant and funny she is but for how she sees me. How she makes me feel.

Amelia sees something in me I don’t. She reads me better than anyone, and at the end of the day, she makes me want to be the best version of myself. No one in all my years has ever had that effect on me.

“I don’t know,” she mumbles as a chess piece moves again. “I have no one else to really talk to about this. If you have any wisdom or advice to impart, I would greatly appreciate it.”

Of course, my mother stays quiet. Closing my eyes, I imagine what she would advise if she could still reach herself inside her mind. Without a doubt, she’d have a mouthful to contribute. The fiery, brilliant woman that she was, she’d hold Amelia’s hand, and she’d tell her…

That sometimes love comes with pain. True love is selfless, and showing love in its realest form often means letting them go and doing what is best for them rather than keeping them close.

I can almost hear her saying it.

Amelia carries on the one-sided conversation with my mother, changing the subject to something more lighthearted and innocent. Just as she mentions the weather, I emerge from behind the tree and walk toward them, unnoticed.

“Who’s winning?” I ask.

Amelia’s head pops up and her eyes brighten at the sight of me. As she straightens, putting her hands in her lap, she sends me a tight smile.

“I hope you don’t mind me coming. I was in the area, so I thought I’d just stop by for a game.”

I glance down at the board and see the pieces in all the wrong places and realize it’s not really a game at all. My mother lifts her hand and moves her queen forward.

“I love that you came,” I say as I take the seat next to her on the bench. Leaning over, I press my lips to the side of her head. “Comment vas-tu aujourd’hui, Maman?” I ask, placing my hand on my mother’s.

She lifts her gaze and stares through me. Pain lances my heart because even now after all this time, a part of me expects her to look into my eyes and see me. I still expect the woman I know to be behind that empty gaze. But she’s not.

“The nurse mentioned that she’s been more active lately. That she loves being in the garden. I think our visits help.” Amelia seems so hopeful as she stares across the table, giving my mother a soft smile that she doesn’t return.

“Then we’ll just have to visit more,” I reply.

The conversation they had about London and the job prospect lingers in the air, but no one acknowledges it.

Instead, the three of us play another game of chess, enjoying the beautiful day together…while we have it.