Page 95 of Grumpy Lumberjack’s Secret

“That is very wise.”

“I am a kindergarten teacher. I am professionally wise.”

“You are professionally annoying.”

“You love it.”

I did. God help me, I did.

We watched Emma play. She had organized the other children into a line and was leading them on what appeared to be an expedition to find a treasure that she had hidden under the slide, which was a rock she had painted gold during art class. The children followed her with the blind devotion of people who had found their leader, and Emma commanded them with the natural authority of a child who had grown up watching her father run a sawmill and her mother run a classroom.

“She is going to rule the world,” Chloe said.

“She already rules mine.”

Chloe looked at me again. That look. The one that said she saw me, really saw me, not the grumpy exterior but the man underneath who was learning, slowly and clumsily and with the help of a woman who refused to let him hide, how to be happy.

“I love you,” she said.

“I love you too.”

“Even when I am annoying?”

“Especially when you are annoying.”

She laughed. Bright and full, the laugh that had made me fall seven years ago and that made me fall again every time I heard it.

The first drop of rain hit my arm.

I looked up. The sky, which had been clear and golden five minutes ago, had shifted. Clouds rolling in from the west, dark and heavy, the kind of mountain weather that changed without warning and without apology. The second drop hit my face. Then the third. Then the sky opened up and the rain came down in sheets.

“Emma!” Chloe called, jumping to her feet. “Come on, baby, we need to get to the truck!”

Emma looked up from her expedition. She looked at the rain. She looked at us. And then she did exactly what any six-year-old with an adventurous spirit and a complete disregard for the consequences of wet clothing would do.

She ran.

Not toward us. Away from us. Into the rain, her arms spread wide, her face tilted up to the sky, laughing so hard that the sound of it cut through the sound of the downpour like sunlight through clouds.

“Emma Matthews, get over here!” Chloe shouted.

Emma ran faster.

Chloe looked at me. I looked at Chloe. The rain was soaking through our clothes, plastering her hair to her face, turning the golden evening into something silver and wild.

“I will get her,” Chloe said, and took off.

She did not get her. Emma was fast and she was motivated and she had the advantage of being small enough to weave through the playground equipment like a pinball. Chloe chased her around the swings, under the slide, past the oak tree, and Emma shrieked with laughter the entire time, zigging when Chloe zagged, doubling back when Chloe committed to a direction.

I stood by the bench. Watching. The rain pouring over me, soaking through my flannel, dripping from my hair. And I watched my daughter and the woman I loved chase each other through the rain in a park in a small mountain town, both of them laughing so hard they could barely run, both of them soaked to the bone and not caring, not even a little, because the joy was bigger than the rain.

Emma changed direction and ran straight at me. I crouched and caught her, scooping her up with my good arm, and she clung to me with her wet arms around my neck and her wet face pressed against mine and her laughter shaking through both of us.

Chloe crashed into us. Arms around both of us. The three of us standing in the rain, holding each other, laughing. Emma wiggling between us like a fish trying to escape. Chloe’s face pressed against my chest. My arm around both of them, holding on, holding everything, and the rain washing over us like a baptism.

“We are completely soaked,” Chloe said, laughing.

“Whose fault is that?” I said, looking at Emma.