Page 159 of Love Felt Like This

“I want to record those songs today.”

“What songs?” Beverly asks.

“Yours,” I say over my fork. “For your pitch.”

She laughs. “You were serious?”

“I’m always serious, remember?” I tease.

Beside me, Ava clutches a fistful of pancake and pushes her nose against the window. “Go!”

I follow her line of sight to the lookout across the street. It’s a beautiful morning. The valley below is swimming with low fog, but small beams of filtered sunlight wash over snow-crested trees and bare limbs.

“Go!” Ava repeats.

I exchange a look with Beverly, who is already smiling.

Is this what life could be like?

“We can go to the lookout if you want,” I say, making Ava squirm in her seat and shove a celebratory pancake into her mouth.

We exit the diner five minutes later with to-go cups of coffee.

“B!” Ava shoots both arms into the air, flapping them as if maybe she could fly into Beverly’s arms.

Without hesitation, Beverly hikes my daughter up on her hip. I take her coffee, allowing both of them freedom to walk across the empty street over to the fenced lookout. Together, with Ava’s head resting on Beverly’s shoulder, they watch the haze drift over the mountains.

A tightness spirals its way into my chest. It feels like I’m changing guitar strings, each winding tighter than the last, and every note is fine-tuned to my girls.

I cross the street to join them, take a seat on the iron bench, and cross one ankle over my opposite knee. I rest a coffee cup on each thigh, occasionally bringing my to-go cup to my lips. Beverly turns her head, smiling at me as she has all morning. Her eyes snag on my wrists. My jacket sleeve is pushed up, putting my small bird tattoo on display. And I know—I just know—Robin would have liked Beverly.

Ava points at the mountains. Beverly gestures with her, murmuring something I can’t hear. Even though the mountain is too tall and the valley is too low, I can now appreciate the grandeur. This is as close to the lookout as I’ll get, though. Ava, however, leans out as much as Beverly will allow her.

I worry I won’t give Ava the same confidence as her mother. I can’t teach her the lessons Robin learned that made her fearless, because I’ll never know how she learned them. But I can give Ava peace, and the mountains are calm. I think Robin would be okay with Elk Grove.

The bell above the diner door suddenly bangs so hard that we hear it all the way from the lookout. Rob comes barreling out, holding up his phone. He looks panicked.

I don’t like that.

Not one bit.

“What’s wrong?” Beverly calls over, turning away from the mountains.

Rob sprints across the empty street, past the blinking yellow light, and over to us. He’s panting, hand holding his side.

“They know,” he says, his breath catching, crowding the air with puffs of cold.

“Know what?” I ask.

Rob swallows. “She’s everywhere online.”

Without thinking, my eyes flick to Ava.

“Who is?” Beverly asks, but she’s tucking Ava closer to her.

Something in both of us knows.

Rob’s shoulders deflate. “Ava.” Then he turns to me and asks, “Griffin, is she your daughter?”