Page 89 of Promise

When Dart enters the kitchen, surprise shows on his face. “You’re up? I wanted to give you a little more time to sleep.”

I took a later feeding last night. Dart took three a.m. We both wear the signs of tired parents.

Is that what he is? A parent to Mirabelle? Could he, would he, be her dad? It’s a topic we haven’t touched yet. Our relationship needs straightening out first.

Dart smiles slowly. I smile back.

Then my eyes drift to what’s in his hands.

Flowers. A bouquet of daisies with a yellow ribbon around them.

“Happy anniversary, Forever.” He holds up the familiar bundle.

Instead of taking it from him, I stare at the white petals and golden center of my favorite flower. The same ones that were my wedding bouquet. The ones that are significant to us.

After that tease of a proposal in my bed, Dart took me to an actual meadow and got down on one knee with a ring in his hand.

“Want to do this right,” he’d said.

And every year since, including the years we were separated, a bouquet of daisies would arrive for me.

“Why’d you do it?” I ask, still staring at the offering. “Why’d you send them each year without a card or any other form of communication?”

The first anniversary he missed, he’d only been gone a few months.

The second one, I hadn’t planned to honor, hoping the date would quietly slip by on the calendar. I’d believed Dart and I were newly divorced. Papers signed and filed.

Last year, I stared at the bouquet, much like I am now, wondering how they looked so fresh, and so perfectly matched the flowers I once held walking down an aisle to meet him at the altar.

“I didn’t want you to forget me, Trin. It was our anniversary. One of the best days of my life. And even if other days were difficult, that one day still meant everything to me. I’d hoped by sending you these flowers, you’d think of me. At least once a year, for one day, with a smile, not regret.”

My mouth falls open, then I clamp my lips, taking a second to process what he said and how I reacted each year.

“It hurt to receive them,” I admit. “They were a reminder that you left me.”

His eyes widen, realizing his intention did not match the reception of his gift.

“But I never regretted you, Dart. Not once.” I might have resented his decision to race and his absence from our marriage. I might have wished for more between us, like a full house and a continued life, but I did not regret him. He’d been the love of my life. A love I believed would last forever, and even if it hadn’t, I’d known love like I didn’t believe I’d ever know it again.

Because of him.

“I’m sorry they hurt you,” he says, lowering his eyes, the flowers still dangling in his hand at his side.

“How’d you get them to me?” My heart begins to hammer, wondering what else I’m missing in that special bundle. “That exact bouquet, every year.”

Slowly, he lifts his head. His eyes full of guilt and a secret.

You haven’t placed your flower order yet.

The awkward conversation with Savannah Grant during RiverFest comes back to me.

“Savannah,” I whisper. Her lavender farm outside of town has turned into a proper garden center with more than just lavender for sale.

Dart licks his lips and glances to the side before facing me again.

“No more secrets,” he whispers, like this one is extra hard for him. “NASCAR always gets a break in June. That first year, months after I left, I came home. And I saw you.”

“What?” The question wheezes out, like I’ve had the air knocked out of me. I clutch at my stomach.