Page 92 of Holding Ground

“Nobody said that,” Roy says.

“She left a baby.” My hands press flat on the table.

“I know what she left.”

“She left my baby.” I bring my fist down on the table, and the beer bottles and the poker chips jump.

“I know.” Roy squeezes my shoulder.

“I say fuck her,” Ansel says over the rim of his beer.

“It’s not that easy.” I pick up my own beer and take another pull.

“Why?”

“Because it’s not about how I feel or what I want. It’s about what’s best for Baylor.”

“What’s your gut say?” Jimmy asks. He’s been quiet, which probably means he’s building toward making a point.

“My gut says to tell her no.”

“That your gut or fear?”

I meet his gaze. “My gut.” Though I feel less certain now.

He nods. “You’re a good father, Elliott. You’ll make the right decision by your daughter. But your gut and fear have been sharing the same office for a long time, and sometimes I wonder if you know which one’s talking.”

Sam nods. One small movement that carries the weight of his agreement.

“What if I let her in and she leaves again?” I press the back of my neck. “Baylor doesn’t remember her. If Kate comes back into her life and leaves again, she’ll remember this time.”

“It’s a real risk,” Roy says.

“Exactly my point.”

“It’s a real risk, Elliott. But what about the other scenario? The one where Kate means what she says and Baylor gets to grow up with her mother in her life. You’re only considering the version where things go wrong.”

“Because that’s what happened last time.”

“That’s why there’s always a next time.”

I shake my head.

“Elliott, I’m on your side. I am.” Hollis raises his hands in front of himself, and I know that whatever he’s about to say, I’m probably not going to like it. “Baylor is almost six. She doesn’t ask a bunch of questions about Kate, but she will at some point. She’s going to want to see pictures of her and know what she was like. And someday she’ll probably ask you where her mom is and how come she never came back for her. You’ll have to answer. And if you have to answer, ‘Your mom wanted to come back, but I said no,’ that’s going to be hard for her to understand, and something you have to live with.”

The table goes quiet again, no one moving an inch.

I fix my eyes on him. “That’s not fair.”

“None of this is fair,” Sam says. “Kate made sure of that the day she left. The question is, what gives Baylor the best chance?”

My forehead creases. “The best chance at what?”

Sam holds my gaze. “At growing up not wondering.”

Those words feel like a fist to my chest, because I grew up wondering—wondering why my mom had to die, and why my father had to end up in jail. I wondered every single day of my life, and looking back, I can’t help but think that maybe the wondering was worse than the answers might have been, because at least the answers would’ve been something.

And I have physical evidence of that wonder living in my bunkie right now.