Page 96 of Holding Ground

“Baylor deserves a chance at having a relationship with her mom. No matter what happens, you’ll be there to love her. As will her uncles and her aunt, and Roy, and the Thermos Crew, and everyone else in town. She’ll be okay, Elliott.”

I hadn’t known how much I needed to hear those words until they came from her lips. I pull her closer and realize she feels stiff.

I pull my head back to get a better look at her face. “What’s going on? You seem more tense than I am.”

She offers me a small lift of her lips. “Sorry, nothing. Just work stuff.”

“Anything you want to talk about?” I arch an eyebrow.

Emelia shakes her head. “No, just something I need to work out for myself.”

I decide to take her at her word and let it go, even though my gut tells me there’s more to it.

CHAPTER

FORTY

Elliott

The pictures are lined up on the kitchen table. Four of them. Baylor insisted on drawing two more the moment she got back from school.

“Do you think she’ll like them?” Baylor asks me for the third time.

“She’ll love them.”

It’s obvious to me that now that the moment of meeting her mom is drawing near, Baylor’s excitement has shifted into nervous energy.

“What if she doesn’t like art?”

“Everyone likes art, kiddo.”

“Kyle in my class doesn’t. He thinks coloring is boring.”

“Kyle is five. He’ll come around.” I ruffle the hair on top of her head, and she immediately smooths it down with her hands.

She’s wearing a dress she picked out herself—the same color blue as her eyes, with little yellow flowers on it. It’s a summer dress, so I tried to lead her to something more suited to the fall, but she wasn’t having it, so I backed off. We’ll be inside anyway, so I figure there’s no harm.

I don’t feel ready for this. I told Emelia as much last night. I told Roy I wasn’t ready when I saw him at the hardware store today, and I told Ansel and Hollis I wasn’t ready when they called earlier.

I’m not ready to welcome the woman who left my daughter back into the house she left her in.

But I’m not doing this for me. I’m doing this for my little girl.

A knock sounds on the front door.

“She’s here!” Baylor runs out of the kitchen and through the family room to the front window. Her nose is pretty much pressed to the glass. After she’s taken a good look, she glances back at me over her shoulder. “Daddy, is she nice?”

Her question steals the air from my lungs.

I’d like to tell her she’s the evil witch and we should lock the doors.

“Yeah, kiddo, she’s nice.” I wrap my hand around the knob, draw in a deep breath, and swing open the door.

Kate stands there wearing a pair of jeans, a pink sweater, and slide-on flat shoes. There’s a gift bag in her hand, a smile on her face, and she looks terrified. If I could muster up an ounce of sympathy for her, I might feel bad, but I can’t. She did this to herself.

“Hi,” she says, looking past me to where I assume Baylor must be.

“Come in.” I try to keep the contempt from my voice for my daughter’s sake.