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It was that thought, more than anything, that brought him fully into the room. His knees felt weak, and fear was a cold knot in his stomach, but he kept moving, going toward his little girl, who stood so silently beside the easel, her big brown eyes fixed on his.
Beside her, he knelt. His knees squished in the puddle of blue paint.
She looked down at him, her eyes unblinking, her pink lips drawn in a serious line.
Only a few years ago, she would have leapt into his arms and smothered him with kisses. Even when he’d had a hangover, or after a fight with Kathy, Izzy had always adored him. She’d never looked at him like she did right now—with the wary, worried expression of an animal that was ready to flee at the first hint of danger.
He realized with a sudden tightening in his chest how much he’d missed her kisses . . . the sweet smell of her hair . . . the gentle softness of her hand as she slipped it into his.
“Hey, Sunshine,” he said, his eyes avoiding the tiny black glove that evidenced his failure and her heartbreak.
It was his pet name for her—given on the first day she’d smiled and he’d said it was like sunshine after a rain. He hadn’t called her Sunshine in a long time. Since Kathy’s death, and probably even before that.
She remembered. A little jumping smile tugged one side of her mouth.
There were so many things he could say to her right now, promises he could make, but in the end, he knew it would only be words. Promises made by a man who’d broken too many to be trusted.
One day at a time; that was one thing AA definitely had right.
That was how he’d lost his daughter—one moment at a time—and that was the only way to get her back. He couldn’t ask for her trust; even though she’d probably give it to him freely, he had to earn it. One day at a time.
In the end, he made no promises. Instead, he said only, “What are you painting?”
She cocked her head toward the paper and stepped back. It was a colorful smearing of squiggly lines and globs of falling paint. Because he’d seen her artwork before, he could make out Izzy’s self-portrait: she was the tiny, big-headed stick figure in the corner with the floor-length cascade of black hair. Someone—probably Annie, judging by the spiked brown hair—stood beside her, wearing a broad brush stroke of a smile. Above the two stick figures was a bright yellow sun bracketed by writhing red rays.
Nick grabbed a clean paintbrush from the card table and dipped it into a jar of brown paint. Trying not to spill—although he had no idea why he bothered—he carefully maneuvered the paintbrush to the paper. “Can I add something?”
She stared up at him. Then slowly she nodded.
He drew a quick, misshapen circle alongside Annie. Another four strokes and he had a body of sorts. “This is Daddy,” he said, without looking at her. Then he added eyes, a nose, and a flat line of a mouth. “I don’t need to paint the hair—it’s almost the same color as the paper. We’ll just imagine it. ” Lowering the brush, he looked at her.
Her gaze was level and steady. Two oversized front teeth—her only grown-up teeth—nipped nervously at her lower lip.
“Is it okay if I come home, Izzy?” He waited a lifetime for her answer, a nod, a blink, anything, but she just stood there, staring at him through those sad, grown-up eyes in her little-girl’s face.
He touched her velvet-soft cheek. “I understand, Sunshine. ”
He started to get to his feet.
She grabbed his hand.
Slowly, he lowered himself back to his knees. He stared at her, losing himself in the chocolate-brown eyes that had once been his world. In that instant, he remembered it all—walking down the docks with her, looking at boats, dreaming about sailing around the world someday. . . . He remembered how it had felt to hold her hand and laugh with her and swing her in his arms on a beautiful, sunny spring day.
“I love you, Izzy,” he said, remembering then how simple it used to be.
Nick stood on the porch, his legs braced apart, his arms crossed. He was hanging onto his world by a fraying thread. Dinner had been a tense affair, with Annie’s cheerful chatter punctuated by awkward silences. He’d noticed that Izzy was using her right hand again—and not in that pathetic twofingered way.
Every time he looked at his daughter, he felt a hot rush of shame, and it took all his self-control not to turn away. But he hadn’t taken the coward’s road tonight, and that was something of a triumph. He’d looked Izzy square in the eye, and if he flinched at the wariness in her gaze, he did it inwardly, so she couldn’t see.
Behind him, the screen door screeched open and banged shut.
It took him a second to find the courage to turn around. When he did, Annie was standing there, alongside the old rocking chair that had been Nick’s gift to Kathy when Izzy was born.
Annie’s fingers trailed lightly across the top rail, and her wedding ring glittered in the orange glow of the outdoor bulb. The size of the diamond reminded Nick once again of how different her world was from his. As if he needed reminding.
She was holding a small designer suitcase.
“Izzy has brushed her teeth. She’s waiting for you to tuck her in. ” Her voice was as soft and cool as a spring rain, and it soothed the ragged edges of his anxiety.
