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This is Destiny, my daughter.
Her daughter. He was still wrapping his mind around it, and Michelle had yet to explain.
“Okay, snuggle bug,” Michelle told her towheaded daughter as she lifted her out of the high chair. Destiny was yawning and had barely made it through dinner. “She skipped her nap, so I’m going to put her down.”
Eli cleared the dishes, looking around at the Hough kitchen as he did. It was tidy and neat, country blue and yellow everywhere. The colors suited Michelle—and Eli knew Benji well enough to know that if his late friend hadn’t wanted a giant painting of a rooster crowing in the kitchen, he’d have let Michelle have it if she wanted.
“You didn’t have to clean up,” Michelle said as Eli loaded the last dish into the dishwasher.
“Your leftovers are in the fridge.” He stuffed his hands into his pockets, unsure how to begin to apologize for failing her that scorching, fateful day.
“You must have a million questions,” she said.
He returned her half-smile and leaned on the kitchen counter with one hip. “Just one.”
Benji had been young and newly married, no children. We’re waiting, he’d told Eli one day. Till I get back. But he’d never returned. That conversation haunted Eli more than any.
“Benji and I were secretly in the adoption process. We wanted two children and thought we’d adopt one and have one of our own and wind up with two children around the same age at the same time. The adoption went through two months ago.”
A gurgle came from the baby monitor and Michelle’s eyes lit with her smile.
“She’s everything, Eli. She healed me. I never thought I’d recover from losing Benji, and well, I haven’t recovered. Not completely.”
Join the club.
“There are times I wish so much I had been pregnant when he died because then I’d have a piece of him. You know?”
Nothing pained him more than her quiet confession. So, he offered his.
“I’m not here about permission for the photo, Michelle.”
She nodded at the floor. “I know.”
The heavy fall of her shoulders dragged her into a seat at the dinner table.
“You cleaned off the high chair,” she said absently, her eyes filling with tears.
He went to her and sat, leaning an elbow on the small, round table. “I’m sorry, Michelle. I’m so damn sorry.”
She watched him long enough that a tear trickled out of one eye. “For a long time, I blamed you.”
Blackness coated his soul. She was right to blame him. He blamed himself. How could he not?
“But I’m the one who owes you an apology, Eli,” she said.
“What? No.” He straightened in the chair, frowning at the woman in front of him who he’d bet never owed an apology to anyone in her sweet, young life.
“Yes,” she said, her voice a lot more grown up than she looked. “Benji loved you. Whenever we’d talk, he’d mention you and what an amazing person you are. He talked about the advice you gave him about everything. Fixing up his old Camaro. The best kind of beer for a hot summer evening.”
They did talk about those things. And more.
“He loved you, Michelle. I feel like I know you, he mentioned you so damn often. I never should have tried to get your blessing when what I was really seeking was your forgiveness.”
Those were the most open, honest words he’d said since he stepped foot inside her home. Raw and real, they left him exposed. He was starting to understand that was how sharing felt. The risk of sharing was rejection. He waited for Michelle to reject him again.
“After Destiny arrived in my life,” she started, “I realized things happen for a reason. Generic, right? I was so angry every time someone would console me with that platitude, but it’s true. Things happen. What no tells you is that the ‘reason’ is personal. It’s up to you to figure out why you’re going through what you are.”
She reached across the table and palmed his forearm below his semper fidelis tattoo. “I’m sorry you lost your leg, Eli. And I’m sorry I didn’t take your calls. I told myself I was busy, but I was avoiding you. You reminded me of Benji, and having Destiny without Benji hurt at first.”
