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Shit. She could be married. How did that idea never occur to me? I could barge into her new life and stir up crap from our past for my own selfish closure. Although I tried and failed to move on, that doesn’t mean she wasn’t successful in forgetting me.
My grip on the steering wheel tightens.
I’m not here to upend her life. If a guy answers the door, I’ll make up a lame excuse about being lost.
I stew on that thought for a moment, picturing Lilah happy and living her life with another man. Him being able to kiss her good night. To snuggle with her while they watch a movie. The way her small body would wind its way around mine. She could do that with him. And I shouldn’t care. Adelaide, I remind myself. But the uneasiness that surfaces suggests what I already feared—I’m fucked.
Pushing away that entire line of thinking, I check out the area as I drive. All I’ve driven past are flat, empty fields, until a small downtown area comes out of nowhere. It’s a small Midwestern town. The buildings have clearly been around for a while but are neatly decorated with awnings and signs for the businesses.
I follow the GPS as it tells me to make a right-hand turn right after I’ve passed through town. Then I make a couple more turns through a modest neighborhood until I’ve arrived. I park the SUV across the street and look at the house that matches the address the PI gave me. She could be in there. Living her life as though I’m not about to upheave whatever happiness she’s found.
If someone told me six years ago that this is where Lilah would be, I never would have believed them.
It’s the picture of America. A small white bungalow with a wide front porch sits in the middle of a large lot that boasts a well-manicured lawn and colorful garden. Flower pots are positioned at either side of the steps that lead to the front door and hanging baskets dangle from the awning. A mid-sized sedan is parked in the driveway, and the front door is open, though the closed screen door prohibits me seeing inside.
I study everything I can about the place as if it will grant me knowledge into what I’m about to find.
It’s gut-check time.
I put on the baseball cap and aviator sunglasses I brought with me. Wiping the sweat from my brow, I open the SUV door and step out onto the street. My heart is in my throat and my palms are sweaty. Shit, I haven’t been this nervous since I accepted my Oscar.
Before I talk myself into turning around and forgetting this, I walk across the street, up the cute interlock path, and up the stairs to the front door. My hand clenches as my eyes fixate on the doorbell. I need to do this, I remind myself. This will give me closure and make the life I’m building with Adelaide better. No matter what, Lilah will not drag me back into her life. I’m here for answers and nothing more.
With a deep breath and my heartbeat nearing heart attack territory, my knuckles rap on the side of the door, shaking the screen door slightly.
“I got it!” someone calls.
Before I know it, the owner of the voice pushes open the screen door.
“Hi,” the little girl says, looking up at me with a smile. Her wavy blonde hair hangs past her shoulders, and her hands are covered in an array of colors, suggesting she was playing with markers.
She’s definitely Lilah’s.
She’s the spitting image of her mom except for her eyes. My throat closes up when I stare into her brown eyes—the same ones reflected back to me in the mirror every day.
Chapter Forty-eight
LILAH
“Igot it!” Her words are accompanied by the pitter-patter of my whirling dervish daughter's feet slapping against the hardwood as she races down the hall toward the front of the house.
I slide the cut-up chicken into the frying pan. “Hold on!"
“Hi,” she says to whomever is at the door.
Shit.I frantically pump the anti-bacterial soap out of the dispenser, rub it all over my hands, and rinse them off. Grabbing a dish towel off the handle of the oven, I pat my hands dry while heading to the front door.
“How many times have I told you that you can’t answer the door without Mommy…” I look up from my hands, and the weight of emotions cement my feet to the floor as my words die on my lips.
I blink, doubling-check that the day I have put off since the moment those two pink lines appeared on the pregnancy test is here.
Jimmy stands at the other side of the screen door, his hat and sunglasses on. One sliver of silver lining is that there’s not a mass of media behind him, ready to point me out as the villain.
Six years should change me. Change him. Change us. But his soul still calls to mine. Although his arrival can only mean terrible things, a small part of me sighs that he’s here.
His eyes are laser-focused on the five-year-old in front of him, and I stand halfway to the door, watching the scene unfold. Our daughter's eyes volley between us. She's way too young to understand how her life has just shifted. That the daddy she asks me about has been delivered to her doorstep as though it’s Christmas morning.
He slowly removes his sunglasses. His eyes seek answers from mine as his face transforms with shock, pain, and betrayal. All feelings he has a right to. Shame coats me like a thick layer of tar, and I strip my eyes away, concentrating on the floor.
