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“I know,” he says, cutting me off. “That’s not what you meant to do, but ever since Hannah died, what youintendand what you actually do are not the same thing. Which brings me to my point…telling Lucie you’ll work less isn’t going to solve anything. It’s probably not even true.”
My temper is starting to fray—I’m operating on very little sleep, I’m pissed that I didn’t get a chance to talk to Lucie and the only thing keeping me from hanging up is that he’s right again. Why would Lucie believe a promise that I’ll work less? I don’t even believe it myself. I’ll be good for a few days or a week, and then I’ll start to backslide. “Okay, since you know somuch, what the fuck am I supposed to do? Quit my job? Wait tables at your bar, morning shifts only?”
He sighs. I can picture him pushing a hand through his hair out of frustration. “Caleb, the issue isn’t how much you work. It’s that you blame yourself when anything goes wrong, and you abandon the people who need you most when it happens. You abandoned Kate because you felt guilty about Hannah, and what happened with Lucie last week sure seemed to follow the playbook, didn’t it? Until you deal with your guilt, I’m not sure how you fix anything.”
I push away from my desk, grabbing my keys. “Thanks for the armchair psychology, Beck,” I snap, walking out of my office and ignoring Kayleigh entirely. “You haven’t had a single relationship in at least five years, yet you’re able to diagnose all my problems, it seems.”
“Diagnosing your shit doesn’t require a degree, asshole,” Beck says as I push through the front doors. “Everyoneknows what’s going on with you, except for you.Everyoneknows that you freaked out after Hannah died and acted like it didn’t matter in the first place. You’re forgetting we were all there. You kept her ultrasound pic in a frame on your desk. You had her car seat professionally installedtwicebecause you were worried it wasn’t secure enough. You fucking cared, and you’re the only person in the world who doesn’t know it. Go to Hannah’s grave for once in your life and then come tell me I’m wrong.”
He hangs up and I keep walking to my truck, my jaw grinding.
Why the fuck would I go to the grave? I can’t bring her back. What good would it do to remember how it all was? To remember everything I hoped for and how it ended?
But when I reach the turnoff for the lake…I keep driving. The cemetery isn’t far from here, though I’ve only been once. Beck thinks I can’t go to her grave? Of course I can. I’ll go and itwill be every bit as meaningless, as performative, as I knew it would be.
I park in the cemetery, and there’s an odd, leaden weight in my stomach as I climb out. The last time I was here was at the burial. We didn’t have a ceremony. It was just me and Kate. She wrapped her arms around the tiny casket, choking on her sobs, and the longer it went on, the more dead I felt inside. I was removed and robotic as I pulled Kate away.
She couldn’t eat and she couldn’t sleep, and all I wanted in the entire fucking world was to go to the office, which I did as soon as humanly possible. Beck was right. I abandoned her. I fucking abandoned her.
I walk toward the grave, which sits at the top of the hill because Kate demanded Hannah have a view. Kate had been the most rational person I’d ever known until Hannah died, and after that…she was barely sane. I’d catch her in the middle of the night, trying to go to the cemetery. I’d find her online researching meconium aspiration, as if she could find a way to change what went wrong.
And I…did nothing. I spent a few days assuring her things would feel better and ran off to work. And soon there were nights, then weeks, when she didn’t come home, and I was worried, but I was also fucking relieved. Relieved that someone else was helping her because I didn’t feel like I could. Relieved she was crying to someone else because I couldn’t stand to hear her reference Hannah one more time, couldn’t stand to have her ask me if I thought Hannah knew we loved her, if she was cold now, and alone.
I reach the grave at last, crouching low and brushing a long-dead bouquet away to stare at the plaque.
Hannah Jane Lowell. October 24, 2020.
And I don’t want to remember, but suddenly I do. I remember how tiny she was in my arms, tiny but solid, andhow some bizarre part of me thought that maybe the hospital had made a mistake.
That was the first and last time I ever held her. And the nurse reached out and I knew what she wanted—that she wanted me to hand Hannah over because Kate wouldn’t—and I wasn’t ready.
I wasn’t fucking ready, and I didn’t know what to do, so I chose to believe it didn’t matter. That I couldn’t have cared all that much because if I had, I’d have been there sooner, and that one of us had to be rational and it would have to be me. So I handed Hannah over, and when Kate screamed and tried to lunge from the bed, I was the one who kept her from following.
I was wrong. I’m not sure what I should have done. But I should have done more than I did.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” I whisper. I’m surprised by how rough my voice is. I’m surprised by the way my hand shakes as I reach down to press it flat to her grave. “I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there. I really wanted to be your dad.”
There. It’s out. I did want the things we lost, and it was harder than I ever let on, but admitting it doesn’t leave me feeling like a weight has been lifted as I return to my truck. It’s more as if one’s been added…as if a piece of me I shut off a long time ago is back again, and it fucking hurts. I’d have given anything, done anything, just to have my daughter back. I still would.
I turn toward the lake, cursing Beck for suggesting it in the first place. I don’t need this shit right before I head to Hawaii, and I somehow have to get my head back in the game.
Take another shower, I command as I crest the hill to my house. Change clothes, get a stiff drink the second you’re on the plane, and get your head in the—
I hit the brakes, staring at the car in my driveway, unfamiliar, with out-of-state tags.
Somehow, I already know it’s Kate.
I climb from the car and walk into the backyard, my dread growing with every step. She’s on the dock in shorts and a tshirt, smiling as her head turns my way. It’s her old Kate smile—confident, on top of the world. Until she started doing drugs, there was no one alive surer of herself than Kate. She climbs to her feet and bridges the distance between us, throwing her arms around my neck.
I step away as quickly as I can. "You should have told me you were coming.”
"I was worried you'd run in the opposite direction."
I try to smile, but honestly—yeah, if I’d known, I’d have asked her not to comehere, at the very least. I look over my shoulder—thank God Lucie and the twins aren’t home. “I guess you got the papers?”
Her smile fades. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Can we talk?”
God, this is the worst possible time for this. I run a hand through my hair. “Sure. Of course. I’ve got a flight to catch but—”
