lift her high, swinging her around even as he complained that she’d become so much bigger. Then she’d hug him so tightly that she might never let go, smell his skin, feel his warmth. She’d lay her cheek against his chest, the way she’d done when she was a little girl, and she’d hear his heart pounding beneath her ear.
But her dad’s heart didn’t pound anymore.
And, just like all the other years, his name was right where she remembered it.
Haley traced the letters with her fingertip and cried silently, just the way she always did. She cried because he was gone. She cried because he had died doing what he loved and what he believed to be right. She cried because there were so many things she wished she’d told him, and so many things she would have loved to have been able to tell him since his death. She cried because her most vivid memory of her father always came to her right before she found his name, on this place, on his birthday. She felt his presence strongest here, so strongly that if she closed her eyes, she could imagine that he was standing beside her, listening.
Could she bear to surrender that?
And so, just like every other year, Haley leaned against the stone, tracing his name repeatedly with one fingertip, and talked to her dad.
Damon almost didn’t see Haley.
It was crowded at the memorial that Saturday, probably because of the day of the week and also because of the good weather. He assumed she’d be at the place where her father’s name was engraved, but didn’t look up the surname Slater to discover where that might be. Instead, he walked around the perimeter of the memorial, feeling its effect as he had every other time he’d visited. He was three quarters of the way around when he saw her.
She clutched the rose in one hand, and was rubbing the stone with the other. She’d taken off her glove and he could see that her skin was red with the cold. She was crying, too, oblivious to everyone around her.
He watched her for a long moment, his own heart breaking to see her so upset. He couldn’t fix anything and he thought for a moment that it might be better just to leave her to her grief. Then he remembered his dad’s advice about sharing energy and giving strength to others to help them heal. Damon figured Haley might need some of his.
He walked toward her slowly, not wanting to startle her.
She didn’t even look up until he was right beside her, then she was startled. She blinked in surprise, as if she thought her eyes deceived her. She’d had a good cry, because her eyes were red and puffy. “Damon?”
“Hi.” He offered the long-stemmed red rose he’d brought, packed in clear plastic and tipped with a vial of water. “I thought you might need another one.”
“But how did you know I’d be here?”
“I didn’t. I guessed.”
“But how?”
“They said there was only one day you wouldn’t take a shift for anyone else. I figured it had to be a special day for you. I wondered if it might be your dad’s birthday.”
She nodded and teared up again, then fished in her jacket pocket for a tissue. She blew her nose, watching him. “So, why did you come?”
She hadn’t taken the rose.
“Because I owe you an apology, again, and because I wanted to thank you.” He had a wrapped gift in his messenger bag for her, so indicated the bag. “A different kind of thank-you.” He eyed her, wondering what she was thinking and why she hesitated, but to his relief, she finally accepted the rose.
She studied it, avoiding his gaze, but at least she didn’t turn away.
“Thanks for pushing me to arrange the service,” Damon said, reassured when Haley stole a glance at him. “People were so kind and it helped.”
“I’m glad.”
“I’m sorry I didn’t reach out and invite you.”
“I was out of town.”
Damon nodded. “I have all this energy from the service for my mom, and I thought you might need some.” He took off his glove and offered his hand to her.
Haley hesitated only a second before she put her hand in his.
“You’re cold,” he chided, then gathered her into his arms. Haley didn’t fight him, just curled against him, her hands and the roses between them. He felt her shiver. “You’re really cold.”
“Just sad, really.”
“What can I do to help?”
“This is good.” She took a deep