even sitting in my father’s chair. I felt like my own life had disappeared, and I’d literally become my father.”
I understood some of how he felt. Getting pregnant at seventeen meant the abrupt end of my youth in a lot of ways. “I get it. I vividly remember being home one Friday night when I was twenty. My husband was sleeping on the couch at eight thirty, and I had a two-year-old sleeping in the other room. I flicked on the TV, put my feet up, and started to watch Family Feud. My mom used to watch it all the time, but with a different guy hosting the show. I looked down, realized I was in my pajamas at eight thirty on a Friday night, and it hit me that I’d turned into my mother.”
Ford looked over at me. “What did you do?”
“I got dressed in clothes that no longer felt right to wear, put the baby monitor next to my sleeping husband, and went out with Eve.”
I smiled, remembering that weekend. I’d stayed out for almost two days, but in the end, Eve had to practically carry me home because I was drunk and crying so hard because I missed my son.
“I partied for two days, then was in bed sick for three. But I definitely wondered if I’d made the right choices a few times.”
“Yeah, I did something similar—except my rampage lasted almost a year. I’d started to screw up at work, was bringing women home while I lived with my little sister, and I blew through a boatload of money from my parents’ life insurance. My aunt finally called me on it. She told me to get over myself, because while being my father might not be what I’d planned, I should be honored to stand in the man’s shoes at all.” He nodded. “She was right. Plus, Mrs. Peabody called me about fifteen minutes after my aunt finished reading me the riot act and told me to get my head out of my ass.”
My brows drew together. “Mrs. Peabody? The woman you mentioned that has premonitions or something, right?”
“Yeah. She sometimes wakes up in the middle of the night with these strong feelings. She’s had them since she was a kid. But that day, she called me right after my aunt left and said she had a feeling something bad was going to happen to me.” He chuckled. “Then she told me to sober up and pull my head out of my ass. Right before she hung up on me.”
“Who is she?”
“It’s a long story, but I dialed her by accident a few years ago. At least, I think it’s an accident. She doesn’t. One night, back when I was in a shitty place, I’d been attempting to drunk dial some woman I’d met. I dialed wrong and reached Mrs. Peabody. We started talking, and I rambled on and told her my life story. She said she’d been up late, expecting a call because of a dream she had that a stranger needed her help.”
“Oh, wow. That’s crazy.”
He laughed. “Yeah. That’s the tip of the iceberg with Mrs. Peabody. She’s seventy-six and lives in an assisted living facility out in Wyoming.”
“And you kept in touch with this woman after that?”
“I still keep in touch with her. It’s been about three years now. The day after my drunk dial, I woke up and vaguely remembered talking to someone. So I looked through my missed calls and dialed the last number. Mrs. Peabody answered, and we got to talking again. She had just left the podiatrist’s office and found out she needed to have her toe amputated the next day. She’s diabetic and has circulation issues. Anyway, we talked for a while, and I wasn’t sure if she was crazy, clairvoyant, lonely, or just eccentric. I’m still not entirely sure. But she sounded nervous about the surgery, and it was obvious she just needed to talk. So we spent a few hours on the phone again, only that time, she did most of the talking. I figured I owed her one. After that, I reverse-searched her telephone number and got an address to send some flowers for her recovery.” He shrugged. “We’ve been talking a few times a month ever since.”
“That’s a little bizarre, yet also oddly sweet. Though I do believe some people have special gifts like that.”
“Oh yeah?” He smirked. “Then I feel inclined to tell you Mrs. Peabody called this morning and said if my