Driftwood Bay (Hope Harbor #5) - Irene Hannon Page 0,101

hesitated. “You won’t keep it, will you?”

He frowned. “No. Why would I do that?”

“Teta said it might make you sad and you might take it away.”

Would he have deprived his daughter of a photo that gave her comfort?

He’d like to think the answer was no . . . but it was hard to say, considering his mental state since the tragedy.

“I promise I won’t take it away. Maybe we can look at it—and remember her—together.”

She studied him, kneading the edge of the blanket between her fingers . . . then rolled over, opened the drawer in the bedside table, and pulled out the photo. She tilted it toward him, keeping a tight grip on the image. As if she didn’t trust him.

Another punch in the stomach.

Taking a fortifying breath, Thomma leaned close to examine the dog-eared photo. It wasn’t one he’d ever seen, but the setting was familiar. The shot had been snapped at the wedding of some friends of theirs, less than a year before the bombing. Raca was holding Elisa on her lap, her eyes bright with laughter as if someone had just made a humorous remark, her whole being radiating life and joy and optimism.

It captured her perfectly.

He blinked to clear his vision.

Someone must have given this to Mariam—and if that was how she’d acquired it, there wasn’t much chance she had anything but the print she’d passed on to his daughter.

But it could be scanned. Should be scanned before the edges got any more ragged from handling.

“I would love to have a copy of this picture, Elisa. It’s exactly how I remember your mama.”

“You could ask Teta if she has another one.”

“I will—but if she doesn’t, I could make a copy of yours.”

She tucked it close to her chest. “I like to keep this here.”

“You could come with me while I get the copy made. You don’t have to give it to me.”

“I guess so.” She traced a finger over the image in the photo. “Mama was pretty.”

“Yes, she was.” He managed to keep his voice from cracking.

“Can she see us from heaven?”

“I don’t know—but I’m sure she can feel how much we love her.”

“She loved me this much.” Elisa spread her arms wide . . . then let them droop. “Like you used to.”

Past tense.

As if he too was dead.

And in truth he had been—in every way that counted.

“I still love you, Elisa.” The sentiment sounded empty even to him. Words without action meant nothing.

But going forward, there would be plenty of action to back them up.

“Are you mad at me for running away?”

“I’m more mad at myself.”

Her brow knitted. “Why?”

“Because if I’d been a better papa, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.” He brushed her hair back with trembling fingers. “I’m sorry I haven’t told you every single day that I love you, and given you hugs, and read you bedtime stories, and kissed you good night. From now on, I’m going to do all those things—if that’s okay with you.”

She emitted a tiny, shuddering puff of air. “It’s okay.”

Her expression didn’t change. No smile chased away the somber demeanor he’d come to expect from her. But God willing, that would come in time—after she was certain her papa was really back.

He leaned toward her and pressed a gentle kiss to her forehead. “Good night, my little one.”

Rising, he smoothed out the blankets and reached over to flip off the lamp.

“Papa?”

“Yes?” He paused, his fingers on the switch.

She slowly held out her precious photo. “You can make a copy.”

As the significance of her simple gesture registered, the room blurred—and hope filled his heart.

Despite all he’d done to hurt this child, she’d accepted his apology, trusted him to honor his promise, and was willing to give him a second chance.

And as he took the photo, thanked her, and bent to give her another kiss, he sent a silent prayer of gratitude toward the heavens.

While his life hadn’t played out as he’d hoped, and there would be many challenges ahead, he had much to be thankful for.

And here in Hope Harbor, with the love of his daughter and mother to sustain him, he would remember each and every day to count his blessings and to focus on what could be rather than on what might have been.

27

Logan hadn’t contacted her all day.

And why should he, after her vague response when he’d called last night to tell her the girls had been found and invite her over?

The man wasn’t going to come begging for her attention. If