wasn’t your child. I want you to think I’ve grown into the kind of person you’d believe in.”
I hold out a hand for the paint brush. “Go hang with Haley. I’ll finish it.”
His gaze finds mine, surprised. “And watch your sister?”
I lower my voice. “I’ve pulled together changes from a whole host of writers. I can handle a four-year-old and a paint brush.”
My dad looks as if he’s about to say something, but in the end, he hands me the brush.
After finishing up at the gazebo, I scrounge some lunch for me and Sophie before taking a call with Miranda while my sister plays.
We talk about the work, catch up on Ian. I let her know he’s pushing me.
“I emailed and told him I’d send him what we have next week.”
“What did he say?”
I huff out a breath. “Nothing, yet. But I have to go,” I say to my writing partner as I look up to see Sophie climbing on the windowsill and jumping on the seat.
“I know you’re dealing with family issues, but we need to finish that song.”
“I will.”
If my voice has an edge, it’s in response to the urgency in hers. “I have a version, Miranda. And it’s good. But it’s not right.”
“You have good instincts. If there’s something more you can get from it, I trust you to try.”
“Thank you. I know it’s your dream to co-write a show from the beginning. We’ll make it work.”
What happened with Ian was my mistake, not hers, and I’ll make sure it doesn’t hurt us.
After hanging up, I get Sophie off the windowsill.
“I want to swim,” she decides, peering up at me.
“Okay. But after, we need some quiet play time so I can work.”
I get her changed, and she insists on bringing the trucks with her.
My gaze cuts toward the hedges and the parking lot beyond.
“That’s Tyler’s car,” Sophie informs me.
“Yes, it is.” His flight was supposed to get back from LA around noon, and I chastise myself for being so obvious a toddler could figure it out as I usher her toward the pool.
“Why’re you so into trucks?” I ask as she’s clinging to the ladder, her water wings keeping her afloat.
“They get things done. Like Mommy.”
I laugh. “Not Daddy?”
She wrinkles her nose. “No. Daddy makes messes. Mommy cleans them up.”
“That’s true.”
I coax her off the ladder, stabilizing her with my hands as she kicks wildly.
“Where’s your Mommy?” she pants.
Her question catches me off-guard, and I stare at her freckled little face. Apparently Dad and Haley have had this conversation with her—or at least part of it. “Um. I’m not sure.”
“Why not?”
“Because she lives somewhere else. I haven’t really talked to her.” Not since the letter she sent me.
“Why not?”
I lift my feet from the shallow bottom, sculling with my hands. “Because she’s not really part of my life right now.”
“Do you think she gets things done or makes messes?”
“I don’t know, Soph. I guess I always picture her getting things done. Like your Mommy.” I shake my head. “Come on. We should get out, or we’ll turn into prunes.”
We get out, and I help her get the water wings off.
She tosses them on the patio with a scrunched-up face. “I hate those.”
“Then why’d you want to swim?”
Sophie peers up at me, squinting against the sun as she grins. “Because you like it.”
She says it like it’s obvious, and my heart melts.
“You will always mean more to me than anything in this world has a right to mean.”
I swallow as I think of my dad’s words.
I can’t pretend I know how hard it would be to have kids, how they test your patience. But the way she’s looking at me, I know there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her.
“Stay put,” I tell Sophie, “I need to get towels.”
She heads for her trucks under one of the patio chairs while I go to the cabana on the other side of the patio.
The top shelf is empty, but there should be extras below. I’m rummaging around inside and finally spot a stash tucked behind some other supplies when I hear a splash behind me.
“Sophie?” I call over my shoulder, grabbing two towels.
No answer.
My veins turn to ice.
I whirl and bolt from the cabana, my gaze scanning the patio where she was a moment ago.
No sign of her.
Until I spot her form beneath the surface of the pool.
“Sophie!” I scream.
I need to get to her. I know it in my mind, but my legs won’t cooperate.
My throat tightens, every part of