on counseling as a family and her individually to make sure she was processing Nat’s death in a healthy manner.
It had been years since her last crying-fest, her blowups, her shutting down.
And in one instant … my one moment of carelessness, I’d taken her back years.
Brad jogged toward me from a distance, and I met him halfway.
“Becky told me what happened.” There was no humor on his features and no witty comment, which I was glad for because I couldn’t take it right now. “Is she okay?” he asked, peering behind me, his gaze traveling toward the tree house.
“No.” I rubbed at my forehead. “I’m so fucking stupid.”
“It happens,” Brad said, sighing and shrugging, knowing I was going to be in the doghouse with Sarah but also knowing we couldn’t rewind.
I dropped my head and ran one heavy hand through my hair.
He placed a hand on my shoulder. “But mistakes don’t normally happen with you though.”
I groaned. “You’re supposed to make me feel better.”
Brad lifted a shoulder. “That’s your job, too, so I’m out of my element here.”
I threw him a look, and he offered me a small smile.
“Listen, big bro, we all know how Natalie’s death affected Sarah hugely. But she’s strong, resilient. She’s older now. She can handle it. You just need to talk to her … when she’s ready.”
I nodded and swallowed. I knew that too. She needed time. I just didn’t want to give it to her. The father in me wanted to fix it now.
In the beginning, we’d talked about how much we both missed Natalie; we’d reminisced and watched old home videos. It was a way of healing rather than pretending it’d never happened. But as time had passed and we got busy, watching our old life on the screen had stopped, and so had reminiscing. I wasn’t naive to believe her wounds were not still there because my wounds still weren’t healed. When someone died—someone you loved dearly, maybe even more than yourself—that pain never really went away. It might dim, but I knew from experience, you never fully forgot.
“Just talk to her,” Brad repeated.
I nodded, my eyes going shut. “I was going to, but it looks like that talk is going to happen sooner than expected.”
I peered up at the door she’d shut on me and knew there was no way I’d fit in that small space with her. And knowing her, she wanted to be alone right now. But I’d wait by this tree house all night if I had to, wait till she was ready to talk to me, wait until she was ready to forgive me.
Chapter 34
Charles
My gaze dropped to the ground, the grass, to the area of dirt where I’d uprooted a patch of grass. I whispered, “Nat, do a Hail Mary, will you? You know your daughter more than I do. Show me how to handle this situation.”
A small laugh escaped my lips. I could picture her shaking her head, giving me that look that said, Charles, you should have known better. She’d never utter those words, but with that one look, I knew what she was thinking.
It was a whole two hours later when Sarah descended the steps from the tree house, and I was right there, butt on the grass, leaning against the tree, waiting for her.
She wrung her hands in front of her, and her eyes were noticeably red.
I stood and brought her into a hug, grateful she didn’t push me away. As soon as she nuzzled her head into my chest, I released a breath of relief. And then she melted into my arms, her body going limp.
“I miss Mom.” Her voice was muffled against my shirt, and I pulled her in tighter against me.
My chest seized, and I swallowed the lump in the back of my throat. “I know. I do too, honey. I do too.”
I pulled her up then and lifted her into my arms. At ten, her legs dangled. She wasn’t a little girl anymore, but she’d always be my little girl.
When she tucked her chin into my neck, I lifted my eyes to the sky—searching for a cloud, the sun, some sort of sign. Sometimes, I’d pick a cloud in the sky and picture Nat, sitting there, watching me.
In that moment, I thanked her, like I’d done so many times before. I thanked her for these girls, my most precious gifts. One she’d even died for.
“I’m sorry.” My voice was choked with emotion.
Sarah shouldn’t have found out about Becky