Page 81 of The Cost of Forgetting You

A line forms between her pale brows. “Who’s at the farm?”

I follow her gaze. “Looks like someone’s finally moving in.”

There’s a trailer stacked high with furniture parked in front of Abel’s old house. I squint, a ripple of shock hitting me square in the chest when I realize it’s attached to Pastor Timothy’s white Ford. I snort, but there’s no humor in it. It amazes me that all this town sees when they look at him is the pastor who helps a church member move on the weekend, never mind the man who stood across from me as I planned my father’s funeral and threatened me to stay away from his daughter.

My eyes scrape like sandpaper when I blink. You’d think it wouldn’t hurt so bad anymore.

“Can we go say hi?”

I clear my throat. “Um, they’re probably really busy right now. Maybe another time, sweet pea.”

She kicks the back of my seat. “Please, Daddy!”

Refusal dies on my lips when I catch a glimpse of long blonde hair disappearing behind the truck. Not possible.

“Look, they have a kid!”

Sure enough, a child races out of the house, trailing after the woman. They reappear at the back of the trailer, where she bends over to listen to something the little boy says. He takes off running for the edge of the nearest hill, where he lays down and starts to roll down the slope.

“I wanna go play, Daddy. Please!”

My heart hesitates to beat. From this distance it’s so hard to make out their individual features, but I swear my body knows it’s her even from here. Senses her. My stomach twists in on itself, but the words bubble up anyway, as if by their own volition.

“Sure, sweet pea. Let me just tell your mom.”

She squeals with delight and gets to work on releasing her seat belt. I rise from the car on shaky legs and help her from her booster seat. We hold hands as we walk toward the house, her skipping to keep up with my strides. I study the crown of her hair, the narrow bridge of her nose. It’s all I can see from this angle, but it’s enough.

She’s my whole world. The only thing that matters. And she deserves to play, to have fun like a normal kid. Especially after the morning we’ve had. If that means facing Lucy Barlow—Parker, I correct myself, wincing—for the first time in years, then so be it.

“Hey, Kim, it looks like there are new neighbors moving in. Delilah wants to say hi.” I shout it into the house through the open front door. “You wanna come?”

“They have a kid like me!” Delilah adds.

There’s no response. “Wait a sec,” I tell Delilah, and then I make my way to our bedroom and glance inside. Nothing. I retrace my steps, this time going toward the hall where the bathroom is. Light slips under the door, so I knock. “Babe, did you hear me? Delilah wants to go say hello to the new neighbors.”

“Go, then. I’m fucking exhausted. I’m gonna take a bath and then a nap while we have some peace and quiet in this house.”

I flatten my palm against the door and nod, though she can’t see me. “Got it. Give us a shout if you need anything.”

There’s an answering grumble that sounds a lot like, “Like hell I will.”

I drop my arm and return to Delilah, who’s practically vibrating with excitement. I smile, mussing her hair when she’s within reach. I think a lot about life when I look at my daughter. Not the life I once dreamed I’d have, like Kimberly sometimes tends to do when she drinks too much and waxes poetic about what could’ve been. Instead I think about the life I want Delilah to have. This one we’ve been living lately is not it.

I’ll do better, I promise her silently. Out loud I say, “Ready, Freddy?”

“My name’s not Freddy!”

“Is it not?” I mock surprise. “I could’ve sworn that’s what I wrote on the birth certificate.”

She giggles. “Can we go?”

“Yeah, we can go,” I say, laughing. Then I take her hand and we head for the farm.

The minute Lucy glances over her shoulder at us, all certainty that I’m man enough for this seeps out of my body. I’ve very purposely avoided stepping foot in that church since the day of the wedding, and between work and Mom’s doctor appointments, I don’t spend a lot of time out and about where I run the risk of bumping into people. I’ve managed to go five years without seeing Lucy for more than a split second at the grocery store or in passing at the post office. Seeing her now has my heart dropping all the way to the dirt beneath my shoes.

“Henry?” Her gray eyes widen. Her hand pulses at her side. For a split second I think she might reach for me. Cup my face in her palm. I think it because I want it to be true, not because it’s possible. Then her gaze drops to Delilah, and her smile falters. Briefly, but I see it. Then it goes so wide it resembles the late summer sun beating down overhead. “And who might this be?”

Delilah squares her shoulders, beaming up at Lucy with a toothy grin. “I’m Delilah! Do you have kids?”

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