Page 12 of I'll Keep Her Safe

Given I rarely date, I can’t begin to imagine. Bailey was the product of a three-night-stand with her mom one summer when I was nineteen, and I spent most of my twenties doing what twenty-something guys do; juggling work and casual relationships. Of course, had I known I had a daughter, my life would have looked very different, but her mother didn’t give me that opportunity. It wasn’t until I met my sweet Bailey when I was thirty-two that my life changed. She became my world, and between work and spending my time catching up on fatherhood, dating took a backseat. I became acutely aware that whoever I brought into my life, I was also bringing into Bailey’s, and given I’d missed so much, I wasn’t prepared to do anything that might fuck up what time we had left.

It was only last night, as I hugged my daughter goodbye, that I realized Bailey doesn’t need me as much anymore. She hasn’t needed me for a while now, and her moving away has forced me to face that.

I glance at Marty again, thinking about what he’s lost. What must it be like to have someone to come home to, share a meal with, talk with about your day? It’s something I rarely let myself think about, but sometimes after a long, exhausting day at work, it’s hard to deny the loneliness I feel at returning home to an empty bed. It’s probably why, if I’m honest with myself, I spend so much time here in the garden.

Well, that and my love for growing my own food. I guess I could grow it in my own yard, but I set that up to showcase my landscape design skills. Still, that was years ago now, and most of my work—and awards—speaks for itself. I hardly ever go in my yard simply because it doesn’t feel like my own; it’s too curated, too focused on aesthetics, like my day job. Now, it’s mostly overgrown and unloved, an afterthought at the back of my property that represents everything that’s wrong with my work, but here at the community garden, I get to focus on what I really love—plants that nourish and sustain me, in more ways than one.

I place the radishes into Marty’s basket, and he smiles. “Perfect, Wyatt, thank you. Please take a few for yourself,” he adds, and I wave him away. He’s been more than generous to me. “How’s your girl?”

Pulling a lemonade from the cooler, I pop the top with a sigh. “She’s moved to San Francisco. Flew out this morning.” I’d wanted to take her to the airport myself, but her mother had already arranged everything without me.

Marty turns to me, curiosity on his weathered face. “Is that for work?”

I nod, sipping the sweet, tangy liquid. Bailey loves this stuff too.

“How exciting,” Marty says.

“It is,” I murmur, though I’d be lying if I said I wouldn’t miss her. Still, I’m incredibly proud of all she’s achieved, of the woman she’s become.

Even if it sometimes feels like I had so little to do with it.

A buzzing in my pocket stirs me from my thoughts, and I pull my phone out to see Bailey’s name on the screen, as if she somehow knew I was talking about her. I slide my phone away, not wanting to be rude, but Marty insists I take the call.

“Hey, kiddo. How’s the West Coast?”

“It’s great!” She sounds happy, and my heart swells. It was only last night we said goodbye, but it feels like a week ago. “How was your day? Are you in the garden?”

I glance at Marty and smile. “Sure am. The rhubarb is finally ready.” I know Bailey isn’t that invested in my plants, but she always humors me.

“That’s great. Listen, Dad, have you seen Poppy today?”

I scrub a hand over my beard. “No, why?” I deliberately got up and left before sunrise this morning to avoid her.

“Shit,” Bailey mutters under her breath. “I’ve tried to get hold of her all day and she hasn’t answered her phone. That’s really unlike her.”

I chuff a laugh. “I’m sure she’s just busy, honey. Probably at work or something.”

“Maybe,” Bailey replies, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “I can usually reach her on her phone, even at work. If she can’t talk she’ll text to let me know, but to not hear from her at all…”

“I’ll let you know when I get home,” I reassure her. I love how much my daughter cares for her friend, but I’m starting to believe she’s a little overprotective. Poppy is twenty-five and old enough to handle herself. She doesn’t need me or anyone else looking out for her.

“When will that be?” Bailey presses. “I need to know she’s okay.”

I can’t help but laugh. “She’ll be fine!”

“You don’t know her ex.” Bailey’s tone is ominous. “Has she been baking a lot?”

“What?”

“She stress-bakes huge batches of cookies when something is wrong.”

I stifle another laugh. “No, she hasn’t been stress-baking. I’ll message as soon as I’m home, okay?” I don’t fancy heading back to the house if Poppy is there, but I can’t stand the note of panic in Bailey’s voice.

“Okay.” She exhales. “Please text me.”

I end the call with a promise to let Bailey know Poppy is safe, despite my reservations about my daughter’s overprotective nature. The main thing is ensuring Bailey can relax and enjoy her time settling into her new place.

Even if it means having to see Poppy.

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