Page 74 of Best Laid Plans

“I want a big bowl of cheese grips!”

“Cheese grits, huh? I think I want the same thing.” I place our order, and within minutes, two large bowls of steaming, cheesy goodness are placed before us. I doctor them both up with butter, salt, and pepper, and we happily devour them.

I pay the tab and help Tatum down from her stool. “Let’s see. You wanted to go to the park today too, right?”

She jumps up and down—which I understand is the universal toddler sign foryes!and occasionally forI have to potty!

“Wanna walk there?”

She nods rapidly, and hand in hand, we set off for the playground, which is luckily less than a block away. This isn’t the same one we went to last time, but Tatum looks excited all the same. At first, I keep right on her, moving from one piece of equipment to the other. Eventually, she tires of my stalking. “Daddy. I’m big. I’m”—she holds up four fingers—“three! I can pway alone.”

“Are you sure? I’m having fun playing with you!”

She looks over toward a group of similarly aged kids all playing together. “I’m sure.”

I hesitate, but ultimately give in. After all, Natalie and I hung out on a bench the last time we came to the park. “All right, pretty girl. But stay where I can see you, okay?”

“I will, Daddy!” She kisses my cheek and darts off toward the group of kids playing.

I keep my eyes laser-focused on Tatum as she plays. She and two of the other kids are playing on a little jungle gym. It’s decked out with two slides, a mini suspension bridge, and a pint-sized plastic rock wall. The sound of her laughter floats my way on the breeze. She looks so happy and carefree that I can’t help but want to capture the moment forever.

I shift slightly and grab my phone. When I unlock the screen, a text from Natalie pops up. It’s nothing more than a blowing kisses emoji. I smile and toggle over to my camera.

Except before I even have a chance to snap a pic, a scream rings out, coming from Tatum. I shove my phone back into my pocket and haul ass to my girl. A few other parents rush over as well. When I reach her, she’s on the ground, wailing and clutching her arm to her chest.

I drop down to my knees. “Tatum! Tatum, baby, are you okay?”

She’s crying too hard to reply, and the sound of her sobs is soul shattering. I only looked away for one minute. Oh, Jesus. This is all my fault. Natalie is going to murder me—and rightfully so.

Tatum tries to reach for me, but the motion sends her into another fit. She’s crying so hard she can hardly breathe. As carefully as possible, I gather her into my arms. She clutches my shirt with her uninjured hand, her tears wetting clear through my shirt. “Daddy, it h-h-hurts!”

Guilt churns in my stomach like the sea during a raging storm. “I know, pretty girl. I’m so sorry. Daddy’s gonna make it all better.”

The mom of one of the kids she was playing with stops me. “She was about to slide and tripped. Fell from the top.” I thank her for the info—info I should have known without being told, because I should have been watching.

My heart sinks. How could I have let this happen? All of this because I wanted to take her picture.How stupid could I possibly be?And then I remember we walked here.

“It’s okay pretty girl, Daddy has you.”

With painstakingly careful steps, as not to jostle her, I set off for the car. What was a quick, two-minute walk here feels like an unending journey back—like in a horror movie when the hallway keeps getting longer, extending on endlessly.

When we finally reach my car, I’m faced with an entirely new debacle. Her car seat. As softly as possible, I place her in the seat. She doesn’t want to let go, though. “I have to put you down, pretty girl. We need to go to the doctor, and you need to be safe.” I keep my tone soft, whispering the words into her ear.

She releases her hold on my shirt and allows me to set her down. I slide her good arm through the harness, opting to leave her rapidly swelling arm that is very obviously broken out. I secure her buckle as best I can and fly around to the driver’s seat.

“I want Mama!” Tatum wails, and my heart splits clear in two. Of course, she wants her mom—and truthfully, I do too. Natalie would probably be cool as a cucumber, whereas I’m on the verge of Hulking out or breaking down. Hell, I doubt this would have even happened on her watch. Which reinforces the fact that she’s so going to kill me.

I turn on my flashers and pull out into traffic—luckily, it’s Sunday and still church hours, so there’s next to no traffic. As soon as my phone connects to my car’s Bluetooth, I dial Natalie.

She doesn’t answer.

I call again.

No answer.

Fuck. Nat, answer!

Tatum’s cries have turned to heaving sobs.

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