Page 122 of Love You, Mean It
“I love you so much, Harper Huxley.” Her words broke on a sob. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks for being a real mama, Vi. We were both brave today.”
What the hell did any of this have to do with being a real mama?
It hit me that it was a big deal to my daughter that she’d gone down that slide. And the tech who’d put on her cast was right—the slidewasn’t the cause of the accident. She’d been hurt because the other kids were irresponsible, but that’s what kids do, right?
I used to be one. I should’ve known that.
Violet looked up at me, her pretty green gaze holding mine.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
“I know you are. This wasn’t your fault,” I said, not wanting to have this discussion with an audience around. “Let’s talk about it at the house.”
She took a few steps back. “It’s been a long day. I’m going to catch a ride with Montana and Myles tonight. Text me if you need anything, okay?”
Her voice wobbled, and I knew she was on the verge of losing it.
A part of me wanted to pull her into my arms right there. Tell her it would be okay.
But Will jogged in and said the truck was out front, and the nurse started pushing the wheelchair.
So I just nodded and walked out the door, because right now I needed to be a dad.
I’d already failed my daughter once today, and she had the cast to prove it.
We carefully got Harper in her car seat, and I drove the short distance home.
“Isn’t Violet coming over tonight?” Harper asked as I got her out of the car.
“Not tonight. I think everyone needs to get some sleep.”
I carried her inside the house, took her right to the bathroom, and turned on the water to the bathtub. She was filthy from her fall, and I wanted to get her cleaned up.
I racked my mind about what I had in the freezer that I could toss in the oven for dinner, because I didn’t have it in me to do more than that right now. We didn’t use as much water as usual, and I quickly got her cleaned up and washed, all while she held her casted arm up and out of the way. I dried her off and got her into her jammies before combing through her long hair.
The doorbell rang, and I padded out to the front door and pulled it open.
“Hey, Charlie,” Freddy Taylor said. He was a high school kid who worked over at the Brown Bear Diner as a busboy. “Violet ordered some dinner for you and Harper, and she asked us to drop it off. We’re all sorry to hear about Harper’s accident. Is she doing all right?” he asked as he handed me the bag of food.
Damn. Violet knew what I needed. She knew what we needed.
She hadn’t brought it herself, though, which surprised me.
She wasn’t one to stand on ceremony.
But today was heavy, and I knew she was already retreating. Beating herself up for something that wasn’t her fault.
But she’d still thought of us. She’d sent dinner over because that was her way of being here for us.
I unpacked the food as my daughter came around the corner, and she climbed onto her chair.
“Violet sent dinner over,” I said.
I should have talked to her at the hospital. I should have told her I’d had my share of accidents with my daughter. I should have made it clear that this wasn’t her fault. That some things were out of our control with kids.
“I love Violet. You know she’s a real mama, right?” Harper asked, her long hair still wet as it hung over her shoulders.
