Page 36 of Sunshine
Not my problem?Not my problem?Fuck. Is she right? Is Poppy my problem or not?
I blink back spots in my vision as I turn around at the porch steps, not missing a beat as I stride back to the truck, my breaths fast and coarse.
I’m a fucking mess. I can’t think straight enough to stay or leave, so I open her message again.Still not your problem.
And though it goes against every instinct I have, I get back in my truck, turn the key, and try not to lose it as I drive back to Silver Leaf.
By the time I get home, I feel…defeated. And embarrassed. Still stressed. Still pissed. Still stupid jealous. But also, just plain stupid. It’s an interesting mix to process.
The house is dark when I pull up, but instead of going inside, I linger in the driveway, leaning on the hood of my truck and hoping I’ll be soothed by the silence of a January night in Sonoma.
We used to camp a lot as kids. Our parents, and my mom especially, made a big deal about sleeping with only sky above us, and we did it almost every weekend in the summer. We’d have campfires and marshmallows and games and stories, always the seven of us—and Poppy—until Chord was drafted to the NHL at eighteen. We didn’t go on big family trips—with five kids and a ranch to run, our parents didn’t have the time or the money—but Mom had a knack for making camping on our own property feel like an adventure. It’s a random thought to have now, but I don’t sit under the stars anymore, and I’ve never taken Izzy camping. I feel like I’ve let yet another person down.
“Sorry, Mom.” I look up to the twinkling darkness above. “I can do better. I promise.”
I push off my truck and find the key to the front door on my keychain. When I let myself in, I find Daisy curled up under a blanket on the sofa, the blue light from her phone bouncing off her face.
“Oh, hey,” she whispers, glancing at me, then back at her screen. “What are you doing home so early? It’s not even ten o’clock. How did things go with Molly?”
After everything that happened with Poppy, I’d almost forgotten about my date. I think I asked all the right questions. Laughed in all the appropriate places. Molly was all the things Daisy said she’d be. Smart and polite and attractive. Perfect on paper, but not perfect for me.
I shrug out of my jacket and hang it on the coat rack near the door. “It’s not going to work out.”
“What?” Daisy whisper-shouts. “Why not?”
“It just didn’t feel right.”
“But—”
“Stop. Please. I did what you asked, and I went on your date. We weren’t a good fit. Can you just let it go for tonight?”
The incredulity fades from Daisy’s expression, replaced with a concerned crease between her eyebrows. “Okay.”
“Thank you.” I creep closer to Izzy and crouch by her side, brushing hair back from her sleeping face. “How did she do tonight?”
“You were right about her being fussy at bedtime,” Daisy replies. “When she started to get sleepy, I tried to take her upstairs. Charlie and Finn too, but she wouldn’t settle, so we gave up and let her crash down here instead.”
I nod silently. Izzy might not be able to tell me in so many words, but her message is loud and clear. My place is here with her. Nobody and nothing is more important than my daughter.
I wedge her stuffed bunny under my chin, slide my hands under her body, and scoop her up blankets and all. Her warm, familiar weight is the reminder I need of who I am and where I belong.
Izzy barely stirs when I set her on her bed, pull the covers up over her shoulders, and try to back away without disturbing her. At the last moment and with her eyes still closed, she lifts her little hand, and I lean in so she can cup my face.
“Goodnight, Daddy,” she whispers, still half asleep.
I swallow a lump in my throat. “Good night, Little Bee.”
Out in the hall, I’m debating whether there’s any chance I’ll fall asleep if I head to bed now when a light switches on downstairs. Daisy’s tense murmuring floats up the hallway, followed by the sounds of her moving around, then the jingle of keys in herhand. I rush to the living room just as she yanks the phone from her ear and scowls at the screen. “Fuck!”
“What is it?” I demand as Daisy unhooks her winter jacket from the coat rack.
“It’s Poppy.”
My heart beats hard enough to hurt my ribs and panic catches in my throat. “What about Poppy?”
I don’t remember crossing the room, but I’m already past Daisy, keys in my hand and jacket on my back when she shakes her head and gives her phone a helpless look.
“I don’t know. She called me crying, but then her phone cut out. She needs to be picked up—”
