Page 76 of More With You

I don’t reply. “Can’t” might be a better word. Ben’s journal has stolen my ability to speak, trapping my voice between the pages with his.

Ms. T heads into the cottage and the driver stays in their car. It’s not long before the former emerges, carrying a confused Grace in her arms. Tears bite at my eyes, a fresh wave of grief shooting through me like a geyser as I see her. She doesn’t know. She still doesn’t know.

Her little arms reach for me. “Summer? Not time to wake up yet. Still sleepy.”

I’m reaching back for her, though my mind and body and spirit are still numb. It’s instinct, forcing the movement. Ms. T hesitates before putting the little, oblivious girl into my lap, her dad’s journal pressed between us as I wrap my arms around Grace as tight as I can.

“I’m sorry,” I whisper, startling myself with the sound of my voice.

Grace snuggles into me, yawning. “It’s okay. I sleep some more.”

“Oh, Grace…” I inhale the strawberry and salt scent of her hair, squeezing my eyes shut as I hold onto her. How is anyone supposed to shatter this innocent little girl’s life? She’s too sweet, too small, too happy-go-lucky. It’ll destroy her, and I hate the thought of what the years hold for her, fatherless. Birthdays will be mourned instead of celebrated. Holidays will always feel that little bit hollow. And if, one day, she gets married, there’ll be an empty space at her side where Ben should be.

Why did you do this? I open my eyes and glare up at the rising dawn. Rage replaces my grief. If I could build a ladder high enough, I’d climb all the way up to wherever fate is hiding and rip it to pieces. Not just for me but for Grace, and everyone else whose lives will be that little bit less colorful without Ben.

The door to the Audi opens and a tall, lithe brunette steps out. She takes a visible moment, brushing something off her cheek and fiddling with the strings of the hoodie she’s wearing. The terrible call from the police, or perhaps the DuCates, must’ve woken her, as she’s wearing pajama bottoms.

I watch her shoulders rise and fall sharply. A deep breath to prepare herself. After all, she’s the one who’s going to have to ruin her daughter’s life, and this is the face and demeanor of a mother who cares. A mother who doesn’t want to wreck her daughter’s future and would do anything to avert it. But there’s nothing she nor I can do, now.

“S-Summer?” Lyndsey speaks with a strong southern accent. Tears glisten in her brown eyes, and her suntanned face is blotchy.

Ms. T swoops in. “Don’t be offended if she doesn’t talk much.”

“Of course,” Lyndsey says softly: her voice filled with sympathy. It’s like getting a hug when you’re barely holding it together, crumbling the foundation of me that I’ve discovered is now built on sand. The strength that saw me through twenty-six years is nothing but grains that keep slipping through my fingers.

Grace is fast asleep on my shoulder, and I don’t have the heart to wake her again. How will Lyndsey phrase it? Will she tell her daughter that her dad is like Wispy now? Will that make it easier to bear?

“You can put her in the car, if you want?” Lyndsey offers, choking on the words.

I nod and stand, carrying the little girl through the side gate to the Audi. She doesn’t stir as I settle her in her car seat and fasten her in tight, checking and double checking the buckles in the middle. If she gets into a crash, I want to know she’s going to have the best chance of survival. From this day on, I doubt I’ll ever be able to get into a car again.

Dipping my head, I kiss her on the forehead and whisper, “I love you, Grace. I love you so much… and I’m sorry if I can’t see you for a while. I hope you’ll forgive me.”

She sleeps on, snuffling a little in her sleep.

Gently, I close the door and find Lyndsey waiting at the gate. Her face crumples as our eyes meet, and the next thing I know, I’m in a stranger’s arms, being constricted like she’s trying to squeeze the misery out of me. I can’t stop my arms from gripping her in return, like we’re the only two people who can keep each other afloat.

“You’ll always… be in Grace’s… life, if you… want to be,” Lyndsey hiccups fiercely into my cheek. “Don’t you dare… be a stranger. I want to know… the woman he… loved so much. I want to know the woman… my daughter adores.”

I know she means well by it, but the sentiment breaks the tiny pieces of me into microscopic fragments, demolishing whatever is left. My grip loosens on her and I’m sliding to the ground, and she’s coming with me, refusing to let go. I hear the primal wail rip out of my throat, but it sounds so far away, like it’s coming from my ancestors themselves. It’s the kind of noise that no one knows exist until they hear it, or scream it with their own throat. A chilling, visceral sound, so powerful it could stop the world turning if it wanted to. It has stopped mine, at least.

“I’m sorry,” Lyndsey whispers, gathering up my ragdoll body and clutching it tight. “God, you have no idea… how sorry I am. I’ll be here… if you need someone. I’ll wait… for your call, if… there’s a day when you… feel like you can.”

We stay like that, kneeling in the dirt, the shell of me embraced by the maternal power of her. I’m a kid again, being held the way I’d seen other moms hold their kids when they scraped a knee or had their first heartbreak or had failed a test. The inner child in me is feeling every disappointment, every let-down, every struggle, every shred of neglect and envy multiplied by a thousand. I let her come out from under the figurative bed and it weakened me, and now I don’t know if I can cope with all of this. I fell in love, opened my heart, gave everything. If this is what was awaiting me, I would’ve run when I’d had the chance. Those who say “it’s better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all” have clearly never experienced this, or maybe they’re just stronger than I am. Still, I call bullshit. It’s more like, “it’s better to have never known the greatest love, if it’s just going to be taken away.”

“I have to go,” Lyndsey says, as light breaks over the Gulf. “But… call me…anytime.”

“I can’t lose Grace, too,” I feebly call out. “I can’t lose them both.”

Lyndsey turns back to me and crouches down to give me another hug and whispers in my ear, “Never. She’s your daughter too.”

I just nod in reply, as she lets go of me and stands up. She casts a worried look back at Ms. T, who’s standing halfway up the path to my precious cottage, and a nod of understanding passes between them. Lyndsey is passing the torch of concern and care back to Ms. T.

With that, she gets into the driver’s seat and closes the door. The lights come on, and the soft drone of music filters through, before she clumsily backs up the drive, flattening shrubs and narrowly missing the fence. I see the car go, but I don’t see it. All I feel are arms around me, hoisting me up, then a firm hand pulling my arm around strong shoulders, while another hand slips around my waist.

“Come on, sugar,” Ms. T says. “Let’s get you into your bed with a cup of Ms. T’s special cocoa. You’ll be asleep before you know it.”

“I don’t want to sleep,” I whisper.

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