Page 71 of Wishing Hearts

He grabs my hand, a slow movement, and squeezes, not letting up the gentle pressure.

“I didn’t think I’d have kids,” he says quietly.

“All right,” I reply, giving him the option to go on. It’s something I’ve wondered about, of course—how Winnie came to be.

“You know I wouldn’t give up Winnie,” Harrison says, looking down at our joined hands.

“I do,” I say. I know that wholeheartedly.

“But sometimes,” he goes on, “all I can think about is getting away for a little while. Just having a minute, an hour, a day to myself. I’m pretty sure that makes me a bad parent, Sam.”

“It doesn’t,” I say, certain of it. It makes him an overworked one.

“The messed-up thing,” he continues, as if he didn’t hear me at all, “is that when I am alone, all I want is to be back with the person I love more than anything. It’s a guilty fucking cycle, wanting my own life when I know my life is my child.” He pauses, swallowing. “My parents said I’m using her as an excuse.”

“What d’you mean?”

He looks up at me finally. “Their implication was that I’d been wallowing in my self-pity. That I can live my own life, but I haven’t been trying.”

“And what d’you think?” I ask, twisting my fingers with his.

“I think…” he says, looking out the window. I follow his gaze, catching sight of Winnie spinning in the early morning sun. Tigger is dancing around her feet, bouncing ever so slightly. “I think you don’t get let down if you don’t try.”

I digest that for a moment, watching Harrison’s little family enjoy a quiet morning outside these walls.

“I’m not a parent,” I say softly. “So, I don’t know that I can understand what it feels like for you to love somebody so damn much that you changed your entire life for them. ’Cause that’s what you did, isn’t it?”

He nods, a small thing.

“But we both know what it’s like to care for the animals that are put in front of us,” I say. “To want the best for them. To want to keep ’em healthy and safe. If that’s even a fraction of what you feel for your daughter, I can only imagine how big that feelin’ is. And I respect the hell outta you for holdin’ it.”

Harrison swallows again, eyes on where our hands are clasped.

“But you’re not alone,” I add.

He looks up at me, inhaling through his nose.

“You’re not. And I think that’s what your parents want you to know. Maybe you did have to sacrifice a lot when Winnie was a baby. Late at night, when it was just you and her, and you didn’t get to sleep ’cause it was more important that she did. You prob’ly felt alone. You prob’ly felt that a lot. But you do have a support system, Harrison. Your parents moved here to help. You have them. And…” I give his hand a squeeze. “You have me. It’s okay to take care of yourself now without the guilt.”

“I don’t know how to let go of that,” he says, voice hoarse.

“One step at a time,” I suggest, shrugging a little. “Start with somethin’ small.”

Harrison looks back at our clasped hands, fingers running idly over my own. “Like what?”

I glance out the window again, a smile on my face. “Take the mornin’ off.”

“What?” he asks, stilling.

“Take the mornin’ off,” I repeat. “The next four hours. I’ll watch Winnie.”

“Sam, I can’t ask—”

“Number one, you didn’t ask,” I point out. “I offered. Number two, you can and you will. Go take a bath or a nap or do absolutely nothin’ at all. Don’t touch the laundry or whatever else you have on your list. We’ll catch up on it after lunch. For now, just go take some time for yourself.”

“I…” He peters out, seemingly at a loss. And God, the fact that he can’t even accept something as simple as this tells me a lot. When’s the last time he’s done anything for himself and himself alone?

Well, time for that to change.

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