“This,” he says, nodding, “is the greatest puppy I’ve ever laid my eyes on.”
Maddie laughs. “It’s not a puppy!”
“It’s not?”
“It’s a seal,” she says, yanking the top of the paper down to look at it. “See? It’s all gray and it’s got a ball!”
“Oh, that’s what I meant! A baby seal is called a puppy, too.”
“Nuh-uh.”
“Yep.”
Maddie looks to me to be referee. “Mommy?”
“They’re called pups,” I tell her.
She turns back to him, grinning. “It’s a good puppy?”
“The best,” he confirms.
She hugs him before grabbing the drawing and running inside the house to hang it up.
I join my father on the porch. “Nice save.”
“Tell me about it,” he says, eyes studying me for a moment. “You’re off work early today.”
“Yeah, well... it’s been one of those days,” I say—one of those days where the past comes rushing back. “Besides, I have to work a double tomorrow, so I’ve earned it.”
“A double.” He looks confused. “Don’t you have plans tomorrow night?”
“Yep.” I pause before correcting myself. “Well, I mean, I did.”
I so rarely have time for a social life that I didn’t even consider that.
“But I could use the money, and I’ve already got a babysitter on tap,” I say, slapping my father on the back. “Can’t say no to that.”
Shaking his head, he sits down on an old rocking chair on the porch. It’s starting to drizzle again, the sky darkening. I lean against the railing, staring out at it as Maddie comes back outside, leaping off the porch.
The girl loves storms.
I can’t remember the last time I played in the rain.
That’s what I think as I watch her running through the small front yard, splashing in the puddles and stomping in the mud.
Did I ever have that much fun?
Was my life ever that carefree?
I can’t remember.
I wish I could.
“Something’s bothering you,” my father says. “It’s him, isn’t it?”
Turning around, I lean back against the wooden banister, crossing my arms over my chest as I regard him. He rocks back and forth, an identical chair beside him glaringly vacant. My mother used to sit there with him every morning, drinking coffee before he set off to work.
We buried her a year ago.
Twelve long months have passed, but the wound still feels raw, the memories of that day gnawing away at me. It was the last time I saw him, too, as I stood right here on this porch. If the headline I caught earlier is any indication, he’s had quite an interesting year.
“What makes you think it has anything to do with him?” I ask, forcing myself not to react, like it doesn’t matter, but I’m not an actress.
“You have that look again,” my father says. “That vacant, lost stare. I’ve seen it a few times, and it’s always him.”
“That’s ridiculous.”
“Is it?”
“Of course. I’m fine.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t fine. I said you looked lost, not that you didn’t know your way.”
He’s eyeing me warily. I’m not sure if there’s even a point to lying about it when the truth is written all over my face.
And the truth is, I do feel lost.
“Caught a story in a tabloid,” I say. “It claimed he’d gotten married.”
“And you believe it?”
I shrug. “I don’t know. It doesn’t really matter, does it? It’s his life. He’ll do whatever he wants.”
“But?”
“But they’re filming in the city again.”
“And you’re worried he’ll show up? Worried he’ll try to see her again?”
My father motions past me, at where Maddie is still running around in the rain. I smile softly, as she twirls, oblivious that she’s the topic of conversation.
“Or are you worried he won’t?” he continues. “Worried he gave up and moved on?”
Maybe, I think, but I don’t say it. I don’t know which possibility worries me more. I’m terrified he’ll force his way into her life and break her heart with his brokenness like he once broke mine. But at the same time, the thought that he might’ve given up scares me just as much, because that’ll hurt her someday, too.
The rain starts falling harder as I mull over those thoughts. Maddie is running circles around the puddles, soaked. Water streaks her face like falling tears, but she’s smiling, so happy, ignorant to my fears.
“I should get going,” I say. “Before the storm gets any worse.”
“Go on, then,” my father says, “but don’t think I haven’t noticed you didn’t answer my question.”
“Yeah, well, you know how it is,” I mumble, leaning down to kiss my father’s cheek before grabbing the backpack from the porch. “Maddie, time to go home, sweetheart!”
Maddie runs for the car, yelling, “Bye, Grandpa!”
“Bye, kiddo,” he calls out. “See you tomorrow.”
Waving goodbye to my father, I follow her. She’s already buckled up when I get in the car.
My eyes seek her out in the rearview mirror. Tendrils of her dark hair fall into her face. She tries to blow them away, her blue eyes watching me. She has a way of looking at you like she’s looking through you, like she can see how you’re feeling on the inside, those things you try not to let show. It’s unnerving sometimes. For being so young, she’s quite intuitive.
Which is why I plaster a smile on my face, but I can tell she doesn’t buy it.
Home is a small two-bedroom apartment a few blocks away. It’s not much, but it’s enough for us, and it’s what I can afford, so you’ll hear no complaints from me. As soon as I open the front door, Maddie takes off through the apartment.
“Straight into the bathtub!” I shout, locking up behind me. I flick on the hallway light as I make my way to the bathroom, passing Maddie’s bedroom as I go, seeing she’s rooting through her dresser, looking for the perfect pair of pajamas.
She’s fiercely independent.
Something she got from her father.
“I’m ready, I’m ready, I’m ready!” she says as she runs into the bathroom when I get the water started. Shoving between the bathtub and me, she grabs the pink bottle of bubbles and squeezes some under the faucet, giggling, as always, when they start to form. “I got this, Mommy.”
I take a step back. “You got this?”
“Uh-huh,” she says, not looking at me, fixated on the filling bathtub. She sets the bottle of bubbles down on the floor near her feet before turning the knobs, shutting off the water. “I got this.”
Like I said… independent.
“Well, go on then. Do your thing.”
I don’t close the door, but I give her some leeway, keeping an eye on her from outside the bathroom. I can hear her splashing, playing in even more water, like the rain hadn’t quite been enough. I use the time to gather up laundry, trying to distract myself, but it’s pointless.
My mind keeps going back to him.
I sort two weeks worth of dirty clothes into piles on my bedroom floor. Every time I pause, my eyes flicker to my closet, drawn to the old ratty box on the top shelf. I can’t see it from here, but I know it’s there.
I haven’t thought about it in a while. I haven’t had a reason. Life has a way of burying memories.
In my case, they’re buried under a mountain of other junk in the closet.
I fight it, for a moment, but the pull is too much. Abandoning the laundry, I step straight for the closet, digging out the box.
The cardboard rips when I yank it down, falling apart in my hands. Things scatter around the floor. A picture lands by my feet.
I carefully pick it up.
It’s him.
He’s wearing his school uniform… or as much of it as he ever wore. No sweater, no jacket, and no dress shoes, of course. His white button down is unbuttoned, the tie draped around his neck. Beneath it, he’s wearing a plain black t-shirt. His hands are in his pockets, his head cocked to the side. He almost looks like a model, like the picture belongs in a magazine.