“Elephants can weigh up to fourteen-thousand pounds,” Alec said, warming to his role as font of animal facts. “And they have remarkable memories. They can remember individual humans for decades.”
“Like Mrs. Kowalski remembers everything Da does wrong?” Carson asked innocently.
I couldn’t help it—I laughed. Properly laughed, for the first time in longer than I could remember. “Something very like that, aye.”
We wandered through the exhibits with no plan, no schedule. The twins raced ahead to the next enclosure, then circled back like border collies. Eoin insisted on reading every single placard aloud. Brody kept trying to organize us into an efficient route, and I kept gently redirecting him to simply enjoy the moment.
By the time we reached the giraffe feeding station, even Alec had abandoned his perpetual scowl.
“Can we feed them?” he asked, trying desperately to sound casual.
“That’s precisely why we’re here.”
I bought lettuce leaves, and we took turns holding them up. Eoin shrieked when a giraffe’s tongue touched his palm, then immediately thrust his hand out for another go.
“It’s slimy! It’s so slimy! Do it again!”
“That’s disgusting,” Carson agreed, already holding up another leaf.
Maggie watched everything with wide eyes, reaching toward the giraffes with her tiny hands.
“She wants to feed them too,” Brody said, his anxiety forgotten in the moment.
I adjusted her in the carrier. “When you’re bigger, darling girl. For now, just watch and learn.”
After the giraffes, we stopped at a food stand. I let them order whatever they fancied—hot dogs and nachos and soft pretzels with far too much salt. We found a picnic table in the shade, and they attacked their food as though they hadn’t eaten in days.
“This is better than Mrs. Kowalski’s lunch schedule,” Cory announced through a mouthful of hot dog.
“Don’t let her hear you say that,” I warned. “She’ll have my head on a platter.”
“Why don’t we do this more often?” Eoin asked, cheese sauce smeared across his chin.
The question hung in the air between us. Because I’d been too busy building MIRI’s West Coast division. Because I’d let Mrs. Kowalski handle everything while I hid behind work and schedules. Because it was easier to follow a timetable than to actually be present.
I’d been terrified that if I stopped moving, stopped planning, stopped controlling every variable, I’d have to actually feel Shannon’s absence.
And because I hadn’t met Theresa yet. I hadn’t seen another way to survive.
“We’re going to,” I said finally, meeting each of their eyes. “More often. I give you my word.”
Alec looked at me across the table with naked skepticism.
“I mean it,” I added, holding his gaze. “I’ve not been the father you lot deserve this past year. I’m going to do better.”
“You always say that,” Alec said. “And then you go back to work and forget about us.”
The words were a knife between my ribs, all the worse for being absolutely true.
“You’re right,” I said, and watched his eyes widen in surprise. “I have said that before. And I’ve failed to follow through. But I’m asking you to give me another chance.”
Alec studied me for a long moment, then gave the smallest of nods before returning his attention to his hot dog. It wasn’t forgiveness, not yet. But it was a start.
After lunch, we made the tactical error of entering the gift shop. Within minutes, each child had latched onto something they absolutely needed to survive.
“A stuffed elephant,” Carson pleaded. “Please, Da. I’ll take care of it forever.”
“Me too!” Cory held up an identical elephant. “We need matching ones!”
