“That’s okay. You can be sad. You can be quiet. Or loud. You can feel however you feel. I’m not going anywhere.”
She looked up at me, her eyes shining in the streetlight. “Promise?”
“I promise.”
“Do you think Lila would be my new mom if I was really, really good,” Margot asked.
“You don’t have to be good. You just have to be you. And she will love you.”
“Mia said her mom never yells at her. Or says mean things. Do you think she would be nice to me too?”
“I know she would. That’s just how she is,” I said.
“Bella said she’s going to be a big sister because her mom’s having a baby. If you and Lila have a baby, will you still love me?”
I stopped, kneeling on the stone pathway. “I want you to hear this and take it into your heart and keep it there. Nothing in thisworld will ever stop me from loving you. You’re my daughter. My little baby girl. I’m always going to be your Papa. Even when you’re all grown up. No one’s ever going to take you from me again.”
Margot wrapped her arms around my neck so hard, I almost choked. The other three caught up to us then. I rose to my feet, bringing Margot with me. And then something unbelievable happened. Margot opened her arms wide and at the same time she and Mia yelled out, “Group hug.”
“Was that the right way, Mia?” Margot asked when we all separated.
“That was perfect,” Mia said. “You nailed group hug on your first try.”
Mia and Margot clasped hands and skipped ahead of us, giggling all the way to the car.
I wanted to get down on my knees and thank God but instead I started to cry, my face buried in my hands. Mama and Lila came on either side of me, wrapping their arms around me, patting my back, until I got myself together.
“The lord’s been good to us today,” Mama said. “He sure has.”
Although I agreed, I couldn’t help but fret over Kenzie. What was she up to? And why?
13
LILA
By the time we got the girls settled, it was nearly eleven. Mia had crashed almost immediately, exhausted from the bonfire and s’mores. Margot took longer — she needed water, then one more bathroom break, then reassurance that Vance would be there in the morning. He’d sat on the edge of her bed, smoothing her hair back from her forehead, murmuring something in French that made her eyelids finally flutter closed.
I watched from the doorway, witnessing this small act of parenthood — one most of us took for granted but had been stolen from Vance for six years. Yet he fell right back into the rhythm with Margot. He was her Papa. I wasn’t sure I’d ever seen anything more poignant or beautiful in my life.
When he joined me in the hallway, he pulled the girls’ door almost closed, leaving it open just a crack — the way parents do.
“She okay?” I whispered.
“Out cold.” He looked at me, and something in his expression made my stomach flip. “Finally.”
“It’s our time now.” I took his hand and led him to my bedroom at the far end of the hall, closing the door with a soft click.
The lamp on my nightstand cast everything in warm shadow. I turned to face him, suddenly nervous. It had been so long. What if I’d forgotten how to do this? What if he saw the stretch marks on my stomach, those souvenirs of motherhood, or noticed the way my breasts had headed somewhat south since breastfeeding? Maybe the dimples on my backside would be more evident in certain light.
I’d keep the lamps turned low. That was the only way forward.
He stepped closer, cutting off the spiral of worry. His hands found my waist, thumbs brushing the fabric of my dress.
“What are you thinking about?” Vance asked. “Because I can see I’ve lost you.”
“My stretch marks. And my boobs going south. Dimples on my butt.”
“Well, now you’re officially killing the mood.” He chuckled, then nuzzled my neck. “I can promise you that none of those things could or would keep me away from you. I want to kiss every stretch mark. Caress every dimple. Send things north.”
