“Sugar Creek?” Ironic disbelief fills his words. “I did some work there last year. Not right there in the town, but nearby. Trouble with a powerline.”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. I imagine he's thinking of how close he was to her, and he never even knewit.
“What did she say?” heasks.
“I didn’t speak to her. I just saw her. She owns the bakery where I went to pick upbreakfast.”
His head jerks back again. “Blueberry muffins.” His eyes are wide. I wonder what he’sremembering.
I laugh without feeling happy. “Yep. Other stuff too, but those are her specialty. That’s what I was told,anyway.”
“I’ll be damned. All this time. SugarCreek.”
“Iknow.”
He stands. “I need a beer.You?”
“Please.”
When he’s in the house, I take three deep breaths. It’s over. Heknows.
“What do you want to do about all this?” he asks when he comes backout.
I take the beer he’s holding out. The neck of the bottle is cold, the beer inside even colder. I take a long drink and set it between mylegs.
“I used to imagine finding her one day. Walking somewhere, seeing her out. But she would see me too, and she’d run to me.” My words stop. My imagination takesover.
She’s in my face, her expression frantic. She’s touching my cheeks like she can’t believe I’m there. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Tears roll down her cheeks. “I had to go away, but I’m back now. Please let me be a mother to you again. I’ve never stopped lovingyou.”
I haven't had that daydream in years. Not since Claire wasborn.
“And that’s not what happened?” My dad asks. “She didn’t seeyou?”
I shake my head. “I’m not certain what she saw. She may have glanced my direction, but she didn’t recognize me. I ran out of her bakery, so maybe she saw my back.” Very different from myfantasy.
“I’d like to pay her a visit,” he says in a lowgrowl.
“No.” I put my hand up, as though he’s going to get up right this second and jump in his truck. “Please, don’t. Not for me, anyway. I can’t stop you if there are some things you’d like to say to her, but don’t do it for me.” If his words bring her back… I don’t think I can handle her here, in Phoenix, or in my life at all. Resolute peace is still peace, and that’s what I’ve made with her. On my own. Because I’ve had to. I don’t need that rocked any more than it hasbeen.
“Are you OK?” I ask, taking anothersip.
“Sure.” He answers rightaway.
I study my dad. He’s looking out at the yard. His exterior is tough and strong. Dry like the Arizona soil. But water flows deep down. He’s feeling things his face won’tshow.
We sit quietly, until the sun is almost gone from the sky and the song of the cicadas is more like anorchestra.
Before I leave, I excuse myself to the restroom. Instead, I make a detour to the laundry room to check the lint trap. I’m surprised, and a little sad, to find itempty.
Idon’t wantto move. I’m afraid to breathe tooloudly.
She’s next to me, on her stomach. Her arm is flung over the pillow, her hair falls down around her. Her lips are parted, begging to bekissed.
We must’ve fallen asleep lastnight.
Usually she retreats after our hour is up. Physically and emotionally. I can always tell when it’s time. Her gates close, her open eyes shutdown.
But not last night. Last night, she wasdifferent.
