I set the tray on the table between the outdoor furniture, and David helps his wife distribute drinks.
We look at each other now, no food or drinks to distract us. Paula is the first to break. "Well, come on. Dig in." She waves at the food, then points at me. "You, especially. You're eating for two now." Her wagging finger turns on Hugo. "You are, also. Go on and eat. Dad has to keep his stamina up, too."
I stiffen, prepared to correct them, but Hugo doesn't miss a beat. "Better start training myself. I hear those middle of the night feedings can be brutal."
"Middle of the night?" Paula harrumphs. "Try every couple hours like clockwork when they're newborns."
My eyes bulge.
"Don't you worry," Paula pats my arm. "Sounds like he's itching to help you, assuming you pump or use formula."
I pause, waiting for Hugo to finally say something,anything, remotely close toI'm notthe father.
He doesn't.
He says, "Mallory is still deciding, but I'll support her whatever she chooses." Then he leans forward, swipes a cracker through the cheese, and hands it to me. "Time to feed you two."
It's the same thing he said to me while I was on the cot, recovering from passing out. It had made me think about how alone Peanut and I were, but now, hearing him say it a second time, it makes me wonder if we have to be alone.
The thought is almost comically stupid. Hugo is handsome, successful, single, and so kind. He doesn't want a woman who's having another man's baby.
I take the cracker from him, murmuring my thanks. It appears I'm going to have to be more careful with my thoughts around him. Rein in my heart a little bit. I don't have the luxury of fantasizing about happily ever afters and fairy tales. Peanut is already down one parent, I can't be mooning around having a crush on an unattainable man when I should be focused on my baby and what I came here to do.
"Hugo," David says, tone serious. "What is it you think I can do for you?"
"I want to hear about what happened that day, from you. My mom has told me, but it was a long time ago. We don't talk about how my dad died. Mostly we talk about how he lived."
"It's probably better that way. To talk about how he lived. He was a great man."
Hugo nods. "I agree. Except, I need more. It's"—he glances at me—"holding me back."
What? What does he mean by that?
David nods his head like he understands.
I do, too, to a degree. I know what it's like to be held back by grief, by pain. But why did he look at me when he said it?
David lays out one arm on the back of the couch. Paula snuggles in closer to her husband. Providing him comfort.
"I'd been delivering mail that day, and I was on the way back from my route when I got a flat tire on Six Digit Road. It was a pretty straight forward flat, not like I bent the axle or anything. A quick fix and I was on my way. It was the day of the Olive Festival, and I hadn't wanted to miss it. There was a man from a couple towns over coming to show me a French Colonies New World coin he recently purchased. I remember thinking it was going to be a great day, despite the flat tire. Between my favorite prickly pear lemonade stand I knew would be at the festival and getting to see a coin like that, I was happy as a clam." He sighs. "But you know what? It shaped up to be a terrible day. The lemonade wasn't ready when I got there, the guy was a no-show, and that night police officers knocked on my door." Guilt floods his eyes. "Obviously you had it much worse that day."
"Those things can all be upsetting." Hugo offers David the kindest smile.
How does he do it? How does he extend such grace to people? He really is one of the nicest men I've ever met.
"I truly am sorry about what happened to your dad. I meant it when I said he was a good man. Summerhill wason my mail route. As you know, it's a hike from town to your mailbox, and your Dad tried to get out to the Summerhill turn-in as often as he could so I could shave off some time. I was just the mailman, and here he was this big to-do in Olive Township. He valued my time, and me as a person. And then—" David looks away, presses a fist to his mouth. Paula runs a supportive palm up and down his thigh.
I'm struck by a chord of gratitude, genuinely thankful these two found each other.
David composes himself. "They thought I had something to do with it. Declaring me a person-of-interest." He frowns, shakes his head, like even after all this time he can pluck the disbelief out of thin air, feel it anew. "Like I could ever do something so evil. I didn't get the opportunity to grieve because I was too busy defending myself."
Hugo's hand finds my fabric covered thigh, as if he, too, needs to be bolstered. Covering his hand like he did to me in the car, I give him the slightest squeeze.
I'm here.
"I'm sorry you didn't get that opportunity," Hugo says.
"I'm sorry your dad was taken from you."
