“Brr, it’s cold,” Nellie says when I help her out of the back passenger seat of the truck. She’s still in a booster, tiny in size, after the hell I’ve been through, along with my sister, I’d rather be safe than fucking sorry.
“You want me to grab the blanket?” She’s got a whole setup in the back seat, including a lap desk situation where she can color. There are two cubbies, one to hold her colored pencils and another for her drink. Mom and Kara found it on one of their shopping excursions when they took Nellie with them, after realizing she needed something to keep her occupied. The tablet doesn’t cut it, especially since my daughter conveniently forgets to charge the dang thing. Still, even when it is, she’s hardly on it and prefers to color, do a word search, or talk about what’s going on around them. Specifically, the make and models of vehicles. Dad and I get a kick out of it, but the other women in the family don’t.
“No, thank you, though. I’m ready to say hello to Mommy.” She fumbles with her zipper. I snag the blanket out just in case, as well as the flowers she picked at the grocery store last night. There’s no rhyme or reason to which she picks, it’s mainly whatever grabs her attention and is the most colorful.
I close the door, leaving the truck running to keep it warm, and with any luck, the rain will hold off until we’re back on the road.
“Lead the way.” She knows the path all too well. We’ve made it a point to come here on the major holidays and days like today—Nellie’s birthday as well as the day Brooke was taken from this earth all wrapped in freaking one.
“I am.” Her hand untangles from mine, and she takes off, being mindful of the headstones while she makes her way to see her mom. Dark hair swirls in the wind, her arms pump at her sides, and when I notice she starts to trip, I’m hot on her heels. At the last minute, right as I see her pitch forward, she recovers before darting to her destination. I’d like to say I’m right there behind her, except I’m not. Nellie likes to have a moment to herself with her mom, and who am I to deny her any single thing?
“You want to give her the flowers?” I call out right as she drops down to her knees in front of the headstone. Brooke didn’t have a lot at the time of her death: a small apartment and some odds and ends of furniture. Her car was totaled on the spot. It added a level of stress that nearly rivaled Nellie being in the NICU. Especially since unbeknownst to me, Brooke put shit in place that made me the beneficiary, leaving the funds to me to help support Nellie in her future. I sold everything except what I thought our daughter would one day want, put it all in a trust for Nellie, and when the insurance settlement came though, I added it to the funds.
Then I did estate planning of my own, realizing that I’m fortunate enough to have my parents, unlike Brooke. Yet I put shit in place just in case, and wouldn’t you know it, around the same time that Nellie was coming out of the NICU, Kara was finally on her way out of a rehabilitation facility, and Dad decided the mechanic shop would become mine. He’d beenready to retire. Having his first grandchild and watching his only daughter go through relearning how to walk only pushed him over the edge.
“In a minute.” I hang back, watching as she brushes her hand along the engraved picture of Brooke. Nellie mumbles a few words under her breath. She’s too far away for me to hear them, and I’d rather not pry into her conversation. Instead, I do some talking of my own.
“Well, Brooke, Nellie is seven today. She’s so much like you. Smart, easy-going, and inquisitive as hell. Kara thinks I should get her tested for the gifted program, but I’m not sure. I’d rather her be a kid for as long as possible instead of worrying about some test that tells me her capabilities.” Shit, there’s no doubt about how amazing Nellie is, you don’t need a fancy test to prove it. “Anyway, she’ll probably tell you more. She already does.” Every night when we say our prayers or finish a story, Nellie looks at her mom’s picture on her nightstand to tell her she loves her.
There have also been times when Nellie is having a rough day, like when some kid at school will ask her where her mom is, or she’ll see a mom and daughter walking around town doing something that dads usually wouldn’t. Those are the days I hear her whisper to Brooke. A piece of me aches to fix the pieces for her, but how does a man do something about it? Beat a little kid up? Sure, that sounds like a great idea, and it’s also tempting, but I’d no doubt land in jail and feel like a piece of shit to boot.
“Okay, Daddy, I need the flowers now.” Her wish is my command. I move toward her and go down on one knee, allowing Nellie to take the flowers. I watch as she takes the old flowers out of the metal vase and plops them to the side on the ground. A lot of cemeteries have strict rules about real versus fake flowers, this one doesn’t mind much, and the last ones aren’t that old. More than likely, they’re from either Kara or mymom. They usually come out here to refresh them, a promise of their own they made to Nellie when she thought Brooke would only get the colorful arrangements a few times a year.
Now, between both of them, they make sure Brooke is taken care of and even go so far as to leave the older ones for Nellie to see.
“You want any help?” I offer when I notice the brown wrapping paper the florist wrapped the bouquet in starts to give her hell. Nellie must be losing patience when a loud rip sounds from beside her. I let out a low chuckle.
“Daddy.” Nellie stops her tasks to give me a stern look, similar to that of my mom’s, before saying, “That’s not very nice.” I’d laugh even louder if it weren’t for the fact that she’d tell my mom, then my sister, and while Dad would snigger, too, we’d both be in a world of trouble with the women.
So, I recover as quickly as possible, shake my head at how my daughter has me wrapped around her finger, and say, “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
“Thank you.” Nellie gets back to her work, tongue peeping out, eyebrows furrowed, and I let her do her thing. I’m about to ask her again if she needs help, except I know that will lead to a conversation that could end in tears, a fiasco that neither of us needs nor wants, especially on her birthday, over something as silly as Nellie asserting her independence and me having a penchant to do what I can for her, when she’s more than capable of doing it herself.
“You’re welcome.” I look around, noticing that we're the only people in this area, probably due to this shitty-ass weather.
“These are so, so...” She huffs out a puff of breath, swats at her loose hair to get it out of her face, and looks at me with an emotion that I witnessed earlier today. “Frustrating.” She drops the flowers, and her shoulders quake. That’s when I swoop in. My arms scoop her up, and I rock backward, landing on my assas she wraps her arms around my neck. I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I didn’t think it’d be a rubber band wrapped around the stems that would push my seven-year-old over the edge, but grief will catch you unaware any day of the week. Even if you’re grieving a person you’ve never met before.
“It’s okay, Nellie girl. Let it all out, and then we’ll work on placing the flowers exactly how you like them. I’ll even take care of cutting off the stems.” I feel and hear her attempt to control her emotions. I’ve got no other place to be but here, she can take all the time in the world.
“Please.” I rub her back for a few more seconds while Nellie continues to gather herself, only pulling away once she’s damn good and ready.
“That’s my girl. Love you, Nell Bell.”
“I love you, too, Daddy,” she says in a wobbly tone. “A butterfly!” She points over my shoulder, and my eyes move to where she’s looking. Sure enough, there’s not one but two fluttering around in the air, chasing after one another and helping my girl work through a day that should be nothing but happiness. Except at moments like these, when I can’t protect her from these instances unless I take her away from seeing Brooke. And that’s a promise I won’t take back, from either of them.
“It’s beautiful, Nellie, just like you.” I’m taking it as a sign, a good fucking sign at that.
3
Sable
“Wow, trees, so many trees.” I’d bang my head on the steering wheel, but that could potentially become a disaster. You know, in the form of my car veering off into the woods and landing on top of a tree while traveling over an overpass. Needless to say, if I don’t find a place to pull off and caffeinate my depleted system, I’ll really be in for a not-so-fun surprise.
Since I’ve already passed a rest area and this stretch of highway is pretty damn deserted, I do the next best thing possible: I crank the volume up on the radio, roll all four windows down to the halfway mark, and start a jam session. I’m not sure Clay Walker’s This woman and This Man counts as what one would call an upbeat moment, but it’ll do because if there’s one thing I won’t do, it’s change the station when one of my favorites comes on.
Instead, I belt out the music, sway my body in my seat, and pass the time until I reach an area where I can fuel up on more of my beloved Diet Coke. The gauge on my dashboard indicates I’m starting to hit the halfway mark for gas. It’s been beaten into my head to never let it go below a quarter of a tank. Thank you, dear older brother, the man who raised me when he didn’t have to and is still holding rock solid in the presence department, even though he’s been deployed overseas recently. One day, he’ll quitre-upping, but until then, this is who he is. And truth be told, I don’t think he’ll retire until he finishes his twenty years or I get that phone call.
The one that sends a shiver down my spine when I think about it.
