“That makes sense.”
“Maybe that’s why you struggle to be emotionally available for Miranda. It’s not like we had good examples of that.”
“I think I’m more like him than I realize. Any time I neededhim, or cried, or had a bad day, he got distant with me. I see Dad in the way I handled Miranda.”
“Oh, Jack.”
“And that makes me so freaking angry at myself.Thatis what makes me feel like they’re better off without me.”
Pat chimed in. “No, they’re better off without old Jack. Changing and being something different is a choice you can make. If you check out because it’s hard, you’re doing the same thing to Kacey that your dad did to you.”
I cussed, letting my forehead drop into my palm. “Yeah, I see that, too.”
Jules said, “Love does hard things. That used to scare me, but it doesn’t anymore. You can do the hard thing for them, because you love them. If that means showing up, being present, and waiting…do it.”
A beat of silence passed before Jules asked, “You keep talking about Miranda’s grief. What about yours?”
“I’m okay.” The sting in my eyes and taut voice betrayed me.
“It’s okay to not be okay. You’ve lost a lot, too.”
“I know.” I rasped.
She was full-fledged crying. “I can hear it in your voice, Jack. You don’t have to be so—so strong all the time.”
I let out a breath at that. Was it true? Then why did I feel like such a failure right now?
We exchanged I love yous then I ended the call with shaking hands. I let my head fall into my palms and stared straight at the ground. A circle of white caught my attention under the bench.
A baseball.
I picked the ball up, rolled it in my hands for a second. It swam, the red stitches melting into the white, blurring in the light of the street lamps. I stood, suddenly propelled to myfeet. I chucked the stupid ball as far as I could, over the fence, into the diamond.
A stabbing ripped through my shoulder. I gripped it, grunting in pain. A rusty and aged sound leaked out. The first of many. The combo of pain teleported me back to the lake’s shore.
I sunk back onto the bench, holding my shoulder and allowing myself to do something I hadn’t done in twenty-five years.
FIFTY-FIVE
Miranda
Asoft knock at my door jerked me out of my almost-sleep. I raised my head from the pillow, wondering if my mind was playing tricks. When soft footsteps receded down the hallway, back to the stairs, I jumped up and ran to the door. Jack wouldn’t have knocked unless it was really important.
I cracked the door and whispered. “Jack?”
He stopped and turned back.
“You okay?”
Soft light from downstairs filled the hallway. He was still in his running clothes. Drenched from head to toe. His eyes were…pink?
“Not—not really.” His voice was hoarse.
“Did something happen?”
He shifted, his restless hands looking for a place to rest. “ I just needed to say…“ His words trailed off as he ran his hands over his head. “That I am sorry. I have made a total ass of myself. I have tried to force you to want this. Want us. But that scrapbook… I see now, Miranda. Truly and fully.”
His chest expanded and collapsed on a deep, painful-sounding breath.
