Lily.
I’d seen her… what? Twice? Maybe three times? She’d been a baby then, all soft fists and sleepy blinking.
Now she looked like a solemn little bird.
Mom knelt and held out a hand. “Come say hello, darling. This is your Uncle Ethan.”
Lily didn’t move at first. She studied me, quietly cautious. Then, slowly, she walked forward and pressed into my mother’s side without a word.
I crouched, unsure what to do with my hands. “Hi, Lil,” I said, voice softer. “I’m… I’m really glad to see you.”
She nodded once, almost imperceptibly, and looked away.
My insides hurt.
Mom smoothed her hair. “I’m taking her to the park for a bit. Claire will be there.”
Claire.
The name left me breathless and hit me like a bruise at the same time.
The one person I’d spent a decade trying and failing to forget.
“I thought she was…” I cleared my throat. “I didn’t know you people were close.”
“She’s been helping with Lily.” Mom said gently.
Of course she was.
“That’s good,” I managed.
Mom ushered Lily toward the door, giving me one last watery smile. “We’ll see you in a little while.”
The door shut behind them, the soft click echoing through the house.
I didn’t realize I’d gone still until my father spoke.
“You’re thinking too loud,” he said gruffly.
I huffed a humorless breath. “Sorry.”
“You shouldn’t be. Just… sit, son.”
I did. Because when Bill Walker used that tone, you didn’t argue, not even at thirty-two.
He lowered himself into the chair across from me, elbows braced on his knees.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
The question scraped something raw.
“I should be asking you that,” I said, too dry. “You’ve lost more than me.”
“And you lost your brother.”
His voice was steady, but the lines around his eyes carved deeper as he spoke.
“It’s… different, you had to deal with this alone,” I said, looking away.
