“She’ll be back,” I tell her.
“No,” Parker says. “No more, Mama.”
“Talk to me, Parker. What are you feeling?” I ask, staring her straight in the eyes as we remain on the street in front of Melody’s house.
“I don’t feel anything,” she says. “Are you okay?”
“I am fine. This isn’t about me, and I know it’s not always true when you say you’re okay.”
“Do you think Mom knew she wasn’t coming back?”
I’ve gotten this question from Parker before, but she has asked it in different ways. I sometimes think she wonders if Abby is just lost somewhere and not really gone. “No, I don’t think she thought that way.” Except, when I relive that day, I am certain that something in Abby’s heart knew it was the end and she wasn’t coming back.
“Do you think if she knew, she would have still left?” Parker continues.
“Your mom didn’t have a choice. I’ve told you this. When you enlist in the military, you do as you are told, and if you don’t, you can get into a lot of trouble. It’s against the law not to follow orders.”
“I think she knew,” Parker says. “I could hear it in her voice the day she left. I just didn’t understand why she sounded different.”
I run my hand down the side of my face, wishing I could take away just a portion of her pain, but without bringing Abby back, there is no way for me to make things better aside from carrying on and being her dad. “I’m sorry you walked in on that conversation between Melody and me,” I tell her.
“Melody asked,” Parker states. “You answered.”
“I know it hurts when you hear the answer, though, and I try to keep the explanation to a minimum around you.”
“You don’t have to, Dad. The more I hear about Mom, the better. She’s a superhero,and I’m proud of her, so it’s good to tell people.”
“Not when it causes you pain,” I explain.
Parker looks down at her fingers and intertwines her hands, resting them on her lap. “You aren’t causing me pain. I just miss her.”
“I understand.” Parker stands up on the passenger seat and climbs into the back, hopping into her booster chair. Miss Independent. She buckles her seatbelt and informs me the discussion is over by staring out the opposite window. Her therapist said it was a coping mechanism, and while everyone has different ways of handling emotions, Parker can apparently walk herself through the steps of pain and grief until she reaches a checkpoint. She then shuts the thoughts off and returns to the current moment, almost as if unscathed. Talking through her feelings isn’t something she enjoys,so I do my best to work around this, letting nothing slip out. By the time we’re home, and she’s settled in bed, Parker appears level-headed and stable. She asks about lunch for tomorrow and requests almond butter and fluff, then reminds me she needs to wear her running shoes instead of boots because she has gym class. I kiss her on the forehead and turn off her bedside lamp. “If you need me, I’ll—”
“You don’t have to sit in the hallway tonight,” she says.
Her tug at my heart is almost more difficult than watching her cry at the mention of Abby’s name. “Are—wait, are you sure? I don’t mind.”
“I’m seven, almost eight. I’m okay.”
What if I want to sit in the hallway? I want to ask.
“I’m proud of you. I love you, peanut.”
“Love you too, Dad.” I leave the room, slowly, making sure she doesn’t change her mind about me sitting in the hallway before I go downstairs. With only a few steps down the hall, I hear, “I love you, Mom. Goodnight.” I hear this every night. Not one day has gone by when she hasn’t spoken to Abby as if she isn’t standing right by her bedside. “I think I like Melody. Dad seems happy around her.”
I stop short when I hear the last part of her goodnight conversation.
15
I sat up in bed,watching mindless TV for three hours before falling asleep last night. I considered sending Melody a text, apologizing for running out of the house so quickly, but the conversation would lead to a woe-is-me story that she doesn’t need to hear at the moment.
“Why are you up so early?” Parker asks, walking into the kitchen, finding me packing her backpack. “We’re not going to The Barrel House this early again, are we?” Parker cocks her head to the side and groans.
“Not this morning,” I tell her.
“Then why are you up early?”
“We’re going out for breakfast,” I reply.
