I’m greeted by a lovely shade of chocolate brown. Everything but the bedding on the king-sized mattress is that color. It’s the last thing I remember before falling into a dreamless sleep.
When I wake next, a woodpecker pounds at the base of my skull. What time is it?
“No housekeeping, thank you,” I yell.
A knock sounds again, and I groan.This hotel.
I peel myself off the comforter, trudge across the sea of dingy carpet, and yank on the door handle.
“I said, no—” The words die on my tongue as I stare into my father’s eyes.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
HAILEY
Asoft, golden light filters through the trees and spills over my slumped shoulders. Uncut grass grown wild and unruly hides the small stone I came to visit. I comb it back and press it down with my palms.Josephine Hailey Hart, August 1977 – December 2002, beloved wife and mother.
“I hope I’m not interrupting.” A throat clears as my dad crouches beside me.
I wipe my eyes with the back of my hand before returning his reluctant smile.
“Do you come here often?” I ask him.
Whenever he wasn’t working, I used to picture him visiting her. The thought made me sad, but I’m not surprised when he nods.
“She deserves flowers. I should bring them.”
A tear splashes on the slate slab as I trace my fingertips over the floral petals engraved in a border around the edge. “You already did.”
He squeezes my shoulder.
“Will it always feel like this?” I whisper, the weight of an elephant sitting on my chest. I want to retreat inside myself.Hide in the dark cave at the back of my mind and take solace there.
The edges of his mouth wilt. It hurts me to see him this sad. How deeply he must miss her. Will that be my life now that I’ve lost Dean?
Honesty seeps through his answer. “Some days are worse; others are better.”
I swallow, taking it in. “On the better days, what would you say to her?”
Do people do that? Do they talk to their loved ones after they’re gone?
He releases a shaky breath. The strained muscles in his face slacken as if he sees her in the sky.
“Hi, Jo,” he whispers. “It’s me.”
It’s a little thing. Not monumental in the grand scheme of information I don’t know about him. But to find out he calls her by a nickname feels like the most important thing to note. Like her first name wasn’t intimate enough. Makes me think of Reed calling me Red.
“Our daughter came back home for the summer. You should see her.” He smiles wistfully. “She has your eyes. She’s kind and relentless.” He chuckles softly to himself. “Both things she got from you. But she’s also sensitive and strong, which, I’d like to think, she got from me. I don’t want to let her down this time.”
Tears slip from my eyes as he turns to face me.
“She’d be proud of you, you know,” he says. “And not just because you share the same profession.”
I wrap my arms around his neck and squeeze tightly. Dean and Reed are gone, but I’m grateful I still have him.
“I’m proud ofbothof you,” a voice says from behind us.
I pull back from his arms.
