“I’m sure she is. And I know she’d wantyouto be happy.”
Out on the jetty, the foghorn issued a protracted, sonorous bass wail as a tendril of fog swirled past.
The weather must be getting ready to change.
“Areyouhappy, Dad?”
That was a trickier question.
“I’m trying to be, but I’m still getting used to life without your mom.” Honest, even if the implication wasn’t. Devastating grief, like Gramp had experienced when Gram died, wasn’t the impediment to his happiness.
“Yeah.” She watched the two seagulls land on the pavement afew feet away and cuddle up close. “Do you ever forget what it was like when ... when she was here?” She peeked over at him.
No. He could remember all too clearly.
But if Isabel was forgetting certain aspects of daily life with her mom, guilt over that could be mixed in with her grief too.
Some reassurance was in order.
“I’ve forgotten some details. That’s normal. But memories stay in your heart, and even if they aren’t always real clear, they can still make you feel warm and happy. Is that how you feel when you think of your mom?”
“Yes.” She looked up at him. “Does thinking about her make you feel happy too?”
Uh-oh.
Had she picked up on the problems he and Olivia had agreed to keep under wraps in her presence?
Maybe it had been a doomed effort from the beginning. Maybe their well-meaning intentions had been misguided. Maybe they’d done more harm than good by pretending.
His stomach clenched.
Being a parent was a minefield.
He took a slow breath and chose his words with care. “I have some very happy memories of your mom, honey. One of my favorites is how beautiful she looked the day we got married. But right now, I feel more sad than happy.” About so many things.
“Like that lady.” She pointed to the solitary woman again. “I wonder if someone she loved died too.”
If there was a subtle way to glean any more information about his daughter’s thoughts on his relationship with Olivia, it eluded him.
Besides, it was easier to speculate about a stranger’s mood.
“That’s possible.”
“I’ve never seen her before.” Isabel continued to watch the woman.
“Me, neither.” Which suggested she was a visitor, passingthrough. There weren’t many locals he wouldn’t recognize after living in Hope Harbor most of his life. “You want to make up a story about her, like we do sometimes at night?” Carrying on the tradition Olivia had started, which helped keep a bit of continuity in Isabel’s life, had been one of his smarter choices.
“No. I think her story is sad, and I don’t want to make up a sad story.” She turned away from the woman. “Could we go to the tidepools at Starfish Pier on Saturday? That would be fun.”
“Absolutely.” Anything that lifted her spirits was fine by him. “Gramp may want to come too. We could even take a picnic. How does that sound?”
Interest sparked in her eyes. “Good.”
“It’s a date, then. Ready to head home?”
“Uh-huh.”
He took her hand, giving the lone, willowy woman one final perusal.
