“She’s a good and kind person, Danny. You deserve a shot at happiness. Don’t let it slip away.”
Daniel lowered his voice. “I love her. But if I were her, I’d want nothing to do with me. Ever. And rightly so.”
His father grinned. “Well, then, I guess it’s a good thing she isn’t you.”
NAUSEAANDDREADfilled Daniel’s gut as the day drew near. He had no desire for food; trying to sleep was a joke. He avoided TV, radio and all social media so he didn’t have to hear the recap on the news. It was the same every year. In the past, he had filled the approaching days with extra shifts, trying to distract himself from the impending doom of the actual day his daughter had died.
It never mattered how many shifts he worked; his body knew what his mind tried to ignore. He always woke on that day with a hole in his gut, his heart weighed down. He never actually took a shift on the actual day, preferring instead to be alone in his anger and grief and curse the world yet again for continuing on without his daughter. The first couple of years, when he and Sheila were still married, she would cry and he would drink while he held her.
After the divorce, he never contacted Sheila on this day, and she never contacted him. Not that they were ever in constant contact, but on that day, he couldfeelthe connection of their non-contact.
This year was no different. Except that it was.
The familiar hollowness filled his belly as he approached the house Sara used to live in. Interesting. He’d been here a dozen times in the past two months to see Aaron, and that dread had been slowly fading away.
It was back today. Daniel had no idea what he was doing, except that, for the first time, he hadn’t wanted to be alone on this day.
He knocked.
Sheila answered, her eyes red rimmed and swollen. “I thought you might come by this year.”
“I’m sorry, Sheila. I can go if—”
“Don’t be ridiculous. Come in.” She stepped back to allow him in. “Jim’s just getting dinner started. You’re welcome to stay.”
He stepped in. “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” His stomach rumbled in response to the aroma of onion and garlic sautéing. He shuffled his feet, unsure of why he was here.
Tears fell from Sheila’s eyes. She wiped them away. “Sorry, but this is what I do every year.”
Daniel nodded. Sheila took his hand and led him into the house. Her grip was firm. She wanted him here. “Jim, honey. Daniel’s staying for dinner.”
“No, that’s okay. I’ll just go.”
“It’s fine, Daniel.” Jim’s soothing voice reached him as they approached the kitchen. “It’s a tough day—”
Jim was interrupted by a small squealing from the baby monitor that quickly turned into an outright cry.
Sheila sighed. “I just put him down.”
“I’ll go.” Daniel spoke before he thought, and he was moving up the stairs as if he was being pulled up them.
He approached Aaron’s room, which used to be Sara’s room, and went straight to the crib without turning on the light. He picked up the baby and held him close, resting Aaron’s head in that crevice between his neck and shoulder. The baby instantly curled up and calmed down. Daniel paced the small room until he felt Aaron fall asleep. He walked over to the crib to lay Aaron back down, but instead, he held on to the baby, finding comfort in his weight as he rocked in the chair. He shifted the baby into his arms and took in the sheer perfection that was a newborn child.
Aaron’s baby scent engulfed him and sent Daniel tumbling into the past. This time, the burn of tears that built up behind his eyes was welcome, and he let them fall, allowed them to give way to sobs as he grieved for this little baby’s big sister, as he grieved for his Sara.
After some time, it could have been five minutes, it could have been an hour, he felt Sheila’s hand on his shoulder.
“Hey.”
“Hey.” Sheila moved around so she could face him, kneeling down. In the light from the hallway, he could see fresh tears in her eyes.
“I’ve never seen you cry before.” She shook her head, her eyes filled with tenderness. “Must be Annika. She’s good for you.”
“That’s over,” Daniel croaked out.
To her credit, Sheila pressed her lips together and said nothing.
Daniel cleared his throat. “Did we keep her ER band?”
