“Hiding back here?” Lisa asked when I found her at the back of the crowd.
I stood beside her and crossed my arms. “I’m not a pageant parent. I want today to be about her.”
Folding chairs had been arranged in front of two tufted chairs so people could sit and hear Willow talk. Outside, dogs barked and yipped as they were showered in affection.
Lisa peered over her shoulder, looking out the window. “I should get a dog.”
My gut sank, because I knew exactly why Lisa wanted a pet. “The house is lonely?”
“Yeah,” she admitted.
“Maybe get a cat. They don’t have to go outside if you’re working overnight. You can get one of those timed food dispensers if you’re out of the house.”
She stared into the distance as the crowd settled in. “A cat might be nice.”
“Have you found someone to talk to?”
Lisa snapped her head and looked at me curiously.
“A therapist . . . Grief counselor . . . someone like that. Family’s great, but they don’t always tell you what you need to hear or encourage healthy coping skills.”
“You sound like you have experience with that.”
“I lost my dad when I was young.”
“I’m sorry to hear that.”
“I’m not trying to intrude or speak out of turn, but I have a website that has a database of vetted professionals who can help with all sorts of issues. It’s sorted by location if you wantsomeone in person, but there are virtual options too. If you need someone to talk to, I can give you some recommendations.”
She chewed on her lip for a moment before answering. “I’d like that.”
The store owner gathered everyone’s attention and introduced Willow. Lisa and I joined in the applause as my girl strutted out in her favorite Chucks and a pink dress that matched her hair.
I couldn’t help but smile as Willow waved to the crowd.
Lisa and I stood in silent adoration as Willow went back and forth with the owner about her books and what she was working on at the moment.
Willow told stories of her travels and how special it was to be able to live in the settings of her books while she wrote them.
The crowd laughed when she told a story about a little town she had lived in that had a resident pig who escaped his house regularly. I glanced down at Lisa as I laughed, but her eyes were watery.
“Can I get you something?” I asked quietly. The back room Willow and I had been waiting in had been stocked with refreshments and napkins. I could raid it if she needed a tissue.
Lisa shook her head. “I’m okay,” she said as she dabbed her eyes with her sleeve. “I’m just glad that she let me in when Shep and I got together all those years ago. I see so much of him in her.”
I could see it too, and I had never met the man.
Before I could ask a question that had been lingering on the tip of my tongue, Lisa broke the silence. “Did you invite Cynthia or Amber to come today?”
“Yeah,” I said softly, pausing when the owner opened up the floor for questions before Willow went to a table to sign books. “I did.”
Lisa sighed as she looked around. “I’m not surprised Amber didn’t show, but Cynthia should have.”
I didn’t disagree with her. Willow’s own mother should have been there. But she wasn’t. Lisa and I were.
And from the smile on Willow’s face as she beamed at us from across the room, that was all that mattered.
THE FORD METHOD: WEEK TEN
