“Was he your boyfriend?” Brett asks. Matt looks over at me.
“Yeah, he was. But we were best friends first for a long time.” I keep the explanation simple in an effort to avoid further questions. “Hey,look at this one! This was me and your dad at the end-of-summer staff party.”
“So, what happened?” Brett asks.
“Hmm?” I ask. “What do you mean?”
“What happened to you and Daddy? Did you stop being friends?”
Matt cocks an eyebrow.
“No,” I lie. “We just lost touch.”
“What does that mean?”
“Well, I moved all the way to Boston, and then I lived in Connecticut for college, and then I moved back to Queens. By that time, he and your mom were together, and they had you. And then, a few years later, I moved out here.”
“But—”
“We always cared about each other,” Matt interjects. “Sometimes people you love leave for a little bit, but that doesn’t mean you love them any less.”
“Like Mommy?” Brett asks.
My breath catches.
“Yeah. Like Mommy,” Matt replies, squeezing her hand.
“But you came back,” Brett says to me.
“Yes, I did. And I got news for you, kiddo. I’m afraid now you’re stuck with me.” My stomach churns a little when I say it, my body reminding me that the words are really just wishful thinking.
Brett grins.
We sit awhile longer, reminiscing over photos. Brett gets a kick out of seeing Matt as a kid at camp. The only pictures of him she’s seen from his childhood are the ones hanging up at Matt’s parents’ house, and those are from school, she explains. She asks pointed questions about buildings and backdrops of some of the pictures, like “Whatdid you do at the Science Center?” and “What kind of candy did they sell at the Canteen?”
A few minutes becomes almost two hours, and Matt looks tired, so I suggest we get going.
“Can I borrow these?” Brett asks.
“The scrapbooks?” I clarify.
She nods eagerly.
“No, honey. Those are Taylor’s. They should stay here,” Matt says.
“I don’t mind. She can borrow them,” I interject. “You’ll take good care of them, right?” I ask Brett.
The little girl’s face lights up. “I will, I promise. Daddy, please can I bring them home?”
He agrees reluctantly. “She might screw them up,” he whispers. “These are precious.”
“She won’t,” I say. “I trust her. And look how happy she is looking at them,” I point out, filling with resolve.I’ll find a way to get that kid to camp if it kills me.
The next morning, I scroll through my text messages from Matt and click on the phone number of the realtor from the sign out in front of camp. I suck in a breath as it rings.
Once, twice, three—
“Hello?”
