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I squint at the book. “It’s nonfiction.”

“There are still voices, Daddy. ‘Doctor Barnes has studied penguins for twenty-five years. His favorite thing about them is how they give gifts to each other,’” she says in a low voice that tries to sound grown-up.

“I can do the voices too.” Flipping to the first page, I read, “Zookeeper Natalie has worked with African elephants in North Carolina for⁠—”

“Daddy.” Ella interrupts, crossing her arms over her chest in that precocious way she does. Her brow furrows with concern, apparently over my not-good-enough narration. “Uncle Mike’s voice is lower. No offense.”

Well, darn. I’ve made it a point, though, to never take my hurt feelings out on Ella the way my daddy did with me. Still, I tell her, “You can’t say no offense and then say something that might hurt someone’s feelings, princess.”

“Sorry, Daddy.” She turns, her face suddenly lighting up. “I have an idea.”

“What’s your idea?”

“You and Uncle Mike could both tuck me in. You could take turns doing the voices. Until you get more practice.”

More practice. Practice being around Mike and pretending I don’t want things to go back to the way they were before I panicked?

Needing something to do with my hands, I adjust the fuzzy blankets around her. “Maybe one of these days,” I say.

Carefully, I brush my thumb near the spot where her stitches are. “How’s your head feeling? Still sore? Need me to get you some medicine?”

She shakes her head. “It’s feeling better.”

I resist the urge to nudge her. If she doesn’t want meds, that’s probably good. But better isn’t the same as “it doesn’t hurt anymore.”

“Good. Okay. So, zoo story?”

“Did Uncle Mike get a new job too?”

Fudge. “I…don’t know. Why?”

“When Aunt Eve took me for ice cream after school yesterday, there was a guy she knew behind the counter. They talked about Uncle Mike getting a new job.” She shrugs as if this is completely baffling, and I have to admit, it is.

Mike’s done well with escorting. Better than me.

Anytime talk of quitting came up in the past, he’d been vague. What’s changed?

And why does knowing I’m out of the loop make me feel like I’ve got those fizzy candies exploding in my belly?

It’s none of my business. But as I open the book too hard and try to get back to reading, Ella interrupts once again. “Do you think Uncle Mike is mad at me?”

That makes me slam the book shut again. “Why on earth would you think that?”

“He seemed mad at the hospital. He didn’t stay. When I fell on the playground last year, he stayed home and played Go Fish with me.”

“Sweetie, Uncle Mike loves you to the moon and back. It’s like I said—I wanted to spend more time with you.”

“Why can’t you spend time with me together?”

Because I’m not sure I trust myself around him. I’m not sure he thinks I’m worth his time after the things I said.

“He’s been busy, that’s all.”

“With his new job?” Hell. The look on her face brings up emotions I don’t know how to shove down.

“Probably. Also…” This is one of those moments when I’m not sure how much I should say to my daughter. I want to be honest but not give too much information. “Daddy feels really bad about how you hurt yourself. So, I think it’s important that I’m around more. So I can take better care of you.”

My little old soul sighs the same put-upon sigh her momma did that one time when we went shopping for baby things and I didn’t know what any of the stuff in the store was. I stand by my belief that a breast pump looks like a torture device, but Billie taught me a lot that day.