Page 101

Just like my daughter has taught me every day since.

Ella’s small hand comes to rest on my cheek. “It was an accident, Daddy,” she says seriously.

“Of course it was, princess.”

Do you really believe that? Was it an accident, or was it your fault?

I ask myself the same questions about Billie’s death. Oddly, the voice asking always sounds a lot like Billie herself.

“Accidents happen, Daddy.” She’s still looking at me like I’m not getting something. With Ella, that could mean anything.

“Oh yeah? Where’d you hear that?”

“You.”

“Me? Really? When did I say that?”

She giggles. “Silly Daddy. You say it all the time.”

I’m startled, but also…kinda happy? One day she’ll be a teenager and maybe she won’t care what I say anymore.

But I’m thinking back, and she’s right. Every time she’s gotten sick or spilled food, I try to make sure she doesn’t blame herself. Or think I’m blaming her, for that matter. “I’m surprised you remember.”

“Yep. So, it’s okay, Daddy. Accidents happen.”

I sag against the wall behind her bed. “Yeah, princess,” I say again. “I guess they do.”

My daughter’s words are still sinking in when she adds, “Like when Momma died.”

My heart stops. “What?”

I glance at Billie’s picture by the bed, as if that will tell me everything. Seeing the love and surprise on her face hurts, knowing she’d be gone not long after that picture was taken, it never stops poking a tender spot in my heart. But with time it’s gotten easier.

“Gram-gram said Momma’s death was a terrible accident. So did Uncle Mike.”

“Did they?”

It’s probably not great parenting to pump my daughter for gossip, but… When I take Ella to visit Mike and Billie’s mom, she and I rarely talk. Seems better to stay out of the way.

I sure never wanted to bring up Billie with them.

“Gram-gram said it must be hard for you without Momma to help. But I told her how Uncle Mike helps so much, and she said that was good.”

“You did?” She did??

“It’s why I wanted to make you coffee before I fell. Like uncle Mike always makes it for you when you’re sleepy. Wanted to help like he helps you, and you help him.”

“Not sure how much I help Uncle Mike, sweetie.”

“He said you do.” She’s busy flipping the pages of her book, completely unaware that my brain is melting down.

“He did?” My heart unfreezes, and now I’ve got blood rushing so loud in my ears I can barely hear my daughter’s quiet wisdom.

Ella yawns, scrunching down under the covers and curling into a ball. I kind of miss the days when she slept with her legs bunched under her belly and her butt up in the air, like one of those little roly-poly bugs. Though I worry less as she gets older. Those nights when she slept face down had me double-checking to make sure she was still breathing every ten minutes.

“You sleepy, princess?”

She nods. “Can we read the new book tomorrow, Daddy?”