“What do you think, Izzy?” Annie said into the thick silence. “Should we let your dad help?”
Izzy picked up her spoon, holding it in two tiny fingers—the only ones his baby thought she had left—and shook it so hard it cracked on the table.
Annie gazed at him across the flowers. “That means your daughter would love to garden with you, Nick Delacroix. Can she count on you?”
Nick wanted to pretend it was that easy, a few spoken words at a breakfast table and everything could be made right again. But it had been a long, long time since he’d been that naive. Even as he nodded, he knew that it could end up being a lie. Another promise made by a man who’d kept too few.
Chapter 12
Nick sat in his squad car on the edge of downtown Mystic. Beyond the six short blocks, Mount Olympus rose like something out of a fairy tale, its snow-capped peak brushed up against the swollen gray underbelly of the sky. Leaves scudded across the rough concrete sidewalk, pushed along by a chilly breeze. As always, the town looked beaten and forlorn, tired around the edges. A steady stream of gray white smoke issued from the mill’s distant stack, leaving behind the acrid, pulpy scent of wood.
He used to love walking these streets. He’d known everything about the people he was sworn to protect: when their daughters were getting married and their sons were preparing for bar mitzvahs, when their grandparents were moved into nursing homes and when their kids started day care. He’d always taken pride in how well he did his job; he knew that by checking up on these people every day, he contributed to their sense of well-being.
He knew he’d been letting everything that mattered slip away from him, but he was terrified to start caring again. What if he failed Izzy once more? She needed so much from him, his brown-eyed little girl, and Nick had an ugly habit of failing those he loved. Even when he tried his best. It was his fault Izzy was disappearing, his fault she didn’t feel safe or loved; he knew that. If he’d been a stronger man, a better man, he could have helped her through the grief, but he hadn’t been able to do a damn thing. Hell, he couldn’t even help himself, and he sure as hell hadn’t helped Kathy.
It would be difficult, finding his way back, but Annie was right. It was time. For the first time in months, he felt a stirring of hope.
He eased out of the car and took a first cautious step into his old life. He merged quietly into the crowd of late-afternoon shoppers. All around him, people were moving, darting into stores, coming back out with paper bags and parcels. He noticed the sounds of everyday life. Car doors slamming, horns honking, quarters clicking into parking meters.
Every person he saw waved at him, said “Heya, Nick” as he passed, and with each greeting, he felt himself coming back to life. It was almost like the old days, before Kathy’s death. Back when his uniform had always been clean and starched, and his hands had never trembled.
He walked past the stores, waving at shopkeepers. At the kids’ clothing store, he saw a beautiful little pink dress in the window. It was exactly what Izzy needed. As he opened the door, a bell tinkled overhead.
Susan Frame squealed from her place at the cash register and came at Nick like a charging bull, her pudgy pink hands waving in the air. “Good Lord, I can’t believe it’s you. ”
He grinned. “Hi, Susan. Long time no see. ”
She swatted him on the shoulder and laughed, her triple chins jiggling. “You haven’t been in here in ages. ”
“Yeah, well . . . ”
“How are you doing?”
“Better. I saw that little girl’s dress in the window—”
She clapped her pudgy hands together. “Ooh-ee, that’s a beautiful thing. Perfect for Miss Isabella. How old is she now?”
“Six. ”
“Ooh, I’ll bet she’s growing like a weed. I haven’t seen her since her mama—” She shut up abruptly and took him by the arm, propelling him through the store. He let himself be carried away by her steady, comforting stream of words. He wasn’t listening to her; she knew it and didn’t care. She seemed to sense that it was a major event for him to be here.
She plucked the dress off the hanger. It was a pink and white gingham with a white lace underskirt and a pale blue yoke embroidered with tiny pink and white flowers. It reminded him of Kathy’s garden—
Come out here, Nicky—the tulips are coming up—
It hit him like a blow, the memory. He winced and squeezed his eyes shut. Don’t think about the flowers . . . don’t think about her at all. . . .
“Nick? Are you feeling well?”
A little unsteadily, he pulled a twenty-dollar bill from his pants pocket and tossed it on the counter. “The dress is perfect, Susan. Can you wrap it up?”
She answered, but he wasn’t listening. All he could think about was Zoe’s, and how a single drink—just one— would calm the shaking in his hands.
“Here you go, Nick. ”
It seemed only a second had passed before she was back beside him, waving a big lavender-wrapped package beneath his face. He wet his dry lips and tried to smile.
Susan touched his shoulder. “Nick, are you all right?”