“Oh. ”
“And you know what I think?”
She shook her head. “No. ”
“I think she and Mommy are friends now, and they’re looking down on us, making sure we’re okay. ”
Izzy thought about that. It was sort of what she thought, too. “Annie says that when it rains, it’s Mommy and the angels crying. ”
He brushed the tangle of hair from her face. “Annie knows an awful lot. ”
She turned away from him, trying to hide the tears that burned her eyes. “I’m startin’ to forget her, Daddy. ”
He slipped an arm around her and drew her close, gently stroking her moist cheek. “Mommy had the prettiest eyes in the world, and when she looked at you, it felt as if the rain had stopped and the sunlight was on your face. And she had a crooked front tooth—it sort of slanted sideways, and a tiny mole right next to her ear. She loved you, Izzy . . . she loved you more than her own life. ”
“She loved both of us, Daddy. ”
He didn’t say anything. He just kissed her, right on the tip of her nose, and it reminded her of when she was a baby; he used to do that all the time. For the first time since her mommy died, Izzy wasn’t scared. The scream that had been inside her for months shriveled up like an old raisin and rolled away. She knew, finally, that everything was going to be okay.
Her daddy loved her again.
She squeezed her eyes shut, really hard so she wouldn’t cry like a baby. When she could breathe again, she slowly opened her eyes.
She couldn’t believe what she saw. “Daddy?” she said softly.
“Yeah, Sunshine?”
She slowly lifted her left hand. Clear as day, she could see the little black glove that grew out of her sleeve. She bit down on her trembling lower lip, afraid it was a mistake. Slowly, she took off the glove, and there was her hand. “Do you see it, Daddy?”
He looked right at her hand—she was sure he saw it— but he didn’t smile. Instead, he looked at her. “What should I see?”
She swallowed thickly. “I see my hand . . . and my arm. Do you see ’em?”
Her daddy made a raggedy sound. “Yeah. I see your hand. ” Very slowly, like he was afraid she was going to stop him, he took the glove from her.
She giggled, wriggling her fingers. “I guess I’m stayin’ here with you, Daddy. ”
“Yeah, Izzy-bear. I guess you are. ”
He made a sniffing sound. Izzy looked up and saw the strangest thing: her big, strong daddy was crying.
She loved both of us.
Much later, when Nick was in bed, with his arms wish-boned behind his head, he finally allowed himself to think about what Izzy had said to him.
She loved both of us.
It was the sentence he’d been unable to believe in for so long, spoken with such certainty in the voice of a child.
The tears he’d hidden away for over a year came spilling down his cheeks. He had loved his wife, loved her from the time he first saw her, and somehow in the last few years he’d forgotten; he’d seen all that darkness and forgotten the light. She had loved him, too, with all her broken heart; she had loved him.
“I loved you, Kath,” he whispered into the quiet solitude of his bedroom. “I loved you . . . ”
The Mystic Rain Festival started on schedule, on the first Saturday in May, just as it had for each of the last hundred years. A low-slung gray sky hung over downtown. Rain fell in a stuttering curtain on the storefront awnings. Fresh green leaves floated in murky gutter water, swirling alongside the sidewalks.
Annie wore a slick yellow raincoat, with her Levi’s tucked into high-topped black rubber boots, and a Seattle Mariners baseball cap. Hank stood beside her, munching on a homemade scone he’d purchased at the Rotary Club booth.
The parade moved slowly down Main Street, splashing on the wet pavement. There were fire trucks, police cars, Boy Scout troops, and six little girls in pink tutus from Esmeralda’s Dance Barn.