“You’re not allowed to judge a situation you just walked into.”
I nodded. “That’s valid, you figuring that I’m talkin’ out of my ass, but I know the sketchbook is all about her mom,” I said flatly, trying to watch where I was treading but also wanting to explain myself like I normally didn’t. It never bothered me if people thought the worst or if they assumed I was being stupid or thoughtless… usually.
Looking up at Emery pacing in front of me, I realized I wanted this man to have a better view of me. And maybe it was the girls—because I liked both of them already—but it could have also been that being around all three of them, Emery and his daughters, I found myself not anxious like I was most of the time. Ever since I’d left the Navy, I’d been waiting for the other shoe to drop. I kept thinking that today was the day something worse would happen than watching my friends die. But being in the Dodd house, that feeling of dread was replaced with calm. Jared always said being grounded, settled, was one of the best feelings in the world, and I had to wonder if this, now, was what he was talking about. The moment I’d walked through the front door, I’d felt lighter, peaceful, and not being invited in right away had been almost physically painful. It was strange, but I was okay with him yelling at me because I knew I could fix it if he’d stop a second and let me speak.
“Are you listening to me?”
“Oh,” I said, startled, “yeah.”
He crossed his arms and glared down at me. I was betting it was how he looked when he was talking to his students in class. “Brann, you—”
“She has to talk about it ’cause it’s eatin’ her up inside,” I blurted out. “And if you don’t do something quick, it’s gonna get to where you won’t be able to get her back from it.”
He sank down onto the couch I was on and stared at me mutely.
“I think you didn’t wanna talk to her about the specifics before because you were worried you’d scare her. Maybe you wanted her to focus on the loss and the grieving and not if her mother had suffered when she died. She was only five when it happened, so that’s probably why you didn’t have a discussion about it before, and that makes sense, of course, but now… now she’s older, and she really wants to know.”
He was so still, like he was waiting on me.
“She needs answers to heal all the way, and because you still won’t talk about it, she’s sorta been chasing them around on her own.”
His eyes filled, and I felt like total crap.
“Aww, man,” I groaned, leaning close, taking his face in my hands and using my thumbs to wipe the tears away. “I didn’t mean to dredge up nothin’, but your daughter has serious questions that are haunting her drawings, and her interactions with people, with you and Livi, and I’m guessing her dreams as well,” I said, letting him go before I stood up. “And I know it’s not my business, and I know I shouldn’t’ve even offered to let her talk to my buddy before I asked you, but she’s seriously grieving, and she needs some closure, at least, for her questions.”
He watched me, eyes never leaving my face.
“If you let her have the facts, at least she can stick with the loss and not be worried about how her mother died anymore, but focus instead on that she did.”
Since he wasn’t saying anything, just continuing to give me his full and undivided attention, I plowed on, pacing now as he had been. “I think if you let her talk to a doctor and ask questions and have them truthfully answered, it will go a long way to clearing out her anger and frustration over being lied to.”
“I’ve never lied to my—”
“Yeah, but you never sat her down and said this is how it happened, this is what she would have felt, this is how long she lived once the tear occurred.”
“Those are gruesome details,” he choked out, and I saw how broken he was inside, and heard the fractures in his normally gentle voice.
“Yeah, but your daughter wants to know, and she’s frustrated that she doesn’t.”
“You can’t know that.”
I shook my head. “I lost a lot of friends when I was deployed. I carried guys out who didn’t make it and then escorted their bodies home to their families, and once I was there, the questions were always the same. Did he suffer, was he in pain, did he call for me or his father—did you hold his hand?” I sighed deeply before I smiled at him. “They needed answers, and I gave them to them. It’s what you do.”