For Lucy

Tatum’s unflinching gaze moves with me as I get closer to her.

“We’ll be back in a bit. You can see Lucy soon when my parents go back to see her.” I give her parents a small smile and rest my hand on Tatum’s back to lead her toward the stack of elevators. We step on and the doors close.

As we stare at the digital numbers descending, I have to ask, “How red? How red was the light you ran? Was it yellow? Orange? A short light? The sun glaring?”

As soon as the elevator dings and the doors open, Tatum runs out and toward the nearest exit instead of the cafeteria. I follow her. By the time I reach the exit, she’s around the corner by the lower-level parking with her head in a garbage can, hurling the contents of her stomach much like she did in the toilet the last time I saw her.

“Are you pregnant?” As much as it kills me to imagine her pregnant with Josh’s baby, it’s a slightly better alternative to the one I fear the most.

She lifts her head and wipes her mouth. “No,” she whispers.

It wasn’t yellow or orange. It was red. It wasn’t a short light. It wasn’t the sun glaring in her eyes.

“I just …” Her whole face contorts as she chokes on her words while staring out at the entrance to the parking garage.

That’s what the unimaginable looks like. I’ve seen it before on her face. That’s the feeling I couldn’t quite place, probably because I’ve tried to block it from my memory. Only this time … she’s not disgusted with me. She’s not appalled and ruined by my behavior—by my mistake.

“My phone fell onto the floor. I … I looked away for …”

A blink. Maybe two. A breath. Maybe two. That’s all it takes. That’s all it takes to change your world forever. That’s all it takes to go from the best parent to the worst parent.

She covers her mouth with her hand and closes her eyes.

“I forgive you. Lucy will forgive you. It was an accident.” I don’t mean to cause her more pain and grief, but that’s what I’m doing. It’s all twisted and etched into her face like she can’t believe I just said that, like it was a bad thing to say. No … like it was the worst thing to say.

Instead of taking back my words, elaborating, making excuses for her or for me, I pivot and head back into the hospital. This isn’t Karma. This isn’t gratifying or some weird sort of relief. It’s tragic.

But … it was an accident.

No matter how hard we try to be perfect, we are not. No matter how hard we try to do the right thing, the wrong thing manages to trip us up. No matter how undeserving one might feel of forgiveness, no one is unworthy of it.

Chapter Eleven

THEN

Austin was born on a Friday in the early morning hours of a hot August day.

Two.

We wanted two kids—a boy and a girl.

Just like our manicured lawn and meticulously painted fence, our life continued to be discreetly flawed yet picture perfect. We fought with passion. We lived without regret. And we loved to the depths of our souls.

It was why we took that RV road trip. It was why we ate ice cream for dinner every Friday night and followed it up with popcorn.

After Austin’s second birthday, we took a trip to St. Louis to stay at a bed and breakfast—our first trip by ourselves since before Lucy was born. I took her to a fancy restaurant. Then we went dancing. I still couldn’t keep a beat, but I gave it a solid E for effort because I loved Tatum and she loved dancing.

By the time we made it to the B&B, she was a little tipsy from the wine at dinner and from me twirling her around the dance floor. That I could do … I could twirl her, and it made her giggle like a child.

“Again!” She laughed and I twirled her again, ending in a dip and long kiss.

The room was quite nice with a big bed and a tub the size of a small swimming pool. After I locked the bedroom door, she turned, pulling off her silk scarf, eyes dancing with possibilities and cheeks sketched in shades of pink.

“Is it weird that I’m nervous?” She laughed it off, but it didn’t completely hide the shakiness in her voice.

In some ways, I fell in love with her all over again in that moment. We’d become so lost in our roles as parents and responsible adults, that it was easy to forget we were still two crazy people madly in love.

“Nervous?” I shrugged off my suit jacket and toed off my shoes as if I had immunity to such nerves.