For Lucy

“Emmett …” she shakes her head, unable to make eye contact with me.

“Because if mistakes—temporary negligence—is grounds for one-day-a-week visitation rights, then tell Lucy goodnight and that you’ll see her next week.”

Fuuuck …

I don’t mean it. I blame Josh and his hold on my family for bringing out the worst in me, for saying things to my wife that I would never say to her because none of it’s true.

Emotion floods her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“You did.” She holds a flat hand up to me when I again try to apologize. “And you’re …” She bites her lips together and drags in a shaky breath as her gaze drifts to her feet. “You’re right,” she whispers. “I … I don’t know what happened to me after he …”

After he died.

“I just was so angry at …” She quickly wipes a tear.

“Me,” I whisper.

“No. Yes.” She shakes her head a few more times. “It wasn’t as simple as that.” Tatum pivots and pads her feet back to the living room.

Before I can swallow my stupid pride to go after her, the front door clicks. Lucy eyes me when I stand several feet from it, contemplating whether or not I should go after her.

“What did you say to her?”

I shake my head. “Something impulsive and stupid.”

“Don’t you think you should apologize?”

“Probably. I mean … I did. I’ll … figure it out later, but not tonight.”

“If we told her, things would be better between the two of you.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Dad …” Lucy gives me a look with those unintentionally pouty lips of hers.

“I’m good. You’re good and on the verge of epic with this new treatment.”

She can’t help but grin.

“Your mom and Josh are good. So what’s the point of rocking the boat?”

“Because Josh will never love her like you do.”

I let her words hang in the air for a few seconds before nodding. “True. But I think she loves him more than she loves me, so we have to let her be happy, Luce.”

“But if she knew the truth, she’d love you more.”

“The truth?” I shake my head. I don’t want to think about Lucy’s version of the truth. “No.” I grunt. “It’s not that. It’s … complicated.”

I wake up early Saturday, peek in on a sleeping Lucy, and head out for a jog. I take the same route I used to take years ago when I lived in this house, pre-divorce. Only this time, when I get to the large open field where I used to scream and curse God, I simply rest my hands on my knees for a few seconds to catch my breath before straightening, my head back, eyes closed, and thanking God for Lucy.

As I circle around by the baseball diamonds, the wind picks up and thunder rumbles. Before I can pull my phone out of my hoodie pocket to look at the radar, the skies open and drop unrelenting sheets of rain. Squinting, I see a figure run into the dugout for shelter. I follow, opting to wait out the worst of it before heading home.

“So much for trusting the forecasters,” I say breathlessly as I shake off the rain.

The person I followed turns, lowering the hood to her jacket.

“Tatum …” I blink against the mist of water still hitting my face from the wind.

“Where’s Lucy?”

“Sleeping.”

“You left her alone?”

I chuckle. “Yes. Sleeping.”

“What if she needs you? Or falls out of bed? Or—”

“Or what if she’s still asleep when I get home, which she will be. And for the record, she’s never fallen out of bed. She knows I go for a jog in the morning. And she knows how to get herself out of bed.”

“Well …” Tatum slips her hood back over her head and winces as the wind gusts. “I didn’t know you jogged in the morning.”

“You know I jog in the morning.”

“No. I know you used to jog, when we were married.”

“Well, surprise! I still jog. I didn’t completely wilt into nothing after our marriage ended.”

Tatum drops her gaze to her feet.

“Listen, about last night …”

“It’s fine.”

“It’s not fine. I said things I didn’t mean.”

“You meant them, and you had every right to mean them.”

“Maybe, but not how I’m sure you interpreted it.”

“And how did I interpret it?” She meets my gaze again.

“I imagine you focused on the part that made it sound like I was blaming you for what happened to Lucy, instead of the part where I was expressing how much it fucking killed me to see my daughter one day a week for five years.”

“Well, you get to see her more now.”

“Yes, that totally makes up for those five years.”

“That’s not fair, Emmett.”

“Life’s not fair.”

After a few seconds, she clears her throat. “Are we going to do this? Rehash all the things we would have done differently? Will it change where we are now?”