For Lucy

“Hi,” I say as I approach the tailgate.

She says nothing.

I deposit my bag and lunch cooler in the backseat and close the door.

When I plant myself in front of her, hands in the front pockets of my jeans, she whispers, “Why did you do that?”

My instinct is to play dumb. Why did I do what? But I haven’t seen her look this deflated and broken in a long time.

“For Lucy. And because you asked me to do it.”

Her head inches side to side. “Wh-what are you talking about?”

“When you were in labor with Lucy, you made me promise you that I would love her more. After Austin died, I saw the look on your face. The anguish and the confusion. The natural desire and need to understand—to assign blame. I knew you would never intentionally say or do anything to scar Lucy for life. But we often do the most damage to people by complete accident.”

Her lower lip trembles. She’s probably thinking about the accident and spinal cord injury.

“So I took it. I took the blame. I saved Lucy from the part of you that wasn’t really you. I loved her more because … that’s what you asked me to do.”

“Jesus …” she sobs, wiping the tears that fall below her sunglasses. “Y-you had n-no right! I love her. I-I would never …” She pauses, as she should.

Never is a strong word. It’s absolute. It’s all encompassing. And it’s nearly impossible to say with any truth. Never is the embodiment of the unimaginable. So is always. There is nothing absolute about our lives. Who we are lies in the space between always and never.

Austin’s death was unimaginable. We thought we’d always be together. We thought there would never come a day when we would choose to divorce. We failed to make room in our heads and in our hearts for the unimaginable.

“He drowned on Lucy’s watch. That’s unchangeable. But he died because we had an uncovered pool. He died because we didn’t take the proper measures to ensure his safety. And we can spend the rest of our lives blaming ourselves, but it won’t bring him back. And that will never change, but it will always hurt. We set Lucy up to fail. Not you. Not me. Us.”

She hops off the tailgate and wipes her eyes under her glasses, turning her back to me. “We may be responsible for his death,” her voice shakes, “but you are responsible for us. You didn’t give us a chance. You didn’t give me a chance. You didn’t trust me. You let Lucy watch our marriage end. You let me fall in love with another man. You stood idle with the truth hidden from me … from everyone.”

“Yes,” I whisper. I don’t have a case to plead anymore. She knows what I did. She knows why I did it. And if I had it to do all over again, I’d make the same decision. I’d do it for Lucy. But not because Tatum asked me to love Lucy more. I think I knew from the moment she was born that loving her more wasn’t a choice. Our children have been the best of who we were, who we are, and who we will be.

“It’s unforgivable, Emmett,” she says as she walks away from me.

Chapter Twenty-Six

On the way home, I stop by the field, my field, and I allow myself a good ten minutes to yell at the wind, the clouds, the cruel god who took my son. I allow myself ten minutes to cry and grieve one last time.

Grieve Austin.

Grieve Tatum.

And also … open my heart to the relief that Lucy no longer has this secret to keep.

When I arrive home, Lucy’s in the kitchen eating pizza at the dining room table.

“You ordered pizza?”

She nods, wiping her mouth. “Figured you might be too emotionally exhausted to make dinner.”

I wash my hands. “And you? How are you, emotionally?”

“Well, today I made my mom cry … a lot. And from the look of your eyes, I’d say I made you cry too. That kinda sucks.” She shrugs. “But I’ve shed a lot of tears today too, so I guess we’re all having … a day.”

“But do you feel better?” I grab a root beer and sit on the opposite side of the table.

“Better is a tricky word to define right now. I honestly don’t know how I feel. I thought I’d feel relieved, but watching Mom cry … it was hard to feel anything but pain and guilt. I second-guessed my decision so many times, but it was too late. I couldn’t un-tell her. All I could do was hug her as she collapsed into my arms, wearing her wedding gown.”

I grunt something like a laugh and shake my head. “Good timing, Luce.”

“I know.” She frowns, slowly chewing a bite of pizza. “But I just didn’t want her to marry Josh and move to Chicago without knowing how she got to this point in her life … really knowing. And maybe she still marries him and moves to Chicago. I didn’t tell her because I don’t like Josh or I don’t want her to marry him. I told her because it was eating away at me, and the only time that would have felt more unfair to tell her would have been after she married him.”