Going Under (Wildfire Lake 2)

“She’s extremely self-confident, but when it comes to vulnerability, she stumbles.” Chloe hikes the strap of her yoga mat higher up her shoulder. “I think we all do to some extent. Protecting ourselves in the face of perceived harm is hardwired into our DNA. Maybe that’s just what you were doing when you ended things. Protecting yourself and your daughters.”

I give an absent nod.

“But I’ll tell you what I told her,” Chloe says. “Without vulnerability, there is no connection. Without connection, there is only isolation.”

I stare at her a minute, trying to get my mind around the idea.

“That’s all the wisdom I can share today,” Chloe says, extra perky. “I’ve got thirty men and women waiting for sweaty torture.”

That makes me laugh, and Chloe continues to her car and waves on the way out of the lot, but I sit there, staring at the empty marina. Without Kat here, all the sparkle of the place fades until the lake seems two-dimensional and lifeless. Colorless. Without Kat here, there is no glow.

My life feels the same way. And sitting here looking at the emptiness of the marina, I see my future without Kat. Quiet, dark, lifeless.

Sure, I can easily get caught up in the whirlwind of filling the needs of my daughters, giving them the best life I can, but that’s not a full life for me. That’s existing.

I realize in that instant that without Kat, the scope of my life has already narrowed back down to that tiny window I was seeing through when I arrived.

I make a U-turn and continue toward home with depression lying across my shoulders. I’m happy she found the boat she wanted, but I’m sad it’s not the catamaran. I’m glad she’s strong enough to handle the end of our relationship well, but I’m angry with myself for pushing it until we broke.

But once I walk in the house and the girls run to me for hugs, I know that even if my view is only ten percent of what life has to offer, it’s the most important and precious ten percent.

Poppy and the nanny have cooked dinner, and after the nanny leaves, I’m caught in a whirlwind of homework, showers, and bedtime stories.

My last stop before I return to the kitchen to clean up is Violet’s room, where she’s tucked into her pretty pink bedding, warm golden light spilling over her from the nightstand lamp. I drop to a seat beside her, brush her hair from her forehead, and kiss her there. “Good night, honey.”

“Daddy?”

“Mmm-hmm?”

Her blue eyes meet mine. “Can you be friends with Kat again?”

My heart hitches a beat. “We are friends.”

“No, I mean the way you were before, when you liked each other.”

I sigh and search for an explanation an eleven-year-old would understand.

“Because neither of you are happy anymore,” she says.

I’m annoyed

with myself for not covering my feelings better. “I am happy, honey.”

“Not the way you were when you were with Kat. And she’s not happy either. You both try to pretend, and you both suck at it.”

I huff a laugh, but it’s both surprising and heartbreaking to hear Kat is hurting too. I didn’t realize that I assumed she’d gone on with life as if I was nothing but a blip on her radar until now.

“When you and Kat liked each other, it’s the happiest you’ve been since Mama got sick.”

That hits me hard. To realize she’s been watching me suffer for years feels like a blow that will be hard to recover from.

“Why don’t you like each other anymore?”

“We do, honey. I can’t speak for Kat, but I think the reason we’re both a little down is because we both like each other a lot.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

Her impression of an annoyed adult makes me laugh, but she’s serious. I won’t be getting out of this conversation without a solid explanation.