“Then you’re growing up, kiddo.”
“I think I’m afraid because of Grandad. I never knew that one minute you could be drinking eggnog and opening presents, and the next minute be in some horribly decorated room, picking out a box, and pretending that wood grain and brass accents matter.”
Elizabeth put an arm around Jamie and pulled her close. For a long time, she said nothing, just stroked her daughter’s hair the way she used to. “Your grandad wouldn’t want you to be afraid. He never was.”
“That’s what I tell myself all the time. But there’s a hole in me now.”
“I know, honey. But it’ll get easier. I promise. You’ll always miss him, but after a while, the missing will be more of an ache, not so sharp a wound.”
“He wanted me to swim in the Olympics. That’s all he talked about at Christmas. And I can’t even beat some girl from UVa.”
“He didn’t care about the Olympics. All he cared about was you, Jaybird. He wanted you to be happy. It’d break his heart if he thought you quit swimming because of him.”
Jamie looked at her. “Can I tell you a secret?”
“Always.”
“I don’t really want to quit swimming. I just wanted Dad’s attention. Not that I got it.”
“He’s a little crazy right now. Be patient with him. It’s a big deal to have a dream come true in the middle of your life.”
“I know. I just want things to be easier, I guess.”
“Life isn’t supposed to be easy, Jamie. Who cares if you discover that you’ll never swim the three hundred as fast as Hannah Tournilae? What matters is knowing you tried.”
“So you’d still be proud of me if I stayed on the swim team but never won a race?”
“You’re fishing for compliments now.”
“What if I flunked out?”
“Are you close to flunking out?”
Jamie grinned. “Actually, no. Michael’s really helped me out. I just wanted to check the parameters of your goodwill while you’re all gooey.”
Quicksilver Jamie. Her moods were like the coast’s weather; if you didn’t like it, stick around for ten seconds. “You’re a good egg, Jamie. Now, get to bed.”
Jamie gave her a kiss on the cheek, then climbed up into bed, snuggling up beside her sister. “G’night, Mom. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Elizabeth stood up and flicked off the light, then went back downstairs.
Jack had built a fire. It crackled loudly and sent spiraling, dancing gold light across the rug. He looked acutely uncomfortable, like a big man trying to negotiate his way through a tea party.
She sat down on the sofa, close but not too close.
For a long time, neither spoke. Finally she said, “I used to remind you guys endlessly about my birthday.”
“We know.” He laughed, then seemed to relax, as if he’d been afraid of what she’d say.
“I always thought you’d forget, and I was so afraid of how I’d feel if that happened. Why did I do that, Jack? Why did I assume I was so unimportant?”
He faced her. There was a sadness in his eyes that she hadn’t often seen. “Because I would have forgotten. Not every year, not even most years, but at some point, it would have happened. Not because I didn’t care, but because I never had to think for myself. You always did it for me. You were my backbone; you kept me standing.” He sighed. “And I took you for granted.”
Elizabeth knew he wouldn’t have thought that—let alone said it—a few months ago. “I guess we’re both learning a few things about ourselves lately.”
“I’m not the father I thought I was.” He looked surprised by the admission, as if he hadn’t meant to voice it. “Without you, the girls and I have nothing to talk about. They think I’m an idiot.”
This was a new side to Jack, vulnerable. It changed him somehow, shifted the balance of power between them. She felt as if they were friends, talking about their kids. “They’re nineteen and twenty, Jack; they think anyone who remembers Kennedy should be in a nursing home. I used to treat Anita the same way.”
“Jamie rolls her eyes at you, too?”
“Of course. Usually right before she says, ‘Hel-lo Mom, could you please get real?’ And Stephanie gives me that wounded deer-eye blink and shuts up until she gets her way. They’ve been perfecting the act since sixth grade. They could take it on the road.”
“How do you handle it?”
“On a good day, I ignore them. On a bad day, I get my feelings hurt. Fortunately, there are more good days than bad.” She saw his frown and asked, “What is it, Jack?”
Minutes ticked past before he answered. “We’re going to have to tell them, aren’t we?”
She almost touched him then, but something held her back. Fear, maybe. If she touched him now, when her heart was swollen and tender, it might begin again, and she wasn’t ready for that. This journey of hers wasn’t finished yet. “Yes.”
“They’ll blame me, you know.”
“I’ll tell them it was my choice.”