He chuckles softly. “You probably think I deserve that, don’t you, Rebecca?”
I lean forward, thumping the script with my hand. “I thought you missed me, Jake,” I explain in a low, fevered voice. “That you wanted to see how I’m doing.”
“I did,” he answers with a casual shrug. “I do.”
I shake my head, thinking of dear Trevor earlier by the hotel swimming pool—of him dancing with me and holding me and trying to convince me that Michael still loves me, devoted and believing the best in me when I least deserved it. And I think of Michael in his golf cart, desperate to get me to listen, while all the time I kept pushing him away. And I think of Evan Beckman, offering me a second shot at my career, and me backpedaling as fast as I could away from him.
“I’ve been a fool,” I say and stand to leave without taking his script.
Chapter Twenty-Seven: Michael
It’s sweltering hot when Andrea’s wrapping up her first week of school. Man, when I was a kid, you didn’t start back when it was one hundred degrees. But here it is, not quite the end of August, Andie’s back in her routine—and I’m feeling like a successful parent. So far, I’m managing to remember all major homework assignments, and I’ve even gotten her enrolled in ballet and Girl Scouts. I’m Super Dad, clear-headed and together about this stuff for the first time since Alex’s death.
The key seems to be maintaining a constant mental checklist, which I’m silently running through right now while we sit in the carpool line outside her school. That’s when I remember her lunchbox and, glancing between us on the seat, I find it right there—but only after the momentary seizure of panic.
As I nudge my truck closer to the front door of her school, she turns to me. “Don’t forget tomorrow’s a teacher workday,” she reminds me with a well-earned look of suspicion.
“Already on the calendar.”
“So you called Ms. Inez?” She stares at me in wide-mouthed surprise at my efficiency.
I give her a smile. “Already on it, sweetie.”
She smiles too, holding her backpack close to her chest as we pull up in front of the school’s main doors. “Have a good day,” I tell her. “Be careful and be safe.”
I know the drill here: it’s my job as the parent to be as inconspicuous as possible, not to make a fuss. No big hugs or sloppy kisses—just her scrambling onto the curb, and me giving an aloof wave goodbye. I’m doing just that, but then she surprises me, leaning across the seat to give me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Bye, Daddy,” she says, then pops out of the truck without ever looking back. I stare after her, stunned, and wonder what’s gotten into her this morning: I haven’t told her the truth yet, even after talking to Laurel. Not sure when I’m going to tell her, but I figure I’ll know when the time’s just right.
Maybe I’m becoming Daddy in her eyes again—earning the name—now that I’m not such a shoddy, heartbroken mess. I’m even doing a pretty damn good job of concealing my pain over losing Rebecca, keeping it together much better than I did after Alex died.
Of course with Rebecca, it’s different than with Allie. I know in my heart that I’ll eventually figure a way to get her back.
***
The next morning, I’m up before Andrea, showered and dressed for work. It’s Friday and I’ve put a lot of thought into how I want things to go today. Her birthday’s next week, eight days away, and although she’s having a big bash at the ice-skating rink, what I’m doing today is my biggest gift for her.
Staring at myself in the mirror, I’m momentarily startled by the man who stares back at me, at his dark curling hair, neatly trimmed. At his clear eyes—unlined by dark circles of exhaustion for the first time in about a year. He even looks like he’s putting some healthy muscled weight back on, thanks to his time at the gym.
Touching my bare chest, I think of Rebecca—of her small warm hand stroking me in that very spot. Then, my hand wanders to my shoulder, and I remember her kissing my tattoo, her mouth against my sun-warmed skin, and I burn with the fleeting memory of it.
I’ve tried calling her a few times, but she never answers the phone or returns my messages. Still, I have an inexplicable peace when it comes to my relationship with her. Technically we’re broken up, but I still feel connected, like we’re only spending time apart right now.
Tugging a crisp white T-shirt over my head, I give myself a final once-over in the mirror. I’m a handsome guy still, at least on my good days—but lately I make sure I look my best every workday for one reason. Just in case I bump into her.
Walking into Andie’s room, I sit on the edge of her bed. “Hey, sweetpea,” I whisper in her ear. “Time to get up.” Her eyes slowly open, a sleepy, confused look on her face. “I have a birthday surprise for you,” I explain with a grin. “Time to get dressed.”