Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(36)

“No,” I repeat, my tone firm.

“Then what is your idea of family?”

His back is still to me. Maybe that’s why I feel free to say what’s going through my head. “Family is a Thomas Kincaid picture.”

The stiffening of his shoulders is my only indication he’s heard me. After a moment, he asks, “What does a painting of a snowy cottage have to do with family?”

“It’s not the snowy cottage.” I already regret saying it. “It’s what’s inside.”

“And what’s that?”

I pick at the red nail polish on my pinkie. I wish this conversation weren’t happening.

The scene is there, so realistic in my mind. I can see the fire blazing in the fireplace, feel the creamy pages of a book in my hands, smell the dinner in the oven. A meal prepared by my mother. The wood in the fireplace has been chopped by my father. All of this exists inside the snowy cabin.

“Come on, Aubs.” My dad turns to face me, his voice gruff, but I know he’s not mad. His tone comes from a place of uncertainty.

Gaze on my fingernail and the spot left bare by my peeling, I recite the scene I’ve envisioned. My eyes never leave him. His expression never changes.

He only moves when it’s time to grab plates. “I don't think what you're describing ever really existed. I think marketing companies created images of happy little families to drive you mad.”

“It exists and I missed it,” I mutter. Instantly I feel bad. I don't like telling my dad how I feel about it. It's not his fault she left.

“Sorry, Dad.”

“Don't be sorry to me. I'm not the one who you're denying a family.”

I blow out a short breath. “What's that supposed to mean?”

“Just what it sounds like. Claire's real father is in the picture now. He may not be family to you, but he is to her.”

My dad doles out scrambled eggs onto plates and calls Claire. She skips in, smiling proudly. My eyes widen when I see why.

“You put on your own pants?” I go to her with my arms open. She nods and steps in. Her hair smells like the all-over baby wash I still use on her.

I pull back to look at her. “It's OK to ask for help while your arm is in the cast, Claire. Mommy and Grandpa don't mind helping you dress.”

“I like to do it myself.” She climbs onto her chair and picks up her fork. Her pajama shirt is still on. She definitely cannot manage that on her own.

“I understand.” I smile at her and eat my breakfast. Visions of Claire finagling her pants float through my head. While we're eating she tells my dad about every animal she plans to see today.

“Haven't you got that place memorized by now?” My dad laughs.

“Yes,” Claire nods solemnly. “Are you coming too?”

“Not today, Claire Bear. Grandpa has a job to do.” He gets up from the table and takes our empty plates with him to the sink. “Someone has to keep the lights on.” I roll my eyes affectionately. It's his favorite joke. It's probably the favorite joke of every journeyman at every utility company that ever existed.

Leaving the dishes in the sink, he comes to the table and plants a kiss on each of our heads. “Have fun today, girls. Claire, tell your dad I said hello.” He gives me a meaningful look over the top of her head and walks out.

Claire finishes her eggs, and with a tug of my hand says, “Let's go, Mommy!”

“We need to change your shirt first.” I pinch one of the smiling moons on her nightshirt. She giggles and runs ahead to her room.

“Hurry! Daddy might already be there.”

I freeze, palming the wall to steady myself. Daddy?

“Coming, baby,” I choke out.

Daddy.

Daddy.

Daddy.



The twenty-minute drive to the zoo has done nothing to untangle the knots in my stomach. Isaac has texted to let me know he's already there, waiting out front for us.

Claire and I walk from the car, and Isaac meets us halfway.

“I feel like an insider, getting into the zoo an hour before it opens to the public.” He slaps a high-five with Claire.

She skips ahead to the bridge, where she can watch the ducks and turtles in the lake below.

“How's Claire's arm?” Isaac asks.

“Aren't you supposed to wait until her next check-up to ask me that question?” I tease. Or, at least I think I'm teasing. Isaac doesn't laugh.

He puts his hands in his jeans pockets. He clears his throat, and I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I need to talk to you about something.”

“OK.” I draw out the word, but we can't keep talking, because we've reached the man waiting to take our tickets. I pull my membership card and ID from my wallet. He looks them over and hands me back my things. We step through the turnstile, and Claire runs ahead, snatching a map from the little brown stand. Isaac watches her, an amused smile on his face.

Claire surges forward, certain of where she's going. The zoo is nearly empty, so I'm comfortable with the lead she has on us. I can see her, and I know she'll stop at the giraffes. I can see one now, it's graceful neck bowing to pull food from the tall feeder.

“So that thing I wanted to talk to you about…” Isaac starts.