Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(43)

My eyes stay fixed on the screen. I take a deep breath and respond, then lay back on my pillow. I’ve seen Isaac’s mother once, in that picture in his apartment, but I can’t recall any details. I looked at the whole of the photo, the pretty picture it created, and not the parts. What will she think of me? I’m some girl who appeared out of nowhere, claiming her son is my daughter’s father.

Panic makes my stomach turn, and I do everything I can to squash it. Isaac’s mom can’t be awful, right? She raised Isaac, and he’s open and loving. That had to come from somewhere.

I knew this was coming, but the inevitability doesn’t ease my trepidation. Claire has a whole family she doesn't know. A dad who wants her to live with him. And then there's me, her mother, the person who's supposed to manage it all as if she knows what's best. As if I know how this will all go. How it will all end.

I don’t.

I’m Alice, falling down the hole. What will I find at the bottom?



Saturday afternoon. One p.m. That’s the time set by Isaac’s mother. Claire, my dad, and I went on a long walk after breakfast this morning. It helped me clear my head. It allowed Claire the chance to get out some energy. I’m not sure what it did for my dad, but he’s the one who suggested it.

Claire walked between us, complaining that we couldn’t swing her the way we usually do. “I hate this arm.” She lifted her crooked arm, swathed in blue. At her appointment this week she’d picked a new color for her second cast.

“Hey,” I say sharply, using my mom voice. “We don’t hate.”

“Fine. I really dislike it.”

My dad smiles at me over Claire’s head. He came home from hunting late last Tuesday night and got an earful from me about checking in. “Who needs a wife with a daughter like you?” he’d griped. Then he stomped around the kitchen while he made himself dinner. I went to bed.

By the next morning we were fine. We hardly ever bicker. We’re a team. Two halves of the same whole. Besides, I think our real problem is that we’re afraid to live apart from each other.

Pretty soon, that’s just what we’re going to do. Because this thing with Isaac is bigger than me. Bigger than my fear.

I’m going to tell Isaac today, when I see him at his parents’ house.

“I’m so excited, Mommy.” Claire’s bouncing in her car seat as we wave goodbye to my dad. He turns for the house, and I drive away, wishing he’d said yes when I invited him to come with us.

“Me too, baby.” I hope she doesn't pick up on the hesitation in my voice. The nerves in my stomach have grown exponentially as the day has progressed. I’ll consider myself lucky if I make it through the drive without hurling into the passenger seat.

“Harlow has a daddy, too. And a grandma and grandpa. Just like me.”

I catch her face in the rearview, see the happy smile and bobbing head. What would it be like to live life like Claire? With a heart open wide?

Claire chatters to herself and to me. She informs me of the shape of the stop sign, makes sure I know a bird flew past our car at a stoplight, and softly sings a song about a chicken who couldn’t lay an egg.

I follow the directions spouting from my phone until we pull up to the address Isaac sent me last night.

“Are we here?” Claire asks, kicking the back of my seat in an excited rhythm.

I peer out the windshield. The house is older, ranch style, with a big front yard. Mature citrus trees line the west perimeter of the lawn, creating a wall of deep green leaves. There isn’t any fruit on them now, but I bet in winter they are bursting with vibrant color.

Isaac steps from the house and makes his way down the front walk. He’s waving. Seeing him kicks me into action.

“Hi,” I call, getting out of the car. I saw him last night for Claire’s tuck in, just like every night, but he looked tired. I almost suggested he sleep on the sofa, but the words stuck in my throat. Despite what I’m going to tell him today, having him sleep at my dad’s felt too close.

He jogs the last few feet to us, heading for Claire’s door. “How are my girls doing?” His face is lit up.

My insides quiver. From happiness at being called his girl? Or just more nerves?

“We’re good.” I force a smile.

Isaac pulls Claire from the car and up into his arms, careful to put her on his left side, so her cast faces out. Claire wraps her good arm around his neck.

He knocks on her cast with two knuckles. “I’m glad you went with blue.”

She beams at him. I stand there awkwardly, not sure what to do or say. Then I remember the gift I picked up for his mother and go to the passenger side, where I grab it from the floor.

“Ready?” Isaac asks.

I nod.

“My mom is probably hovering by the window watching us right now. She’s been driving me nuts since I got here.” He rolls his eyes and shakes his head, and I feel that familiar stab in my chest. What would it be like to have a mom to roll my eyes at?

He leads me to the house, Claire still in his arms, and the door opens before we get to it. A woman with shoulder-length dark hair stands on the threshold, a smile as big and ready as Isaac’s on her face. He must get it from her.

Her shiny eyes are on Claire, fingertips pressed to her lips.

“Mom, this is Claire.” Isaac steps to the right, so I’m fully in view. “And Aubrey. This is my mother, Lucia.”