Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(73)

My dad aims his gaze at me. “What’s going on, Aubs?” A little grin plays at the corners of his mouth. I’m not sure what he finds amusing, and now there’s guilt in my stomach because I’m about to change that.

I open my mouth, but he speaks first. “Before you say anything, I want you to know you have my support. I really like Isaac, and I’m impressed with how he came into a tough situation and made the best out of it. He’s a family man. And he loves the people I happen to love the most too.”

I’m not sure what to say now. I came here to tell him I’ve found my mother, but he’s gone and said all that stuff about Isaac.

Of everything my dad just said, my mind is focused on one particular word.

Love.

My dad thinks Isaac loves us. I know Isaac loves Claire, but me? No way. If my dad only knew about our hours. He may not be so pleased with our arrangement anymore.

I set all his words aside. I came here for a reason, and if I wait any longer I’ll chicken out. Because that's exactly what I want to do. I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend I never found her. I liked it better before, when I didn’t know where she was. There was certainty in that. The mess was tidy. Now the mess is everywhere.

“Dad, listen.” I shake my head. “This isn’t about Isaac, though it’s good to know you approve of him.” I stall for another second, pulling all my hair into my hand and laying it over my left shoulder. “I don’t know how to say this, so—”

“Just say it.” His voice is gruff. Not because he’s mad at me. Because he doesn’t do well in the moments right after he realizes he’s going to receive news he may not like.

“I found my mom last weekend. She’s in Sugar Creek.” Best to get it over quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.

He’s still, the only movement is his head moving back, like he’s trying to get away from my words. His expression is nearly unchanged. I wish I were in his head, reading his thoughts and feeling his emotions. This would be a great time for him to suddenly do something totally opposite of my stoic father.

I wait. He clears his throat. Crosses an ankle over the opposite knee so his legs form a box. Then he uncrosses it. Takes off his baseball cap, smooths down his unkempt, graying hair, and slides the hat back on.

“Sugar Creek?” Ironic disbelief fills his words. “I did some work there last year. Not right there in the town, but nearby. Trouble with a power line.”

He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. I imagine he's thinking of how close he was to her, and he never even knew it.

“What did she say?” he asks.

“I didn’t speak to her. I just saw her. She owns the bakery where I went to pick up breakfast.”

His head jerks back again. “Blueberry muffins.” His eyes are wide. I wonder what he’s remembering.

I laugh without feeling happy. “Yep. Other stuff too, but those are her specialty. That’s what I was told, anyway.”

“I’ll be damned. All this time. Sugar Creek.”

“I know.”

He stands. “I need a beer. You?”

“Please.”

When he’s in the house, I take three deep breaths. It’s over. He knows.

“What do you want to do about all this?” he asks when he comes back out.

I take the beer he’s holding out. The neck of the bottle is cold, the beer inside even colder. I take a long drink and set it between my legs.

“I used to imagine finding her one day. Walking somewhere, seeing her out. But she would see me too, and she’d run to me.” My words stop. My imagination takes over.

She’s in my face, her expression frantic. She’s touching my cheeks like she can’t believe I’m there. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Tears roll down her cheeks. “I had to go away, but I’m back now. Please let me be a mother to you again. I’ve never stopped loving you.”

I haven't had that daydream in years. Not since Claire was born.

“And that’s not what happened?” My dad asks. “She didn’t see you?”

I shake my head. “I’m not certain what she saw. She may have glanced my direction, but she didn’t recognize me. I ran out of her bakery, so maybe she saw my back.” Very different from my fantasy.

“I’d like to pay her a visit,” he says in a low growl.

“No.” I put my hand up, as though he’s going to get up right this second and jump in his truck. “Please, don’t. Not for me, anyway. I can’t stop you if there are some things you’d like to say to her, but don’t do it for me.” If his words bring her back… I don’t think I can handle her here, in Phoenix, or in my life at all. Resolute peace is still peace, and that’s what I’ve made with her. On my own. Because I’ve had to. I don’t need that rocked any more than it has been.

“Are you OK?” I ask, taking another sip.

“Sure.” He answers right away.

I study my dad. He’s looking out at the yard. His exterior is tough and strong. Dry like the Arizona soil. But water flows deep down. He’s feeling things his face won’t show.

We sit quietly, until the sun is almost gone from the sky and the song of the cicadas is more like an orchestra.