Our Finest Hour (The Time #1)(85)

We’ve all been working together to take care of Claire so Aubrey can be with John. At first she balked, unsure of what to do with a team of people ready to help her, but then she accepted the help without too much of a fight. This is a win for me, because just two weeks ago she would’ve insisted she was fine doing it all on her own.

On Monday night when she came home from visiting John, she told me about her mom.

Aubrey’s face doesn’t show much emotion, but if I keep my focus on her eyes, I can see it all, swimming just beneath the surface.

I saw her confusion and her pain.

I saw her choice and what it cost her to make it.

I know she still wonders, even if she doesn’t admit it, about the reasons why.

And I know she feels alone.

That’s why I’m taking her there today. Because she’s not alone, and she needs to know that.

Aubrey needs to know my ugly truth. She deserves to know why I was really at the bar the night we met.

And now, with my mom’s blessing, Aubrey’s going to understand how we’re more alike than she could’ve ever imagined.

Claire and I are waiting for her to come home. Last night Aubrey cooked a week of meals and this morning she took them over to John’s house.

I’ve been keeping Claire busy all morning. I need her to fall asleep in the car this afternoon. I’ve just set her up with a smock and laid out her watercolor paint set when Aubrey opens the front door.

“Mommy!” Claire runs for her like it has been days and not hours since she last saw her.

Aubrey opens her arms. She doesn’t check to see if Claire has paint on her. She takes her and holds her tight. She buries her face in her hair.

“I love you so much, Claire.”

“Mommy, why are you crying?”

Aubrey pulls back but keeps her arms on Claire’s shoulders. She smiles through her tears, brushes Claire’s hair from her face. “You’re very special. That’s all. And sometimes knowing that overwhelms me.”

She stands and walks to me. Physically, Aubrey’s the same, but emotionally she’s different. Maybe it’s her energy. She’s looser, calmer. Open. Less like steel and more like silk.

She puts her hand on my chest. “That goes for you, too. You’re special. And it overwhelms me.”

I know how hard this is for her. How every word of love fights its way out of her. Declarations come as naturally to her as allowing herself to feel at all. That’s what makes every word she utters meaningful.

It makes what I’m taking her to see today even more important.

Lifting her hand from my chest, I kiss her bent fingers. “I need to show you something.”

She gives me a confused smile. “OK.”

I turn to Claire. “Can we save the painting for another day?”

She nods, taking off her smock and dropping it where she stands. She runs over to the bookshelf I set up for her and starts looking through her books.

“Do I have time to change first?” Aubrey looks down at herself. She’s wearing cotton shorts and a T-shirt, both of which could pass as pajamas, but I happen to know she didn’t sleep in that last night. She wore nothing, and she slept in my arms.

We smile together, remembering the way our bodies melted into one another. Aubrey is everything I need. Everything I want.

When she leaves the room to change, I whip up a quick sandwich for Claire. I’ve recently learned that a full belly plus lots of morning activities equals a nap.

My efforts are rewarded when we’re in the car less than ten minutes and Claire passes out with an open book on her lap.

Aubrey reaches back, taking the book and placing it beside her car seat.

“Was that your plan? For her to fall asleep?”

I laugh. “I ran her ragged this morning. Park, foot races, jumping races. I need her asleep for this. She doesn't need to know what I’m going to tell you. Not yet, anyway.”

Aubrey sobers when I say that. She straightens in her seat. “Should I be worried?”

“Not at all. It has nothing to do with you. Or me, really.” I frown. “Well, it does have to do with me, but…” I’m really butchering this. “Everything is fine, OK? I promise.”

My words do nothing to relieve the worried look on her face.

She’s quiet.

“Sixty?”

She looks at me. Her hair falls in her face, and she brushes it back with her fingers.

“We’re good.” My assurance’s probably won’t help, but at least I can try.

She nods, but stays quiet until we arrive.

The parking lot is empty, like I expected it would be. It’s Sunday, and this is an office building. I park in the middle of the lot, between two rows.

“Isaac, why are we here?” She looks around, first out my window, then hers, and finally in front.

The steering wheel supports my forearm as I gaze out the windshield. The building in front of us is impressive. Twisted steel beams, big glass windows, deep green ivy growing up one side. I once read it was ahead of its time. As was its creator.

I get out of the car, leaving it running for Claire, and walk around to the front. Aubrey follows and stands beside me. I point up at the building. “My dad built this. He was the architect.”

Aubrey makes a sound, a disbelieving snort. “Your dad is a scientist.”