More Than I Could (89)

Mom shakes her head. “I like my phone just fine.”

“Get in,” I tell my kid as I climb into the driver’s side. “I’ll bring her back.”

Mom nods and goes back to cleaning out her car.

Kennedy gets buckled in, and I hit the gas. We roar down the gravel road toward our house.

“So,” she says as soon as the engine dies down. “We need to talk.”

I snort. “Oh really?”

“Yes. Really.”

I make a face and look at her. “I thought we got on the same page last night.”

“We did. About us. But we didn’t talk about Megan.”

And here we go.

My palms sweat as I regrip the steering wheel and ensure I don’t swerve off the road.

I knew this conversation was coming. I’m not sure how it’s going to go. Does Kennedy know she’s leaving? Does she want her to? Does she care?

Where are you going with this, kiddo?

“What are you doing, Dad?” she asks like she’s my mother, and she’s highly disappointed.

“Um, driving you home.”

“Dad …”

“What, Ken? This is none of your business.”

“That’s cute.”

I laugh. “Excuse me?”

She scoots around as much as she can to face me from the waist up. She gives me a look of total seriousness. There’s not a crack in this girl’s veneer.

I blow out a breath.

“Why did you let Megan stay with us?” she asks.

“Because I didn’t want to leave you alone.”

She rolls her eyes.

“What?” I ask. “That’s why. I was afraid you’d run off and get married while I was gone.” I run a hand over my chin. “Instead, you got suspended.”

She smacks my arm. “Stop it.”

“Fine.”

“So why did you ask her to stay with us? Because you said no at first.”

God, help me.

“Dad, I hate to tell you, but you’re in love with Megan.”

I swerve around a pothole a little too sharply. It takes me a second to regain complete control.

“Try not to kill us,” she says.

“Ken …” I wipe a hand down my face. “I’m not in love with Megan.”

“Uh, yes, you are.”

I groan.

“Well, if you’re not, you should be,” she says as we pull into our driveway. “She’s still here after your antics last night. That says something.”

“My antics?”

“I listened to your conversation, and you weren’t very nice to her.”

I put the truck in park. “You shouldn’t be eavesdropping.”

“Yeah, well, you shouldn’t talk so loud. I had to pee. I can’t help it that your voices travel through the radiator, and our walls are made of paper.”

My eyes close, and I try to remain calm.

“Megan didn’t have to fight for me at school, but she did. You should’ve seen her. She put Mrs. Falconbury and the principal in their place, and it felt so good. She sees me and understands me. It’s the best thing.”

“I’m glad you like her. But that doesn’t mean I’m in love with her.”

“You are in love with her.”

“Stop saying that.”

She grins. “Do you know what I think? I think you’re afraid to love her, Dad. I think you believe that if you trust her to come into our lives forever, something bad will happen, and you’ll feel responsible for it.”

Whoa. My head spins as I try to accept that Kennedy just said this.

“Megan taught me to stand up for myself. To not be the victim of someone’s moods. My side of the story is just as important as anyone’s.”

Did she? My heart softens as I think of Megan sitting down with Kennedy and discussing her feelings in depth. And for giving her wise advice … when I wasn’t there. For going to bat for my child.

“My side of the story is that Megan feels a whole lot like a part of our family,” she says. “When she’s around, you smile and joke around.”

I do?

“You sneak off with her and go down to the lake.”

I narrow my eyes. She shrugs, and that’s relieving. She doesn’t seem to know what we were doing at the lake.

“You don’t look so stressed all the time,” she says. “You aren’t so stiff-looking. I don’t worry you’ll have a heart attack and die at work.”

I sit back in my seat. “You worry about that?”

“Yeah,” she says like I’m ridiculous for thinking she doesn’t. “And Megan looks at you like you’re the most handsome man in the world. And she cares about me. Me. I can talk to her about stuff I can’t talk to you about.”

Like what?

Maybe I don’t want to know.

“I like it just being us,” she says. “But I think we can add Megan too. We should add Megan too. She needs us as much as we need her.”

I rest my head against the leather and squeeze my eyes shut.

I can’t discuss this with my daughter—even if she does make good points. Even if she says what I’m feeling.