The Memory of You (Sanctuary Sound #1)(44)
“Not interested.” He tilted his head, staring at her. “I’ve got to make sure my daughter is okay before I think about dating.”
Fair warning.
She leaned forward, wishing she could squeeze his hands or give him a hug. She’d never shared the warm and easy bond with her own dad that she’d witnessed between Ryan and Emmy. “You’re a good dad. Even better than I imagined you would be.”
“I hope Emmy thinks so.” His doubtful smile surprised her. The old Ryan Quinn hadn’t been insecure about anything. Nor should he have been.
“She does.”
Ryan scratched his neck. “She misses her mom.”
“Of course. But when she’s older, she’ll realize how lucky she is to have you.”
“I’m not so sure. She’s off with Val and John at a beach house with a private beach, where she’ll be showered with gifts and babied by her mom. Emmy likes pretty things, just like Val, and she likes to be the center of attention.” He slowly tore the cocktail napkin into small pieces. “From now on, Val will be the fun parent who gives her cool stuff, while I’ll be the disciplinarian with expectations and ‘boring’ values. Maybe my daughter will grow to resent me, just like Val—and you—did.”
He immediately dropped his gaze and stared into his cup, his neck flushing. His statement didn’t require a response, because she knew there was no way he wanted to have that discussion here, let alone have it with her.
She pushed her empty cup away. “Let’s take a walk or something. I can’t hear myself think in here.”
Ryan gulped his beer and stood. “Fine by me.”
Ryan followed Steffi out to the sidewalk. By this hour, the sleepy town had mostly rolled up for the night. Dim lighting from the few streetlights turned the plate glass windows of closed-up storefronts into mirrors. The empty streets transformed the public green into an intimate space, with leaves overhead whistling in the breeze.
His arm tingled with the memory of being slung over her shoulder hundreds of times while walking these streets. She strolled beside him, hands clasped behind her back, long legs keeping pace with his. Familiar, yet different. Those differences weren’t the only reason why they couldn’t pick up where they’d left off, but they also meant he shouldn’t assume a reunion would be doomed to failure again.
“Want to grab a quick bite?” he finally asked.
“Actually, do you think we could sneak around the outside of the Weber home without waking Mrs. Weber?” She kept her eyes on the sidewalk ahead. “I’d love to take a closer look.”
His foolish heart sank a little. Here he’d been thinking about them—a bad habit that had started up again the second he saw her on the porch. Meanwhile, she’d been fixated on her work.
“In the dark?” He stopped walking.
“Our eyes will adjust.” She grabbed his forearm but then immediately let go. “I won’t be able to sleep if I don’t check it out.”
He pointed toward his car. “I guess we’ll go, then.”
They drove the two miles to Echo Hill Lane in silence. Like every other interaction with her, being locked in the car was both familiar yet uncharted. Learning the whole truth about the past had unlocked a part of his heart, releasing his resentment and making him slightly dizzy. It had also led to sharing his fears about Val and John, although he regretted spouting that revelation. Now he had so many thoughts swirling through his mind he didn’t know what to say.
He pulled into his parents’ driveway and killed the engine. Mrs. Weber lived across the street and six houses down at the end of the cul-de-sac. The narrow lane would be littered with acorns and other small hazards that could turn Steffi’s ankle in those shoes. “Should I get a flashlight?”
“No. I don’t want to scare her. If she sees a big flashlight, she might think a burglar is looking for a way in.”
“She probably sleeps like the dead. Isn’t she close to ninety and near deaf?”
“The flashlight on my phone should be enough.” Steffi climbed out of his car and trotted ahead, peering back at him over her shoulder with a wide, childish grin. “I’m so excited.”
When Ryan’s mom had shared Gretta’s news over breakfast, his mood had dimmed as if a cloud had passed over the sun. He couldn’t comprehend the sharp sense of grief, too caught up in remembering the way they used to dream—picking wedding songs, choosing baby names, and all the other stuff that flows along the raging river of young love.
They’d imagined Saturdays on the boat followed by romantic evenings on that porch. Kids in the little yard with its tire swing nestled deep in the backyard by the path to the beach. Never did they stop and think about work or money or health issues, much less about the possibility that they’d break up. Those innocent dreams were the best kind, and maybe the death of them, no matter how silly, had needed to be mourned.
“Oh, look!” She brought her hands to her chest before whispering, “Just like I remember.”
He raised a skeptical brow. It looked much worse than he remembered. The full moon shone enough light to reveal that a new paint job wouldn’t be enough to update the exterior. Patches of wood rot scarred the clapboard siding. The wood-shingle roof curled in all the wrong places. The roofline itself sagged around the dormer like wet cardboard. And his mother would be appalled at the tragic state of the flower beds and the boxwood and mountain laurel hedges.