Page 38 of What I Should've Said

“You’re a total slow-mo today, Daddy,” she teases, her sweet, melodic voice filling my ears as I reach the golf cart I parked near the bottom of the porch.

“I’m a slow-mo?” I question on a chuckle.

“Yeah.” She giggles. “You’re takin’ forevah!”

With cautious movements, I set Summer down into the passenger’s seat of the golf cart, clicking her into the specially made apparatus I had installed a few years ago. She rolls her pretty little eyes at me when I double- and triple-check her safety straps, but it only makes me smile.

“You all set?” I ask, gently kissing her on the forehead.

“Actually, no,” she responds and dramatically blinks her eyelashes toward me. “You see anything we’re missing?” When I stare down at her, confused, she adds, “Perhaps a pair of the prettiest sunglasses you’ve ever seen in your whole life?”

Shit. Seeing as those are one of Summer’s favorite belongings—and something she rarely gets the chance to wear—this is a huge dad fail.

“Sit tight, honey,” I tell her and head back into the house on a jog.

It only takes a minute for me to locate them on the dresser in her room and another minute for me to get back to the golf cart and set them gently on her face.

“Looking good, Summblebee.”

Immediately, a little girl with her favorite pair of heart-shaped pink sunglasses looks up at me with a smile and a giggle. “Thanks, Daddy.”

The sunglasses are still too big for her face, but Summer doesn’t care. She’s been in love with these lenses since she saw them in a magazine and begged me to get her a pair. And since she’s had me wrapped around her finger since the moment I held her in my arms, I scoured the internet for hours until I found an exact replica.

“Now are we all set? Or do you want me to run back in the house—”

“No!” she exclaims. “Let’s go!”

Without delay and before receiving any more eye rolls from Sassafras, I round the golf cart to climb in on the other side. Once I hit the gas, my ears are blessed with the sounds of her excited giggles as we slowly take off.

There is nothing I love more than the sound of her laughter.

Away from the main house, I drive us toward the barn on the other side of the pasture. Summer’s face is the picture of peace and joy, everything I’d want it to be, but I’m terrified like never before.

Yesterday, we went to Burlington for her monthly scans. It’s an important part of her treatment and care, but it is undoubtedly the single most devastating day of the month for me. That’s why I always did the assistant interviews on Tuesdays—I knew we’d be gone, and I knew we’d need something to look forward to on the day after.

It’s been over a year since someone’s attempted to apply for the job, but the sentiments are the same. Summer and I need cheering up.

Two broken ribs, a fractured clavicle, and a severely deteriorating patella are just the tip of the iceberg in the latest complications of my miracle girl’s battle with Osteogenesis Imperfecta Type III. For weeks, she hasn’t even left the damned house. She’s also been tired and in pain, and I swear, it’s getting harder and harder for her to breathe. Just like the season, my sweet Summer is starting to dim.

The doctors have been preparing me for so long—reminding me the time would come—but even the thought of it really happening makes my heart feel like it’s ripping in two.

“You okay, Summblebee?” I ask, even though I already know the answer. For me, knowing how rough these rides are on her body, every time we venture on the golf cart, I’m tortured. For Summer, it’s her joy.

“This is…the best…ever!” she shouts into the wind, her only way of expressing herself since her limbs are all secured.

Despite my misery, I smile. “Guess what, baby girl? I have a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” Her eyes widen even further with joy. “What is it? Tell me. Tell me. Tell me!”

“Mr. Doug said someone came and painted the barn yesterday, so I thought we’d go see it.” Every week, my groundskeeper Doug checks the barn and lets me know if anyone has come. It’s been a long time since they actually have—so long, in fact, that Doug was nearly out of breath with excitement when he told me this morning.

“Yay!” she cheers. “No one has painted in forever!”

I don’t bother mentioning why they haven’t, or that it’s my fault since I only just bothered to repost the opening for the position on Earl’s board, when I know the other posting has been missing for a year. Instead, I focus on her and the way she lights up when she sees other people’s creations, no matter their skill level.

“I thought you might be excited.”

“Are you kidding? Paint days are my favorite! I wonder what colors they used! I hope it’s pink!”

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