Page 157 of The Single Dad

“Really big,” I answer. “Really, really big.”

He’s quiet for another moment. Then he says, “You better make up big too, then.”

This time, the smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth is genuine. “Oh, yeah?”

Archie nods solemnly. “I hurt Jazz’s feelings at pre-K once, and even though I said sorry, she was still sad. The teacher told me I needed to do something so that she knew I was sorry. So I drawed a picture of Swimmy. It took a really long time, but it helped her stop feeling bad.”

“That’s a nice thing to do,” I say, a wave of pride rising in me.

Pretty good kid I’ve got here, I think, wishing Rebecca could hear her son.

“You have to do something nice if you accidentally do something mean,” Archie explains, puffing his chest out. “If you were really mean, you gotta be really nice.”

Really nice.

The beginnings of an idea spark in my head.

I’m not going to get Riley back just by drawing her a picture. But there are definitely other ways, bigger gestures than simply calling and leaving a voicemail. Archie’s right. Sometimes, words aren’t enough.

I wrap him up in a hug, holding him close. “Thanks, bud,” I say. “You helped me out a bunch.”

When I release Archie, he yawns, leaning his head against my arm.

“Okay,” he says sleepily. “Good.”

I reach for my laptop, sitting on the coffee table, and pull it toward me. As I begin typing out an email, Archie drifts off to sleep, his head growing heavy against me.

Chapter 50

Riley

Over the next few weeks, I start to settle back into my mind-numbing routine at the restaurant. I haven’t heard from any more jobs, so it’s looking like I’m gonna end up back in the same place I was before: working my ass off, waiting tables, and coming home frustrated.

Cole still calls sometimes. Every few days, my phone will buzz, and his name will flash on the screen. I still haven’t answered any of his calls or listened to his voicemails, but I don’t block his number, either, despite Olivia’s suggestion.

On a Saturday morning six weeks after I left the Sullivans’ house, I decide to get back into the swing of volunteering. I’d taken a break from the community center after moving back into my apartment; I needed the time to get back on my feet and re-orient myself.

But now, everything seems to be settling back to normal. It’s high time I got back to the kids. They’re probably missing me, and I know I miss them.

I take the subway over to the center. There’s standing room only in the car, and I cling desperately to a metal pole to keep myself upright when the train comes to a sudden stop. It’s loud, and the station smells foul. I find myself longing for a ride in one of Cole’s clean, black cars.

I step through the glass front doors of the center, heading over to the receptionist’s desk to check in for my class.

As I approach, the young woman behind the desk—another volunteer, just like me—gives me a wide-eyed look.

“Yeah, I’m back,” I say cheerfully, assuming she’s just surprised to see me after such a long time. But the receptionist shakes her head, glancing off to the side.

I follow her gaze, and my heart skips a beat.

It’s Cole. Standing in the lobby, twenty feet away from me, across from Lenny, the guy in charge of the center, a short, graying man in his fifties. Cole’s hands are in his pockets, his expression as unreadable as ever as he nods along with whatever Lenny is saying.

Cole turns and sees me, and suddenly, that razor-sharp focus is back in his eyes. I approach him slowly, almost afraid of what he’s going to say when he sees me.

Lenny follows Cole’s gaze and smiles at me. “Hi, Riley.”

All Cole says is, “Riley,” but just hearing my name on his tongue is enough to have my heart clenching hard in my chest.

I swallow, then stammer, “Wh-what are you doing here? I thought…”

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