Page 82 of Taken By Storm

God, was that why Keith had been so contrite just now? Because he knew big trouble was coming and he was trying to soften her up? Then she recalled how he’d started to say something but stopped. What if he’d tried to tell her about the theft and the pending arrest but chickened out?

Before she could reply, she heard heavy, slow footsteps on the stairs. She rose just as her father peered into the living room.

“Heard voices,” Daddy said softly, his attention directed to some point over her left shoulder.

There was a new puffiness around her father’s red-rimmed eyes that told her he’d been crying. That was when it occurred to her that she hadn’t seen Daddy yet today. Keith had taken breakfast and lunch up to his room, and unfortunately, dinner was going to be late as she’d forgotten to turn the Crock-Pot on prior to heading down to work the fruit stand.

“You remember Scottie, Daddy,” she said, rising and crossing the room to him. “Are you okay?” she asked in a quieter voice.

The faraway look in Daddy’s eyes was something she hadn’t seen recently, the vacantness fading a bit with each passing day. He’d been more like himself recently, joining them at the tablefor meals and, this past week, even spending a few hours each day in the fields with the Riley twins.

It had given her hope. Hope that was now dashed as she looked into his eyes.

“Daddy?”

He didn’t respond. Instead, his gaze was transfixed on the doorframe between the living room and the front foyer, studying the tick marks, initials, and dates covering it. She hated seeing him so desolate.

“Every year,” Daddy said, running his finger over the tick marks. “Your mother marked your height every year on your birthday.”

Kasi nodded, quickly swiping at her runny nose, her throat closing. “I remember.”

The marks started near the bottom, Mama’s tradition beginning the year Kasi was two and able to stand on her own, and it had continued right up until she’d graduated from high school. Since it had become apparent she’d hit her maximum height sophomore year, the last three tick marks drawn in the same spot, Mama had stopped measuring her.

A strong cramp twisted inside Kasi’s stomach when she realized no one had gotten Keith’s birthday measurement in March. She thought back on that day, recalling Keith had been in an exceptionally bad mood, which was saying something for him. He’d refused to eat dinner with her, hadn’t touched the birthday cake she’d baked him, and spent most of the day moping in his room, yelling at her to leave him alone whenever she tried to pull him out.

Had he been waiting for her to add a tick mark to the doorframe, to continue the tradition?

Kasi hated herself for forgetting.

“She always made birthdays special,” Daddy said, still talking, though Kasi got the sense he wasn’t necessarily sayingthese things to her. She wasn’t even sure if he’d noticed Scottie sitting there. No, it was as if he was lost in his own thoughts and speaking to himself.

“She did,” Kasi agreed, her voice thin as she swallowed back tears. She would shed those later, in the privacy of her bedroom.

There was a ghost of a smile on Daddy’s face. “I loved her birthday cakes. The whole house smelled so sweet.”

Kasi drew in a breath, her mind tricking her into believing she could actually smell one of those cakes baking right now. Powdered sugar, butter, vanilla. The greatest combined scent on the planet.

Daddy glanced around. “Everywhere I look…I see pieces of her. There’s so much of her in every corner of this house.”

It was true. Mama had loved their home, and she’d taken great pride in it. As Kasi followed her father’s gaze around the living room, she took in the throw blankets her mom had crocheted, hanging over the back of the couch. She let her eyes travel to the fireplace mantel, jam-packed with framed photos of them—picnics, special occasions, school photos. Her mother changed them frequently, saying she’d been so blessed with happy days and a wonderful family that it was impossible to limit each frame to just one photo. Kasi knew every frame on that mantel probably had at least three more pictures stuffed behind the one being displayed.

Then she studied the special cross-stitch her mother had made. The words, “Two lasting gifts we give our children are roots and wings,” colorfully emblazoned on the cloth.

“She would have been fifty-seven today,” Daddy whispered.

Kasi gasped, his words cutting through her like a thousand blades.

It was her mother’s birthday.

And she’d forgotten.

Kasi clenched her hands together, desperate to keep them from shaking. Bile clogged her throat and for a second, she feared she was going to be sick.

How could she have forgotten?

“Daddy,” she said, forcing the single word out. She needed to say something, but all she could think of was, “I’m sorry,” and she was too ashamed to admit she hadn’t remembered.

For the first time since entering the room, Daddy looked at her. “You’re so much like her, Kasi.”

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