Page 21 of All Along The Watchtower

My head jerked in that direction, and the world promptly tilted on its axis. The sudden movement sent a wave of dizziness through me, a reminder that I hadn’t slept since getting that first message about my daughter.

The girl standing there was unmistakably mine. It was like looking in a time machine. Those were my eyes staring back at me, wide and uncertain. My nose. My jaw. Even the way she held herself, shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to take up less space, mirrored my own teenage awkwardness, when I hadn’t quite learned how to navigate the world in a body with limbs that seemed to have grown a mile overnight. I remembered all too well what that felt like, the constant awareness of taking up too much space, of accidentally knocking things over in the school hallways.

Bree moved toward her with an easy grace, as if the kid wasn’t staring at me like she’d seen a ghost. “Morning. There’s breakfast, if you want.”

But Peyton’s attention was locked on me, her fingers twisting in the hem of her oversized sweater as Keeley pressed against her legs with a quiet whine. The silence stretched between us like a living thing, heavy with thirteen years of missed moments and conversations we should have had. My heart hammered thumped heavily in my chest, as if it wasn’t quite sure how to keep doing its job. I fought the urge to look away from that penetrating gaze that was so like my own.

“Peyton, this is Ford Donoghue,” Bree said softly. “Ford, this is Peyton.”

Every drop of moisture in my mouth had evaporated, and I swallowed as I stood, trying to get past the sensation of cotton to speak. “Hi.” The word came out rough, inadequate for the weight of this moment, for all the things I needed to say to this child I hadn’t known existed until yesterday.

Peyton still didn’t speak, her shoulders tense as she stared at me.

Bree’s gaze bounced between us, her expression a mix of concern and understanding. “Does anybody want coffee?”

“Yes.” We spoke at once, and I tried a hesitant smile because apparently we had at least one thing in common. Though, wasn’t thirteen young to be drinking coffee? How would I know? I had a decade of parenting experience to catch up on, and the weight of that knowledge pressed against my chest like a physical weight.

With one last look at me, Peyton trailed Bree into the kitchen. After a moment’s hesitation, I followed, giving both of them plenty of space, not wanting to spook my daughter any more than she already was. Bree pulled two mugs from the cabinet, then glanced at the kid. “How do you take yours?”

“Half milk, half coffee, two sugars.” Peyton’s voice was quiet but sure, like she’d ordered this drink plenty of times before.

With the ease of long practice, Bree filled the mugs from the carafe on the counter. She prepped Peyton’s mug as asked, and added a spoonful of sugar and a splash of milk to the other, her movements quick and efficient.

She still remembered how I took my coffee after all these years? It was a reminder of everything we’d once been to each other, everything I’d walked away from that summer so long ago. Or maybe it was simply one of those details that stuck in her mind because of all her years in the food service industry.

“Thanks.” But her eyes slid away from mine after she handed over the mug.

“Right. You two probably want some privacy to talk. I’ll just head on to the Brewhouse.” She paused to glance back at Peyton. “Unless you want me to stay? I will, if that will make you more comfortable.”

I appreciated her looking out for Peyton, even if it was against me. For all that we apparently shared blood, this child didn’t know me. I couldn’t even imagine what she’d been through just to get here. The thought of her traveling alone, seeking out a stranger she’d only known about from whatever her mother had told her, made my chest tight with a mix of guilt and concern.

“I’m okay.” Peyton managed a small smile. “Thanks.”

“Right. I’ll be at work. Just… lock up behind yourselves if you leave. Keeley will be okay inside.” Bree lingered a moment longer, her hand on the doorframe, before she moved on into the hall.

The front door clicked shut behind her, leaving a heavy silence in her wake. I gripped my coffee mug like a lifeline, watching Peyton trace circles on the kitchen table with her finger.

“Should we sit?” I gestured at the chairs, fighting the urge to pace the kitchen like a caged animal. My palms were sweating, and I wiped them against my jeans.

She nodded, sliding into the seat across from me. Keeley flopped at her feet with a sigh. The dog’s presence seemed to provide more comfort than I could manage right now.

My mind raced with a thousand questions, each one competing to burst out first, but I forced myself to start with the obvious. “Your mom is Casey Walsh.” The name felt strange on my tongue, dredging up hazy memories of a brief relationship that now held life-altering consequences.

“Was.” The word fell like a stone between us, and pain flashed across her face, making her look even younger and more vulnerable.

My chest tightened with a surge of grief—not just for Casey, but for this girl who’d lost her mother, for all the years I hadn’t known about her. “I’m so, so sorry. Can you tell me what happened?” I leaned forward, trying to project a calmness I didn’t feel.

“Brain aneurysm.” Her voice cracked, and she stared down at her hands. “She was fine one minute, then…” She shrugged, but I saw the tremor in her shoulders, the way she curled in on herself. “The doctors said it was quick. That she didn’t suffer.” Her words carried the hollow tone of someone who’d heard that reassurance too many times to find comfort in it anymore.

I wanted to reach across the table, to offer some comfort, but I didn’t know if I had that right yet. My fingers twitched against my mug, every new parental instinct screaming to do something, anything, to ease her pain. “And your grandparents?”

Her eyes narrowed, a flash of defiance burning through the grief. “Already looking for someone to pawn me off on?”

The defensive tone, the way her chin lifted—I’d seen that exact look on Bree’s face so many times as a kid. So determinednot to show weakness. Not to need anyone. It was like looking at a ghost from my past.

“No. Just trying to put together a picture here. Were you staying with them after your mom passed?” I kept my voice steady, gentle, trying to project the same calm Bree had shown earlier.

“My grandparents died before I was born.” She took a sip of coffee, avoiding my eyes. “It was always just Mom and me. Until it wasn’t.”

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