Page 48 of Hot Shot

But he shakes his head again, setting the photo back on her nightstand. My knees nearly buckle when he meets my eyes and says, “I’ve only ever loved you.”

The doorbell rings, breaking the spell, and I imagine him with a soul patchanda fedora while he chases a ping pong ball down a hill, throwing a pair of flippers on his feet for good measure. But then he takes my hand, squeezes it, looks down at me with fear and hope and love and longing and…well, to put itsimply, I’m fucked. With that harrowing realization, we head to the living room to welcome his daughter into our home.

I nearly snort at the thought of it. The only thing we share is the bathroom sink, a dresser, and a checkered past. Everything else is his.

The irony of my circumstance is not lost on me.

Paul and Patty are the same exhausted sort of sad they’ve been every time I’ve seen them, though tonight they seem a little relieved, a little lighter. Maybe a little conflicted too. The ritual of the funeral must have given them comfort, hopefully the beginning of closure. Cricket looks around, not leaving the entryway as we all say hello. Her eyes scan the corner of the house where her bedroom is.

Wilder smiles down at her. “Hey, Cricket.”

She’s gripping the ladybug pillow, smiling back without showing her teeth, her eyes sharp, excited. Her backpack sticks out a solid foot from her small frame. “Hey, Wilder. Hi, Cass.”

“Hey, kiddo,” I say, reaching to take her rolling suitcase from Paul. “How about we go put your stuff in your room?—”

“Okay!” She’s already off and running, her backpack bouncing heavily and braids whipping behind her.

The adults chuckle, but my heart goes all fuzzy and squishy at the sight of her as we follow. Her backpack hits the floor with a thump, and she doesn’t stop running until she launches herself into bed, giggling.

“Nana look!” she says through laughter. “There’s lights!” With that, she springs up and out of bed again, her stray hair staticky and sticking up as she rushes to the bookshelf. Her face breaks open in reverence, her mouth hanging open. “Oh my gosh, there’s so many books.”

I roll her suitcase to the dresser and leave it there, joining her at the bookshelf. “Your nana said you used to have the Magic Treehouse series, so I got them for you.Amelia Bedeliausedto be my favorite, plusFreckle Juice,Tales of a Fourth Grade Nothing, that kind of thing. Have you read Junie B. Jones?”

She shakes her head, eyes darting across the book spines. Her lips are pinned between her teeth, and I realize there are tears in her eyes. A short stack of Magic Treehouse books is clutched to her chest.

As I take the first book off the shelf to show her, I keep talking. “Well, she’s a funny, silly little girl who’s going to school for the first time and has all kinds of adventures, even though she’s scared.”

Cricket takes the book from my hand and adds it to the stack in her arms as I continue.

“I also picked upA Wrinkle In Timeand the rest of the series. It’s a little advanced, but I was wondering if Wilder and I could read it to you at bedtime when you’re here?”

She nods, cheeks flushed, lips still between her teeth. She swallows. Her eyes haven’t left the bookshelf.

“Just let me know if there’s anything I forgot and I’ll get it for you. Okay?”

Cricket loosens her arms so she can look at the books again. “Thank you,” she says quietly.

I glance back at Wilder and her grandparents. Patty is trying to smile, but she looks on the verge of tears. Wilder sees it too.

“Well, why don’t y’all unpack a bit,” he says. “We’ll head in to check on this roast chicken, if you can help me figure it out, Patty. I always overcook it.”

Patty manages a laugh and pats Wilder’s arm. “Sure. Let’s go have a look.”

During their exchange, Cricket set the books back on their shelves and manages to compose herself. I watch her fiddle with a rainbow snow globe before turning the knob on the bottom. “Somewhere Over The Rainbow” tinkles from the little device.

She seems so much older than her six short years. After a moment, she sets it back on the shelf and steps back to look around the room again.

“Like it?” I ask.

When she smiles for real, my relief is bone deep. “It looks like Pinterest.”

I laugh. “And how do you know what Pinterest is?”

She shrugs and says matter-of-factly, “I have a iPad, you know.”

“Of course you do. I’ve been so worried I picked out the wrong things. We’ve been so excited to have you come stay, but we were nervous too.”

Her big, amber eyes find mine. “You were?”

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