Page 100 of Everything We Give

“I think that’s a fine idea.”

Caty grins and together we color. Aimee returns with Caty’s chocolate milk. Caty pushes a blank sheet toward Aimee. “Color with us, Mommy.”

“In a moment, sweetie, after I talk with your daddy.”

Aimee sits beside me, her eyes imploring. “You scared me, Ian. You’ve been holed up in your office for two days and when I woke up this morning, you were gone. You left so suddenly. What’s going on?”

She didn’t straighten her hair this morning, probably didn’t have time. I touch a curl. It feels like silk. “I’m trying to fix it, what I did wrong.”

“Which is what, exactly?”

I look out the window at my mom. She’s helping a customer. “She cut her hair. It’s short.”

“She’s beautiful.”

I nod. “She smiles a lot. I don’t remember her smiling much.”

Aimee rests her hand on my thigh. I feel the heat of her through my jeans and turn back to her. “I didn’t listen to my dad when I should have. For once, I’m going to do as he asked. I’ll manage her finances. I’ll keep her books; I’ll pay her damn bills. And I won’t contact her. I’ll stay away like he asked and she wants. But first ... first I needed to see her. All these years I thought I needed to apologize to her. I kept taking those damn pictures. But really, I just want to know she’s OK. I want to know that she’s happy.”

“But you won’t go talk with her?”

I shake my head. “She doesn’t want that.”

Aimee is quiet. She watches me for a long moment. Eventually, I turn away, drink my cold coffee and twiddle the crayon, spinning it on the table. Still, Aimee watches me. Then suddenly, she stands and removes her sweater. It’s missing a button and there’s a tear near one of the holes.

“I’ll be right back.”

Caty looks up, surprised. “Where’re you going, Mommy?”

Aimee glances from Caty to me and back. She reaches for Caty’s hand. “Come with me. We have a very important errand.”

My heart rockets into my throat. “What’re you doing, Aimee?”

She rests a hand on my shoulder. “Trust me,” she says, then leaves the coffee shop.

I swing around in my chair and watch her and Caty wait for the light at the corner. It changes, and they cross.

“What are you doing?” I murmur.

What are you doing? What are you doing?

My palms sweat. I rake my fingers through my hair.

Aimee pulls open the glass door to the dry cleaners, stands aside for Caty to enter. The door swings shut behind them. Through the window, I see them approach my mom. Envy ricochets through me, heating my arms and legs. I want to be the one to talk with her. Does she sound the same? Do her hands still flutter when she talks? Does the left side of her lip still pull higher than the right when she smiles?

But I can’t go to her, not if I want to respect her wishes, to honor my dying father’s request.

I see my mom lean down to talk with Caty and I want to weep.She’s your granddaughter. She looks like you. Do you see it, the honey color of her hair, the dimple in her chin?

Aimee points at a blanket folded on a shelf and my mom shows it to her. They talk for a bit until my mom folds the blanket and puts it back. Aimee then shows my mom her sweater. She points at the missing button and the small tear where the wool has unraveled. My mom nods and smiles.

I want to shout,I’m over here, Mom. I’m OK. I did all right.

She takes Aimee’s sweater and gives her a receipt. She waves good-bye and I shake my head. Not yet, not today. I’m not ready to say good-bye.

Aimee and Caty leave the dry cleaners and my mom sits back in her chair. I want to ask her what she thought of my wife. Did she enjoy meeting my daughter? Could she love my family?

It pains me I’ll never know the answers.

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