Page 12 of And Forever
“You were really good with her.”
“Thank you.” It feels awkward to accept the compliment, so I tell her how I actually feel. “I have no idea what I’m doing, Charlie.”
“Yeah.” She leans against the back of the couch and turns her face toward me. There’s a gentle, understanding smile on her lips. “That just means you’re doing things right.”
“I’m not sure that’s very comforting. I really want to be a good dad.” I look at my hands in my lap, as though I’m sharing some unspoken request to have all the answers delivered to me. The universe knows I didn’t have the best example to follow.From the corner of my eye, Charlotte’s hand sneaks across the couch and hovers above my wrist. She drops it gently, giving a kind and reassuring squeeze before withdrawing it. I follow its path and give her my attention.
“You will be,” she says earnestly before correcting herself. “Youare.”
Charlotte yawns again, hunkering into the corner of the couch. I can tell it’s a familiar routine for her, and I suddenly feel like I’m intruding. I’ve observed over the last week that Charlotte balances parenting and professional obligations with all the skill of a trapeze artist. There’s a rhythm and balance she executes to ensure she doesn’t let things slip. Depending on the task around the property, Winona goes with her. On the days that Charlotte’s responsibilities take her off the ranch, my daughter follows Bex around the edges of the main house, laughing and playing. My brain has throbbed just trying to figure it all out, so it isn’t a stretch to imagine that Charlotte likely survives in a near-constant state of exhaustion. Winona’s naps on the weekends might be the only downtime she has.
“I should probably let you get some rest.”
“No, no, no. I’m good. Stay, will you?” Charlotte’s question stops me awkwardly in the middle of standing. I look over my shoulder to gauge her sincerity. When I see her smile and crinkled eyebrows, I drop back into my seat. She gives a long sigh of relief, cheeks pinking. “I spend a lot of time alone or surrounded by all things ‘kid.’ That includes my parents.” She gives a humorless laugh that dies off before she lets her voice soften. “I’m really glad you’re here. For Win.”
She adds the last sentence almost as an afterthought. Or maybe I just hope it is. It’s hard not to want her appreciation for my presence to extend beyond the parental. But that’s not a conversation for right now.
“She’s… she’s amazing, Charlie,” I sidestep, mirroring Charlotte’s relaxed pose. “I don’t have a lot for comparison, but everything about her feels like lightning in a bottle.”
“You mean the endless energy? The running commentary?” Charlotte laughs genuinely this time. It’sexactlyhow I remember the sound. It wraps around me, and I can’t help but hope maybe this means we’ll be okay. Things between us might never be what they were, but we can dothis.
We can talk about our child. We can raise her together. We can love each other through her.
“Has she always been like this? I’m trying to picture her as a baby,” I venture. It feels a little dangerous to voice, but I’m desperate to know. There’s an ache in my chest, but it doesn’t linger. I don’t think it will ever get easier to only have second-hand knowledge of that time in their lives, but it doesn’t stop my craving for it.
Charlotte stands, crossing to a small bookshelf at the other side of the living room. She returns to the couch with a photo album, sits closer, and hands me the book. I cradle it reverently, opening the cover to the first page.
A picture of Winona, asleep and swaddled in a soft blue blanket, with a pale pink beanie on her head, looks back at me. The annotation underneath gives her birthdate and other facts. My fingers trace the outline of her face, dwarfed under my touch. She’s beautiful and tiny and magical. I don’t know how else to describe it. I turn to Charlotte.
“Took her sweet time before she finally wanted to come out.” Charlotte’s hand follows the same path mine forged on the photograph. There’s a humorous reproach in her words, but it doesn’t match the adoration on her face as she continues, “Twenty-nine hours of labor.”
She pauses when she looks up at me. I give her a little nod, encouraging her to carry on. I can’t help the sigh when she slides a little closer and turns to the next page, picking up the story. I hang on her every word.
By the time we hear Winona’s voice through the monitor, the Winona in the photos is six months old.
8
CHARLOTTE
EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — LATE MAY
“Roo,” I coo from the entrance of the stable. My beautiful boy pokes his head through the half door of his stall almost immediately. He gives me a responding call, and the impatience of his hooves makes me laugh. My horse continues to shuffle and chuff behind me as I turn to the wall where his reins, headpiece, and bit are located.
It’s early morning, the sun barely cresting the horizon. The ranch feels sleepy and small at this time of the day, and I feel like a thief stealing a part of it for myself.
Ada came over an hour ago, yawning and clutching her travel cup of coffee. She waved me off when I told her I didn’t need this, then pushed me out the door when I tried taking my boots off.
“It’s your birthday, and you wouldn’t let me get you a present,” she announced as she blocked the back door. “You’re going to go for a nice long ride, and I’m going to let my goddaughter watch far too many episodes ofBlueywhile eating her weight in pancakes. Get out of here before you wake her up and ruin our plans.”
My best friend promptly thrust a jean jacket at me andclosed the door. When the lock clicked, I turned around and headed to the barn, shaking off the tendrils of guilt that reached for me.
I don’t like leaving Winona in the care of others—even my family. From the moment I learned of her existence, the responsibility for every aspect of her well-being flared to life deep in my soul, branding itself in an inexplicable and unbreakable way. It takes a lot of mental gymnastics to remind myself that I’m only my best version forherwhen I’m the best version ofme. And that means taking time to do things I love.
My birthday is a perfect excuse to embrace the few hours Ada gifted me to take Rooney for a long ride through the ranch. I don’t get to ride nearly as much as I used to, but I still make the time a few days a week. Dad shows up on the front porch, asking Winona to help him look for the “green-toed gopher” that terrorizes the garden. Or Mom hauls her to town for an ice cream. When no one is available to play with her, sometimes I’ll bring Winona to the ring and let her ride small laps with me.
It’s a bittersweet experience on those occasions. I usually have to leave Rooney in the barn and take Vesper, my red roan is too competitive to loop lazily for a toddler’s amusement. But the majestic onyx beauty responds to Winona’s every command, seemingly content to follow a tiny human’s lead around the dirt ring and walk at a glacial pace to keep Win comfortable in her toddler saddle.
Today, however, I’ve planned a long trail ride through the big meadow and up to the lake at the back of the property. In another month or two, the same ride would result in a swim at the hidden gem, but there’s too much chill to make it entirely comfortable right now. It doesn’t dampen my excitement, though; I need the physical and mental space to breathe, and Rooney needs the opportunity to run.
