Page 83 of Touch the Sky
My throat gets too thick to go on. I don’t know how to tell her what I heard, or what it meant to me.
She helped my kid in a way I’ve never been able to help her myself. She helped Shel without even being asked. She didn’t have to be told what to say or what to do. She just knew.
Not even Baron justknows. He’s Shel’s father, and I’ve been telling him what to do for her whole life.
“I’m just really grateful,” I finish. “If it’s too much?—”
“It’s not too much.”
Jacinthe’s eyes narrow, her voice taking on a hard edge, like she’s angry I even suggested it.
“Shel is a great kid,” she says, softening now. “Who wouldn’t want to hang out with her?”
The lump in my throat is swelling again. I can’t help thinking about Claire, my only ex since Baron, and all the things she saidabout Shel: how she was around too much, how I clearly didn’t have room in my life for anyone else.
Even when I was at my wit’s end trying to juggle everything, she made me feel like it wasn’t enough.
She made me feel like Shel was a problem.
I’m not dating Jacinthe, of course, but the fact that another adult can so easily accept Shel into her life—not just with grudging acceptance, but with genuine enthusiasm and care—makes me feel like my whole world is shifting on its axis.
“Still,” I say, staring into those brown eyes that stopped me in my tracks the very first time I stepped into this house, “just…thank you.”
The sound of the front door creaking open makes us both jolt.
“Are you coming?” Shel asks, poking her head out and giving us an impatient wave.
I leave the two of them to work on the guitar upstairs and head for the kitchen instead. I still need to put a snack tray together for Shel to take on her play date with Ali. I put all my focus into arranging blocks of cheese and packs of Goldfish crackers.
Once I’ve wrapped up the tray and changed out of my dirt-streaked work clothes, it’s nearly time for us to leave. I give Shel a five-minute warning and bring the food out to the truck.
Jacinthe comes to see her off on the porch. She holds her hand out for a fist bump, and Shel clunks their knuckles together before skipping over to hop into the backseat.
“How did the guitar lesson go?” I ask as I’m pulling out of the driveway.
“It was fun!” she chirps. “We didn’t have time for much, but Jacinthe says I’m better at strumming than I think and that I just need to play with more confidence.”
She bobs her head in a determined nod, like she’s drumming up that confidence as we speak.
“That’s great,” I say. “Seems like you two had a good morning together?”
She nods again. “We did. Jacinthe is really cool. I’m so glad we met her.”
I keep my gaze fixed on the highway as my pulse surges like someone’s squeezed a fist around my heart.
“Me too.”
Shel doesn’t mention the conversation about her father, and she looks so pumped up from the guitar lesson that I decide to save it for another time.
It’s a twenty minute drive out to where Ali’s family lives. I’ve already spoken to his mother on the phone a couple times, but I still insist on going to the door with Shel despite her telling me how uncool that is.
It’s a cute little house surrounded by forest. Both of Ali’s parents are part of the La Cloche artists’ community. His mother is a photographer, and his father does some kind of metal working.
Shel fidgets with the zipper of her coat while we stand waiting on the doorstep. Her mouth is a tight line. The high of the guitar lesson seems to have worn off enough for her to remember how nervous she’s been about this play date.
“You’re gonna do great, baby,” I tell her, ruffling her hair. “You two are going to have so much fun.”
Ali’s mother, Jamilla, swings the door open a second later.
