Page 25 of One More Heartbeat
I retrieve the toy and hold it out to Peony. Her bottom lip wobbles, tears filling her eyes, and a burst of cold panic shoots through my veins. I’ve never done well with tears—especially from someone so little.
I fail to retreat in enough time, and a high-pitched scream explodes from her lungs, the noise surprisingly loud from such a small body.
The sound triggers something inside me, and the panic coursing through me flares to full-out fear. Even while deployed in enemy territory, I’d never felt this helpless, this out of my league.
My gut tightens, and I reverse a step, giving her space. That seems like a sensible course of action.
Athena gently rocks Peony. “Hey, sweet girl. It’s okay. Your daddy isn’t gonna hurt you. He just wants to give you Poppy.”
I tentatively hold the panda out to her again.
Still wailing, Peony snatches it out of my hand and buries her face in Athena’s chest.
Helplessness and panic refuse to loosen their grip on me, their talons digging into my flesh. I need to get out of here. To regroup. To get my mind back in the game so I can finishUntold Mercy.
“I have to leave town for a few hours. I’ll swing by a mall in Eugene and pick up some things for the two of you while I’m there. Maybe some clothes. Diapers. Toddler food. Can you make a list for me?”
Athena stares at me for a beat, as if I’ve just told her to run down Main Street in her underwear. “It’s…it’s not like that. I…I just want to take care of Peony and earn a paycheck as her nanny.”
“Right. We established that yesterday with Kenda’s final letter. But you and Peony can’t keep wearing the same clothes. You lost everything in the apartment fire. The least I could do is help you out while you wait for the insurance money.”
Her eyes widen a minuscule amount but enough for me to notice.
“You and Kenda didn’t have renters insurance?”
“We, um, we never got around to it. We had…we had just moved in.”
Shit. They really don’t have anything. “Look, I get it you’re not thrilled asking for my help, but if Peony is my daughter, it’s my responsibility to make sure she’s clothed, fed, happy, and safe. So the least I can do in the meantime is also getyouany essentials you need while I’m at the mall.”
“Okay.” A smile eases across Athena’s face, and she suddenly appears so much younger than her late twenties that I’d originally assumed her to be. As if the weight of the world had been placed on her shoulders, and I just knocked some of it off.
I study the back of Peony’s head and her small body pressed againstAthena. “What are you planning to do if the paternity test proves I’m not her father?”
“Youareher father. Kenda didn’t lie. And I’m hoping once you see the truth for yourself, you can love Peony the way her mama did.”
I reach out to touch Peony’s shoulder, an act of reassurance, but catch myself. Father or not, I need to gain her trust before I can touch her without causing a meltdown. I drop my hand to my side. “The list?”
Athena finds a few sheets of blank paper in the desk drawer, writes a short list of items, and hands it to me. Peony’s wails have quieted to a hiccupping sob, and she watches me take the list from Athena, her eyes wide with unconcealed distrust.
I scan over the list. It’s all for Peony. Athena has written nothing for herself.
“Thanks. I’ll be back later this afternoon.” I can’t afford to take that much time off with my rapidly approaching deadline, but until I’ve talked through everything with my old friend, I won’t be able to focus on the story.
“Bye, Peony.” My voice is kept light and friendly, even though she makes me feel like I’m dangling from the edge of a cliff, my fingers barely gripping hold of the ledge.
She doesn’t respond, but she also doesn’t scream again, so I count that as a win. I leave the room and jog to where I parked the Explorer. I didn’t have sex with Athena, and no one witnessed me leave the hotel…but it still feels like I’m doing the walk of shame.
Shame for how I didn’t know about Peony before yesterday.
Shame for how I scared her. It hadn’t been my intent.
Shame for how I have no idea how to chase away her fears or how to calm her.
Shame for how she could be my daughter, but hell if I deserve her—something so sweet and innocent. Not after what happened…
I swallow the memory and box up the emotion long enough for the two-hour drive to Roseburg. Bruised clouds hang low in the sky with the promise of late morning rain. I didn’t bring a jacket. If I get soaked, it’ll be the least I deserve.
I pull up to the National Cemetery and park in a spot farthest fromthe gates. Then I walk to where Sergeant Joshua Clarke is buried. I keep a lookout for signs of his parents, siblings, or wife and children. The oldest child was three years old when Clarke died. Her brother was barely more than five months. Too young to remember their father, to remember how much he loved them.
