Page 34 of Free to Live
“Oops, I didn’t mean to wake her,” Holly whispers. “Do you need help getting her out to your car?”
“No. Don’t touch her.” My voice comes out harsh. I can tell Holly is taken aback by my words because she retreats into herself, pulling away from Grace and me, the gentle smile dropping from her face.
Damn.
“I didn’t mean… I’m sorry. I guess I’ll let you get yourself sorted. I’m glad we were able to get things ironed out for the 5K.” Her voice has gone from animated to careful.
“Holly…” I try to say something, anything, to explain that I’m a fucked-up mess. That it isn’t her, it’s me, but I’m not given a chance.
Holly moves to the large oak door and holds it open. “There’s no need to explain. I overstepped. You have a little girl to get home.” Her voice is perfectly polite, but I’m missing the warmth that was there just a few minutes ago.
The hope it gave me.
Shit.
“Thank you for tonight,” I can’t say more than that. I can’t try to break through, to explain there’s just something I don’t understand going on. I’m holding my baby in my arms. Now’s not the time. Besides, Holly’s face is a polite mask that almost makes me wish she had her camera in front of it so I didn’t need to see what I did to it because I don’t understand my own reactions around her.
“I’ll let everyone know. Y’all get home safely.” She waits until I cross the threshold before she closes the door gently behind us.
And when she does, the weight of every burden from the day I just had—starting with the accident to the swirling emotions being at the Freeman farm—returns to rest on my chest. Brushing my lips against Grace’s cheek, I walk over to my Explorer. After strapping her in, I back out and make my way onto Pine Lane.
Feeling more miserable than when I walked in a few hours earlier.
* * *
After gettingGrace settled for the night, I grab a beer from the fridge and walk up to the mantle over the fireplace where a picture of Grace in Mary’s arms sits in a place of honor. Carefully pulling it down, I stare at her delicate features, so like our daughter’s.
And all I feel is an overwhelming sadness.
“You didn’t have a chance to live, sweetheart,” I murmur to the glass. Lifting the cold bottle to the side of my face, I press it tightly against my skin to help rein in the ache. “You had so much you wanted for us—for Grace. How am I supposed to do it alone?”
Maybe you’re not supposed to.The thought whips through my head. “No. I can’t. I’m not ready,” I growl softly.
A knock at the front door interrupts my thoughts. Carefully placing Mary’s picture back on the mantle, I stride over before whomever it is can wake Grace up. Throwing open the door, I come face-to-face with Eden and Seth. Eden’s holding a casserole dish, and the look on her face is sad.
It’s just terribly sad.
“Joe, we heard what happened today. I…” Her voice warbles. “I know Mary used to make you this when you were feeling low after something at work. Here.” She holds out the casserole dish. And as awful as it sounds, the smell of stuffed peppers which used to be comforting is almost noxious to me.
Jesus, what the hell am I supposed to do? With a deep sigh, I step back out of the entryway and allow them to come in.
“Is Grace awake?” Eden asks hopefully.
“She’s been down almost an hour, Eden. I hope we can keep our discussion quiet so we don’t wake her,” I tell Grace’s maternal grandparents firmly.
“Oh.” The heartbreak registers on both of their faces, making me feel more like a schmuck for keeping my daughter from them, but I can’t let my baby be tainted by the brush of grief. She has to be able to live the life she’s meant to with no burdens other than the ones she chooses to take on.
Not even my own.
“Come on back into the kitchen. I’ll just put this up.” Without waiting for them to follow, I make my way back to the back of the house.
“You’re not hungry,” Eden surmises as I slide the dish she made directly into the refrigerator. She and Seth take a seat at my kitchen table uninvited. “Was it that bad?”
It was, but I’m not about to share that with her. “Grace and I already ate earlier.” There’s an awkward silence.
“We drove by earlier and didn’t see your car here,” Seth tells me. “We assumed you were working late.”
“We had other plans for the evening.”
