Page 52 of Free to Live
And for the first time since Mary died, I’m grateful to be doing so with the woman dancing at my side, not wishing it was a woman I’ll always love and miss.
Maybe I’m beginning to understand that in fear of losing again, I haven’t been living.
Maybe Holly can help me with that.
Just as friends though.
24
Holly
Afew days later, I’m editing the pictures from the race so I can get them up on our website when my cell phone rings on the desk next to me. I reach for it blindly with one hand while I pick up my coffee with the other. “This is Holly.” Quickly taking a swig of the coffee that Cassidy grabbed on a run to The Coffee Shop earlier, I give the caller a chance to identify themselves. There’s no response. “Hello? Is anyone there?”
“Holly,” his deep voice comes through the line. I plunk my cup down. Ignoring the increase of my speeding heart rate, I reply.
“Hello, Joe. What a lovely surprise.”
* * *
“I’m glad you called,”I toss over my shoulder at him as he, Grace, and I make our way to the gazebo in Collyer’s public gardens a few days later. “Your timing—photographically speaking—couldn’t have been more perfect.”
The spring blossoms are going to make a gorgeous backdrop. When I told Joe over the phone to dress both himself and Grace in plain long-sleeved white tees, there was a long pause before he doubtfully asked, “Are you sure?”
I replied, “Trust me,” before I hung up on him.
My instincts were spot-on. The white of their tees contrasted with their dark hair so richly and would make them stand out from the riot of colors of nature’s backdrop. Seeing the bush I want to start with up ahead, I resolutely make my way there and then wait for Grace’s reaction.
I don’t have long.
Grace is delighted by the heart-shaped pink flowers. Her lips form a perfect O before her fingers are tangled in them, pulling them toward her face. Joe is immediately behind her. “Grace, be careful that doesn’t hit you in the face, sweetheart.” His hands come up to rest on hers. Even on his knees, his face doesn’t obscure hers.
Neither do the branches of the bleeding heart that’s come into bloom so beautifully. I start snapping away. I get pictures of Grace picking up fallen leaves and draping them precisely over Joe’s dark hair before he shakes them off with a growl and starts tickling his little girl. She squeals and darts away; Joe chases after her.
I follow them both.
For about an hour, the two of them play amid the marigolds and violas, and dart in and around the rhododendron bushes. But finally when Grace starts to wind down, plopping in a field of daffodils, I get what I think may be the best shots of the day: Grace is leaning back trustingly against Joe’s chest, his arms wrapped around her. Slowly, her eyes start drooping before she’s entirely out.
“And I think we’re done, Dad,” I whisper as I get closer to Joe. Swinging off my backpack, I detach the lens and store it before putting the camera in its specially designed pocket. Unlatching the top, I pull out a thin blanket and hand it to him. Joe looks at me quizzically. I shrug. “Sometimes when I’m filming kids, they go down for the count because they’re so wired. I’ve learned it pays to be prepared.”
Carefully shifting Grace so he can wrap her up, he stands with her in his arms. I’d be lying if I didn’t admit to my mouth watering a little when I saw the muscles in his arms flex as he lifted Grace high against his chest. “Thanks.”
“Hmm?” I make a show of buckling my backpack again while I mentally slap myself for drooling over a family friend like he’s nothing but man meat.For God’s sake, Holly, snap out of it. This is a man who’s still grieving the love of his life, I berate myself.
“For the blanket. Even though today was fairly warm, she gets cool when she conks out like this.” Joe leans over and kisses his daughter’s forehead. My heart melts. There’s no other way to describe it.
Adorable.
We make our way back to our vehicles. I quickly slide my backpack into my car while Joe navigates getting his daughter strapped into her car seat. Remembering the last time I offered to help with Grace, I hold my tongue. So, I’m surprised when he calls out, “Hey, Holly?”
“Yes?”
“Do you mind if I keep the blanket and get it back to you?”Of course, you ninny. He doesn’t need your help.
“Not at all. Just drop it by the office one day this week. I may even have proofs for you to check out by then.” Striding over to my driver’s-side door, I open it when he calls out, “Or maybe I could give it back to you during dinner one night? Maybe a movie?”
I freeze. There isn’t a single hair on my body that’s moving.
Leaving the door behind the driver’s seat of his Explorer open, he approaches me slowly. “That night, at Tide Pool…” He hesitates.
