Page 58 of The Daddy She Needed

“Yeah, that’s not going to come off easily. You wait here. I’ll go find something to lever it off.”

“Okay. But hurry.” The urgency she felt was real.Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.The word turned itself over and over in her head, getting louder and louder. She wanted to ask the voice what the rush was, but the truth was she was as eager as the invisible force beside her to know what was in there.

Hurry. Hurry. Hurry.

The words got faster inside her brain, blending together, turning into different sounds.Anniversary. Anniversary.

It didn’t take long for Jason to find a screwdriver. He came back holding several, of varying sizes, and he squatted down in front of her. She kept a hold of it as he carefully worked the end of the screwdriver up and under the lid, the corded muscles in his forearm flexing as he wiggled the screwdriver, lifting it up and down, trying to gently lever open the lid. The box made some weird cracking sounds, but initially, the lid didn’t budge.

“Keep trying,” she begged, trying to keep the impatience out of her voice.

Jason only nodded in reply.

After a few more seconds of lifting, pushing, and twisting the screwdriver, the metal lid popped up just enough for her to get her fingernail under it and lift it up. Bits of dirt stuck to the edge, caked on thickly. It looked like it had been there for years. Some of it fell off into the box when she opened it but she caught it in her hand, just in time.

Her heart pounded, her breath caught in her throat. The knots in her stomach twisted themselves even tighter. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly. She was too scared to see.

“Look!” Jason’s voice sounded excited.

It can’t be anything bad, then,she assured herself. But still, she couldn’t bring herself to open her eyes. At the same time, she couldn’tnot.Because she had to know. Wasn’t that why she’d come up here in the first place? Why she’d dragged Jason away from his home, his business, his horses, his Olympic training and brought him all the way up here to this little stone hut literally in the middle of nowhere? Wasn’t it to figure out the mystery of her dreams? This was her chance!

Taking a deep breath, Catherine opened her eyes and peered in.

“Oh, my god,” she breathed, awed.

Sitting on the top of the box, resting in the middle of the top cover of a black leather-bound book, were two gold rings. Wedding rings. Simple. Plain. But matching. The smaller one lay inside the larger one, like a nest. Being protected.

Electricity sparked off her fingers when she picked them up between forefinger and thumb, laying them both gently down in the palm of her hand. They were clean. Shiny. Untarnished. Unaffected by time.

There was something on the inside of the ring; maybe an imperfection. Maybe an engraving. An initial, perhaps? She brought it closer, squinting to make out the scratches. She moved it around, trying to catch the light to make the markings clearer. This was even smaller than the writing on the back of the ancient ladies’ watch she’d found. What had happened to that? She wondered if Carly had figured out who it belonged to. Maybe it was related to the contents of the box, somehow?

Love forever, B.

B. B? B! The same B as the watch? It had to be.

Returning the smaller ring to her palm, she picked up the larger one, holding it up, tilting it to catch the light, squinting. But before she could even see the letters, she knew what they would say.

Love forever, C.

Just as she’d expected. C. From the watch.

Beside her, Jason didn’t say a word. He just watched. A strong, silent presence, reassuring her that she wasn’t alone, she wasn’t crazy. This was real, and he was here too, sharing it with her. Supporting her.

She didn’t want to put the rings on the ground, so she held them out to him. “Can you hold these? I want to see what else is in here.”

Without a word, Jason took the rings, slipping them both into his pocket. Her hands felt empty without them. Lighter, almost.

She took out the leather-bound book. The cover was plain, without writing or engravings of any kind. It looked tatty and old, well worn, but whether it was from use or time, she couldn’t tell. What was it? She wanted to open it, read it, but that felt like an invasion of privacy.This isn’t yours,her inner voice scolded.You shouldn’t have it.While her inner mind may have had a point, and to the casual observer it would be true, Catherine knew it was wrong. Shewasmeant to have this. Why else had she been dreaming of this hut for all these years? Why else had she been drawn here? What had that dream last night meant, if it wasn’t leading her to this book, to the other contents of the box, if she wasn’t meant to find out the story? So she swallowed her guilt and fingered the fabric the book lay on.

It was knitted, whatever it was. In light grey wool that had perhaps once been white. Delicate, perfect lace stitches. Similar to the baby blanket her nana had knitted when she’d been born, but older, somehow. More old-fashioned. Rustic, but elegant.

She lifted the book off the item, weighing it in her hand. It was heavy. The pages looked even tattier than the cover did, but she didn’t open it. Not yet. She wanted to see what else was in here, first. So she held it out to Jason.

“Hold. Please. Don’t open it.” She sounded bossy and she knew it, but Jason only smiled. He understood. That was one of the things she loved about him: he understood. Always. She recalled him listing her faults, the things she hated most about herself, and telling her they were things he loved about her. He’d done that right after he’d spanked her. If what he’d done could even be called a spanking. In her eyes, it was much more than that. It had been far too intimate, far too important, to be called merely a spanking. She didn’t know what it should be called, exactly, but she knew it needed more than a single word that denoted only punishment, not connection. The very fact that he’d chosen those words—her faults—to love about her, proved her point: he understood. No matter what.

He didn’t open it.

She lifted out the knitted garment, unfolding it over her lap. She didn’t know exactly what it was she’d expected it to be, but she certainly hadn’t been expecting a baby blanket. There wasn’t a label telling her what it was, but it was obvious. Holding it by the top corners, she shook it out gently, letting the folds and crinkles fall open in front of her. Crochet lace edges. Squares in alternating patterns went four squares deep all around the outside. In the middle was a teddy bear, a block, and a ball. A classic nursery scene. Who had knitted it? And when? Was it C’s handiwork? From decades ago?

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