island and locks eyes with me. His shoulders slump as he removes the earphones from his ears.
He tucks them into his pocket and heads for the refrigerator. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s upstairs. She’s not feeling well.”
“Migraine?” he asks, bringing the jug of milk to the island.
“No, just tired I think.”
He raises his eyebrows as he opens a drawer and grabs a bowl. He knows why she’s not feeling well, but no one’s talked about Abby for months. As if mentioning her name will break the spell, the illusion that we ever had a chance of having her in our lives.
He opens another drawer to get a spoon, then he settles down at the breakfast bar with his cereal. “So… we’re not going to the beach house today?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see how she’s feeling later. Where’s your brother? Is he still asleep?”
He shrugs as he shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He swallows his food then responds. “He went to bed late last night. I heard him playing that new game at two in the morning.”
I shake my head at this news. Eleven-year-old Ryder is the quietest of the three kids, and he’s very good at testing our limits. But he knows that all it takes to get back in my good graces is to ask me to teach him to play something on the guitar.
Fourteen-year-old Chris Jr. isn’t much like me at all. He likes music, but has no interest in learning to play. He plays three different sports, but he doesn’t know what career he wants to pursue when he’s older. The only thing I think we have in common is our sense of loyalty and our love of fast cars.
Sixteen-year-old Jimi is still my princess. She’s always been a daddy’s girl and was pretty shy until she started middle school. She began taking acting classes and came out of her shell. I’ve had lovesick boys knocking on my door for five years now.
I’m about to head upstairs to wake Ryder, when the sound of gravel crunching gets my attention. I turn around to look out the kitchen window and see a red convertible Plymouth Barracuda pulling up behind Jimi’s Mercedes. It’s a sweet car, but it’s the person sitting in the front passenger seat who has my full attention.
I’m frozen as I watch her eyes scanning her surroundings, taking in the house. She hangs her head and the guy in the driver’s seat watches her, waiting. Then she looks up again and my heart stops. She sees me in the window.
The seconds tick by in slow motion as I wait for Abby to move, to smile, to cry, but she looks frozen, too.
“Dad, what are you looking at?” Junior asks.
“Not now,” I reply, refusing to divert my attention.
“What is it?” he says, and I can hear his chair scrape across the tile floor followed by the sound of his footsteps.
He’s next to me by the sink now and I glance at him to make sure he’s seeing what I’m seeing. “Do you see her?” His gaze is pointed in the direction of the red car, but he seems a bit stunned so I ask again. “Junior, do you see her? Please tell me I’m not seeing things.”
He nods as a smile curls the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s her.”
I turn back to the driveway and the car is empty. Junior races toward the front door and I chase after him. It’s selfish, I know, but I want to be the one to answer the door for her. I want to be the one to welcome her inside.
“Don’t touch that,” I say as Junior reaches for the door handle.
“Why?”
“Because I want to do it.”
He steps aside and nods. “Hurry up.”
My hand reaches forward, but I take my time pulling the door open. When I finally lay eyes on her, I’m overwhelmed.
Here she is, standing on my doorstep. Looking like an angel. The angel I’ve been praying for.
Her blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail and her small hands are clasped in front of her. She’s not wearing any makeup. She’s naturally beautiful, like her mother.
Claire. I have to go get her. But first, I have to hear my angel’s
He tucks them into his pocket and heads for the refrigerator. “Where’s Mom?”
“She’s upstairs. She’s not feeling well.”
“Migraine?” he asks, bringing the jug of milk to the island.
“No, just tired I think.”
He raises his eyebrows as he opens a drawer and grabs a bowl. He knows why she’s not feeling well, but no one’s talked about Abby for months. As if mentioning her name will break the spell, the illusion that we ever had a chance of having her in our lives.
He opens another drawer to get a spoon, then he settles down at the breakfast bar with his cereal. “So… we’re not going to the beach house today?”
“I don’t know. I’ll see how she’s feeling later. Where’s your brother? Is he still asleep?”
He shrugs as he shoves a spoonful of cereal into his mouth. He swallows his food then responds. “He went to bed late last night. I heard him playing that new game at two in the morning.”
I shake my head at this news. Eleven-year-old Ryder is the quietest of the three kids, and he’s very good at testing our limits. But he knows that all it takes to get back in my good graces is to ask me to teach him to play something on the guitar.
Fourteen-year-old Chris Jr. isn’t much like me at all. He likes music, but has no interest in learning to play. He plays three different sports, but he doesn’t know what career he wants to pursue when he’s older. The only thing I think we have in common is our sense of loyalty and our love of fast cars.
Sixteen-year-old Jimi is still my princess. She’s always been a daddy’s girl and was pretty shy until she started middle school. She began taking acting classes and came out of her shell. I’ve had lovesick boys knocking on my door for five years now.
I’m about to head upstairs to wake Ryder, when the sound of gravel crunching gets my attention. I turn around to look out the kitchen window and see a red convertible Plymouth Barracuda pulling up behind Jimi’s Mercedes. It’s a sweet car, but it’s the person sitting in the front passenger seat who has my full attention.
I’m frozen as I watch her eyes scanning her surroundings, taking in the house. She hangs her head and the guy in the driver’s seat watches her, waiting. Then she looks up again and my heart stops. She sees me in the window.
The seconds tick by in slow motion as I wait for Abby to move, to smile, to cry, but she looks frozen, too.
“Dad, what are you looking at?” Junior asks.
“Not now,” I reply, refusing to divert my attention.
“What is it?” he says, and I can hear his chair scrape across the tile floor followed by the sound of his footsteps.
He’s next to me by the sink now and I glance at him to make sure he’s seeing what I’m seeing. “Do you see her?” His gaze is pointed in the direction of the red car, but he seems a bit stunned so I ask again. “Junior, do you see her? Please tell me I’m not seeing things.”
He nods as a smile curls the corners of his mouth. “Yeah, it’s her.”
I turn back to the driveway and the car is empty. Junior races toward the front door and I chase after him. It’s selfish, I know, but I want to be the one to answer the door for her. I want to be the one to welcome her inside.
“Don’t touch that,” I say as Junior reaches for the door handle.
“Why?”
“Because I want to do it.”
He steps aside and nods. “Hurry up.”
My hand reaches forward, but I take my time pulling the door open. When I finally lay eyes on her, I’m overwhelmed.
Here she is, standing on my doorstep. Looking like an angel. The angel I’ve been praying for.
Her blonde hair is pulled up in a ponytail and her small hands are clasped in front of her. She’s not wearing any makeup. She’s naturally beautiful, like her mother.
Claire. I have to go get her. But first, I have to hear my angel’s
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