Almost
twelve years ago, he married the woman sitting at the picnic table
talking to one of his closest friends. Torchlight washed her in an
illusion of half-light, erasing lines and years from her face. Standing
on the deck and searching the yard for his daughters, it was almost
possible to believe that the past twelve years hadn’t happened
the way they did. Standing on the deck, searching for his daughters,
he couldn’t bring himself to regret the ways the years progressed,
but he could feel foolish for being dared by a fortune cookie.
He married her in the fall, when the leaves were just beginning to turn color and the sunlight had faded to a dull gold. When the divorce was finalized, they divided the wedding album into piles. Photographs she wanted, pictures he wanted. She pressed the pages to her chest, fingers splayed against their stiff backs and told him that she was keeping them for the girls. For Emily and Audrey, but mostly for Emily so she could remember her mother and father when they were happy. Audrey was only a baby; she would never remember the feel of the nervous tension that slicked through her mother’s muscles. She would never remember the way her father would retreat to the garage to avoid his wife. But Emily was different. She’d told him, as they were standing outside the house that was once theirs waiting for the movers, that Emily used to make up stories about their pictures. About mommy, the bride, and daddy, the prince.
Their street was quiet and the movers were late and he nearly told her to stay. But the vans turned onto the street and somehow it seemed so much simpler, so much neater, to let her go. And so, on that quiet summer day, when the sunlight was bright and the movers were quickly loading up the vans, he watched her put the girls in the car and drive away.
“Dad!” The shout was loud and excited and cut across the noise of the backyard. He scanned it quickly, looking for its source.
Emily wrapped her arms around his waist and hugged tightly, tilting her head back and resting her chin on his chest. “Hi, Dad.”
“Hi, Sweetie.” He hugged back, running a hand down her smooth brown hair. He tugged the end of her ponytail. “How’s my girl?”
“I missed you.” She stretched onto her toes and placed a loud smacking kiss on his cheek. “We’re all packed and everything. Just waiting for you.” She stepped back a little and grabbed his hand. “Mom’s here,” she added. “Come say hi.”
He let her pull him across the yard, knowing it would be easier to say hello and dreading having to make conversation. “Madam Prosecutor.” He leaned down and touched his lips to her cheek.
“Captain.” She smiled up at him and gestured to the bench. “Have a seat. I believe you know Sturgis.”
“I vaguely remember you. Did you go Annapolis?” He shook hands with him as he lowered himself to the bench. Across the yard, someone had started a volleyball game. Emily fidgeted by his side, before kissing him quickly and running over to the game. “Was it something I said?”
Mac nodded to the game. “Jimmy Roberts,” she said quietly. “I think Em has a crush.”
Sturgis grinned at the frown on Harm’s face. “So, how’s it going on the west coast?”
“Can’t complain.” He shrugged. “The weather is beautiful, work’s not bad either.”
Sturgis shifted in his seat. A blur of movement caught his eye and he stood suddenly. “Excuse me, would you?” He clapped a hand on Harm’s shoulder. “I think one of my kids is trying to kill the other one. Harm, buddy, I’ll talk to you later.”
Silence, heavy and itchy, settled over the table like a blanket. He eased his legs out in front of him and leaned back against the tabletop. “So,” he began.
“So,” she smiled. Tilting her head a little, she nodded to his left, warning him.
He heard the tell-tale jump of his youngest daughter’s pounce and braced himself for the impact, tightening his muscles, ready to catch her if she missed. “Daddy,” she yelled. She wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed.
“Hi, Sweetpea.” He patted her forearm. Adjusting his position, he pulled her forward and on to his lap. “How are you, baby?”
“Good. I lost a tooth.” She smiled and stuck her tongue through the space. “Sthee?”
“Wow, look at that,” he marveled. “When did that happen?” He spoke to his daughters every night and saw them every holiday. It was so easy to believe that their lives paused between each visit, that things remained static between each conversation. But lost teeth and disappearing freckles and other little things that weren’t there reminded him how much he didn’t see.
“Thith morning,” she said, tongue stuck firmly in the new gap. “I tried to call you, but Mommy thaid you were on the airplane.”
“I probably was,” he agreed, hooking his chin over the top of her head.
She tugged on a button his shirt, pulling the fabric away and patting it back down again. “Oh,” she paused. “Where are Rachel and Scott?” Placing her palms on his shoulders, she raised herself to peer around him, searching for the missing people.
He noticed Mac’s flinch, the way her fingers flexed around her soda can, at the sound of his wife’s and stepson’s names. She coughed lightly and glanced around the yard, looking anywhere but him. “San Diego,” he told his daughter. “Rachel thought it would fun for us fly back together.”
Audrey nodded and shifted, her knees digging into his legs. “Okay.” She kissed him on the cheek. “I’m going to go play with Emily, okay, Mommy?”
Mac smiled at her daughter and waved a hand. “Be my guest.” She watched as Audrey ran across the yard, shouting something unintelligible to Emily. “They’re so excited about their trip,” she murmured into her hand.
“I’ve missed them,” he said in a low voice.
Her gaze darted back to his face and her hand covered his. “Oh, honey,” she said, the word slipping out easily, comforting him the same way she’d soothe their daughters. “They’ve missed you, too. More than you realize.” Her fingers circled his and released, retreating to her side of the table.
She sighed a little. “I’ve heard some interesting rumors about you.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Such as?”
“JAG?”
He shrugged. “Nothing’s set in stone. I don’t even know if I’ll…” He broke off. “There’s a lot to consider.”
“The girls would be thrilled to have you back here,” she said.
“Where’s what his name?” he asked, changing the subject.
Her lips quirked up at the corners and she shook her head a little. “Bill does the same thing,” she said quietly.
Someone turned a radio on and oldies slid across the yard. The volleyball game had attracted a crowd. Laughter and shouts punctuated each lob and serve. “What’s that?” he asked.
“Pretends he forgets your name.” She brushed a strand of hair off her face and tugged on her skirt hem. “He didn’t come,” she added.
He tried not to feel relieved. He didn’t mind Bill; he just didn’t want to see the man who had replaced him. “Oh?”
“He went to the ceremony.” She exhaled slowly. “I don’t think he was really all that anxious to see you either.” She smiled apologetically to ease the sting of the words.
She didn’t need to, he understood. But the silence was back, awkward and difficult to escape. He stretched and got ready to stand up, to walk away, but her hand shot out and hovered above his, pausing before skin could touch skin. “I have to tell you something.” She inhaled slowly, staring at the space where his old wedding band once sat. It was gone now, replaced by a newer one. She twisted her own around her finger and pulled her other hand back slowly. She curled her fingers into a ball and pressed them against her lap. Her thumb brushed over her knuckles, once slowly and back again. “It’s nothing bad, but you should sit down.”
“What’s wrong?”
Her breath released in shaky sigh and she stared in front of her. “I just – I don’t want you to hear this from Emily and Audrey.” She bit her lip, then pushed the words out quickly. “I’m pregnant."