Page 25 of Love Wells Kept

“What do you mean?”

“Nothin’.”

I watch her press too hard on the paper, outlining the horse’s legs again. She’s drawing over what’s already there, and the paper’s dangerously close to tearing.

I reach over and still her hand, careful not to smudge her work. “Dess, you know none of this—what happened to your dad—that wasn’t because of anything you did or didn’t do.”

She doesn’t move for a second. Just keeps staring at the paper like it might rewrite the past if she colors hard enough. “I didn’t listen to him and…and I didn’t mean for him to get hurt.”

My heart aches. I keep my voice steady. “None of this is your fault. None of it. Okay? Daddy getting hurt was an accident. It’s nobody’s fault…this shit just happens sometimes.”

The corner of her mouth quirks upward for a split second, and she whispers, “Swear jar.”

I lean into her, softly kissing her on the side of the head. “More money for the horse fund, hey? I love you. Daddy loves you. And he wouldn’t want you to be blaming yourself for this.”

She nods. I’m not sure she understands or that she’ll take my words to heart. And if I could, I’d call Jackson right now so he could tell her himself, but we’ll have to settle for me relaying what I know he’d tell her if he was able. If he remembered the accident…or his daughter.

Rhett slaps a red balloon sticker in the corner of Odessa’s card. She gasps, shooting daggers at him with a single look.

“Rhett,” I groan. “That wasn’t cool. Keep your stickers on your own card, bud.”

“It’s so Daddy remembers to come home for Dessie’s birthday.”

The air thickens around us, weighing heavily on my shoulders. I know both kids, but especially Odessa, are waiting for me to reassure them. To plaster on a smile and elevate my pitch as I squeak out a promise of his return within the next couple weeks.

“He wouldn’t forget, dummy,” Odessa clips.

Pinching my nose between my index finger and thumb, I say, “Please don’t call your brother a dummy.”

She ignores me, and I can tell by the tick in her jaw that she’s ready to launch herself at her little brother. Granted, he’s taunting her with another sticker—consistently moving it toward her paper and pulling away at the last second.

“If you mess with my card again, I’m feeding you to the barn cats.”

He sticks his tongue out. “They love me. They won’t eat me.”

“That big tom cat who bit me the other day would.”

This is the first I’m hearing about a cat bite.

And apparently it was a bad enough bite that her threat suddenly means something to Rhett, because he immediately quits messing with her. Though I catch the discreet face he pulls at her after she returns to her drawing.

I let the moment play out. The silliness and chaos. They don’t know the full story. They don’t understand how bad things are. But I think they feel it—especially her. And she’s doing what she always does: hiding it behind attitude and barn cat threats.

When they’re all done, the paper and glitter and stickers packed away, Odessa presses her card into my hand.

“Make sure he gets it,” she says quietly. “Dad loves my horse drawings.”

“I will,” I promise. “He’s going to love it. Maybe even frame it.”

Her chin lifts a little, and I can see that some of the heaviness in her expression has eased.

No amount of deep cleaning could do what this did. What they did. For the first time since Jackson woke up and met my eyes with a hauntingly blank stare, I feel like maybe we’re going to find our way through this.

Kate

When the warmth of the sun cascading through my bedroom window wakes me up—not that I slept more than an hour or two—I clutch Jackson’s pillow and inhale his scent faintly embedded in the soft fabric. Keeping my eyes closed, it’s easier to pretend he’s next to me. He’s here. Life is normal. And in a second, he’s going to be laughing with one or both of our kids, hauling them into bed for a snuggle before he starts his day.

Today there are no kids in this bed, either, which feels like both a blessing and a curse. Clearly they’ve gotten into a routine with Beryl; I can hear their muffled voices echoing from the kitchen. I’d love nothing more than to hold my babies close, but I’m also an emotional wreck, and they don’t deserve to deal with that. They need me to be strong and stable, especially when their dad isn’t.