Page 150 of River Wild

River

One Year Later

“Come on, Hope.” I pick her up out of her high chair after cleaning off her sticky porridge-covered fingers.

Hope likes to feed herself at breakfast time and also lunch and dinnertime, and by feed herself, I mean, get the food everywhere except for her mouth.

“Time to go visit Mama.”

I strap her into her stroller, hanging her bag of everything I’ll need to keep an active fourteen-month-old clean, watered, fed, and entertained. I swear, going out for a few hours with a toddler is like packing for a vacation.

I step outside.

The sky is clear of clouds. The sun is shining. It’s a nice day for a walk.

We head into town, stopping by the florist to pick up a bunch of flowers that I ordered earlier over the phone.

I put them in the basket below the stroller and start walking again.

Hope is playing with the hanging toys on the stroller arch, jabbering away to herself in a language only she knows.

Her first word was Dada. And she’s right; I am her daddy. In every sense of the word that matters.

We reach the entrance to the cemetery.

I push the stroller in, walking past all the rows of headstones.

Until I reach the one that belongs to me.

I park Hope’s stroller, unclip the straps, and lift her out. She wriggles to be put down. She’s independent. She got it from her mama.

I put her down onto the grass.

She immediately plops down on her butt and pulls her shoes and socks off. She clambers to her feet. The sock goes in her mouth. And she begins toddling around the grass.

I watch her, smiling.

I get the bunch of flowers that we picked up from the basket under Hope’s stroller.

I walk over to the headstone. Brushing some dirt and leaves off it.

I lower down to my knees, sitting before her. “Happy birthday,” I tell her. “I got you some flowers—bluebells. I know you loved them.”

I put the tied bunch down in front of the headstone.

The one that I picked out for her.

I stare at her name engraved deep into that stone.

“I miss you,” I tell her. “I will always miss you. But … I have so much now because of you.” I look over at Hope, who has found a patch of daisies beside a nearby headstone and is currently chattering away to them. I smile and then look back at her headstone. “I … love you.”

I swallow back the tears clogging my throat.

A hand touches my shoulder.

I turn my head, looking up at the one person who makes things so much more bearable.

“Hey.”