by Lara Norman
He lowered his arms to circle her back and decided it was nice. Apparently, he was getting a trial by fire.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Things weren't as difficult as he’d expected them to be when Devon woke up. He thought there would be several awkward moments where he had to either extract himself or explain himself.
But Chloe was no longer on the couch with him, or even in the room.
He made his way to the half bath by the front door, thinking about the night before as he used the restroom. Chloe was a warm weight on his chest he discovered he enjoyed. He didn't panic when she touched him, at least not past those first initial seconds. He wished he’d thought about her that way sooner, so he would have an idea how the fuck to feel about it. He knew he considered her a friend; he confided in her, and she didn't share anything he said with others. He knew his panic attacks calmed when she was near, and he felt soothed in her presence. Was that enough on which to build a foundation?
As he left the bathroom, he heard Hailey’s voice and discovered they were both in the kitchen. The sight of Chloe at the stove and his daughter working the toaster sent a warmth through the center of his chest.
“Good morning,” he said as he walked into the kitchen.
“Daddy.” More sedately than usual, Hailey crossed the room to hug him.
He looked down at her. “Feeling better?”
She nodded and wrapped her arms around his middle.
“That’s good. You slept for hours this time.”
“Chloe made me some tea and it stayed down, so we’re making breakfast. Something easy on my belly,” she said. She jiggled up and down on her toes, more like her usual bubbly self.
Devon ran a hand down his daughter’s neatly braided hair. “She’s a smart woman.”
“Thank you,” Chloe said as she turned off the burner and picked up a spatula. “Hailey, do you want to put the toast on the plates?”
“Yes.” Devon watched her get the little wooden tongs his father loved and pluck the toast from the slots.
Chloe and Hailey worked together to put food on three plates. Devon went to the coffeemaker and was ready to weep at the fresh pot he found. “Thank God for excellent coffee.”
“I knew you’d need it. It was late by the time you fell asleep.”
He paused with the spoon in mid-stir, slowly looking up at Chloe. “You fell asleep first.”
She only winked at him and carried the plates to the table.
He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. She was awake when she’d curled up on his chest. She knew he’d embraced her, that he’d sighed in utter contentment and drifted into a dreamless sleep.
Cheeks burning, he took his usual seat, staring at fluffy eggs and deciding he’d better eat before either of them thought something was wrong. Chloe chatted with Hailey about school, which she was returning to the following day. Trying to decide how he felt, Devon ate his eggs.
Chloe liked him. She wasn't there for Hailey, or not just her. Hailey liked Chloe a lot. His family liked her. He . . . okay, yes, he liked her. But to do something like, what, date her? He didn't know if he had it in him.
He thought of his father’s words and his opinion that first love was all-consuming but not necessarily the greatest love ever to exist. It felt like a betrayal to Kathy’s memory to even consider that someone else could be as important to him as she’d been. Still, as Caleb had pointed out, he was the one living. Kathy would not have wanted him to wallow in misery for the rest of his life, that he knew.
“Daddy, can we go to the cemetery today?”
His head came up. “Today?”
“Can Chloe come too?”
Devon sat back in his seat, attempting to formulate the words to let his daughter down gently.
“I wouldn't mind going with you,” Chloe said.
With the way she looked directly into his eyes, he wanted to squirm. “I guess we can. It’s been a while since we last went.”
“Thanks, Daddy,” Hailey answered, swinging her legs hard enough to shake the table.
Devon put his hand on her closest knee. “Only if you settle down and eat.”
“Yes, sir.” She turned to Chloe. “We’re going to see Mommy today.”
Yes, his heart could still clench in an uncomfortable way. Why did Chloe want to tag along for something like that? He did his best to eat and not dwell on it. Surely she had her reasons. It wasn't as though he was against her accompanying them, he just couldn't understand her reasons for visiting a stranger’s grave.
With eggs and bread sitting in his gut like lumps of coal, Devon cleared the table and washed the dishes. Chloe and Hailey had gone upstairs, and maybe it was because Chloe knew he needed breathing room. Since Hailey was already dressed with her hair smoothed into a French braid just the way she liked, he didn't know what they were really doing.
Hailey bounced into the room. “Ready!”
“I’m glad you’re feeling better,” Devon commented as he took his coat off the hook by the back door.
“Right as rain, like Grandma says!”
Devon chuckled, watching Chloe come toward them with her coat on. “Ready?”
She nodded.
The car ride couldn't have been silent with Hailey in attendance, but she held up the majority of the conversation. Chloe was in the front seat, but she mostly looked out the window. Devon wondered yet again why she’d wanted to come.
Thankfully, Merrimac was a small enough town to keep the ride short. When they parked, Hailey barreled out of the car and in the direction of her mother’s gravestone. Chloe and Devon got out more slowly, and he felt the urge to question her motives. He was constantly looking for something sinister, thanks to Vince.
“Why are you so scared?” she asked as they strolled to the spot where Hailey crouched in the brown grass.
Devon whipped his head in her direction. “Why do you think I’m scared?”
“From the minute Hailey asked to visit her mother, you’ve been distant. You shut down on me, and I thought we were past all that.”
Considering, he ran a shaking hand through his hair. “I’m as boring as they come, Chloe. Visiting a grave on a Sunday shouldn't be a fun time. I don’t know why you’d want to come along.”
“Visiting a grave is an acceptable way to pass time, and your daughter wanted to come. That doesn't make you boring.” She stopped just out of Hailey’s range of hearing, causing him to stop with her. “You don’t think you deserve a second chance at love?”
He swallowed. “Who said anything about love?”
“I just did.”
Devon backed up when she got in his space. “It only just occurred to me two days ago that there’s life after Kathy.”
Chloe inhaled sharply. “Two days ago? She’s been gone for at least five years.”
He almost smiled when she took one big step back. “Two days.”
She turned to the heavy gray stone Hailey chattered at. Chloe stroked a hand over the curved top, then sat on the grass. The day was cold and still, the chill of winter not yet blooming into spring. Chloe’s lips moved, and he realized she was speaking to Kathy the same as Hailey.
Intrigued, he moved closer.
“Tomorrow. It’ll be the first day in months and months. Miss Alicia says I’m doing really good though.” Hailey reached forward and traced her finger over the words etched into the stone. “And I was sick, but now I’m not. I feel much better. Chloe helped me feel better last night, but Daddy had to do it all day yesterday. He says it’s his job.”
He grinned at the way Hailey caught her mother up on what was going on in her life. Then he realized Chloe wasn't speaking anymore, so he sat between the two of them. “Do you mind if I ask what you were saying?”
She glanced at him. “Maybe I was praying for patience.”
He chuckled. “Believe me, I know you need it when I’m around.”
Chloe was silent for a moment. Hailey got up and walked around, patting stones and fl
uffing flowers. “Honestly, Devon? I was asking permission.”
He shouldn't have probed; the answer caused his heart to pound painfully, but maybe a pounding heart wasn’t a bad thing, not when it centered around a woman. “I’m not entirely obtuse, Chloe. At least, I didn't use to be. I closed myself off when she died. I had a baby to care for.”
“I understand grief, Devon. And maybe you were doing okay three, four months ago. But you’ve been alone for what, five, six years?”
“About that long. Hailey was fourteen months old when Kathy died.” He didn't jolt when her hand rested on his knee. Maybe it was the lack of pressure, the lack of expectations. There’d been pain in her childhood, but she’d worked past it and made herself into someone strong and whole. He admired her, he respected her, and he was just beginning to see there could be more under the surface for the both of them. If he had the nerve to reach out and take it, she could give him everything.
“Anyone can see how much you loved her.”
“Kathy was my first.” But she didn't have to be his last, he mused.
“And you figure nobody will be able to replace her, so why try?” Chloe’s voice was gentle, the way it was when she had all the patience in the world for a cracked soul.
Devon pursed his lips. “That about sums it up.”
“So I asked her if it would be okay if I did my best to make you happy.” She scooped back the hair that blew over his arm in the sudden breeze. “And while I don’t intend to replace her, I do think you can find room in your heart for more.” When she looked up at him with depthless eyes, they seemed to say, room for me.
Devon wanted to give in to his tears, but he didn’t. How did she do that to him with just a few simple words? “I feel comfortable, comforted even, when I’m with you. You’re very pretty, and Hailey loves you.” Was that enough for a fresh start? “We’re friends, and that’s a good, solid foundation.”
“Are you willing to give it a shot?”
“To give us a shot?” He looked back at the stone, read the words again. Beloved wife and mother. Devon had often felt he’d died the same day as Kathy, but she had a date of death and he didn't.
He swallowed thickly as Chloe took his hand in hers. The wind had kicked up, swirling around the two of them until Chloe’s hair swept in his direction. It wrapped around him like a cloak; like a protective shield.
“I think she’s given us her answer.”
All his fear and uncertainty drained away at Chloe’s words. He smiled faintly, thinking of the times he felt the wind as a firm hand on his back or a screeching foe. Regardless of what it was doing, it had always made him feel Kathy’s presence. “Maybe she has.”
“You move as fast as a lame turtle with bifocals, Devon McMillan.”
The words didn't come out of Chloe’s mouth. He heard them in Kathy’s voice, felt them in his heart. It was something she used to say to him all the time. It was true, he wasn't impulsive; he liked to know where he was going and what the outcome would be before he set off on his charted course. He was a careful man, more than ever once he had a baby girl to look after on his own. He’d shuttered his heart five years ago, shouldered the responsibility of being a widower like it was a sworn duty. He hadn’t allowed himself to live. Remembering the way he’d curled up on this very grave the day of the service, he suddenly wondered if he was only now getting to his feet after years of waking death.
Standing, he held out his hand. Chloe accepted it and stood by his side. They looked down at Kathy’s gravestone together, and the wind died down.
“Thank you, Kathy, for some of the best years of my life. It’s time for me to start a new chapter now, baby.”
“I think she understands,” Chloe whispered.
He knuckled away a tear and headed toward the car, Chloe’s hand in his. Hailey skipped toward them and climbed in, and Devon gave another look back before settling in next to Chloe.
It was time to move forward.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Devon couldn't quite be sure if it was the right choice to attend his first therapy appointment on the same day Hailey went back to school. On one hand, he knew he needed extra help on that day more than ever. On the other hand, he’d been anxious enough without adding to his stress.
He couldn't help the nervous energy causing him to tap his fingers repeatedly on his knees. He watched the clock on the wall tick by in agonizing slowness while he waited for them to call his name. When it was his turn, he calmly walked down the hall and into the room in which he was expected to bare his soul. There were a few plaid couches arranged around a large wooden desk, and a man with shocking white hair stood in front of it.
“Hello, Mr. McMillan, I’m Dr. Brennan.”
“You can call me Devon,” he responded as they shook hands.
Dr. Brennan was taller than Devon, broad in the chest, and wore a corduroy jacket with suede patches covering the elbows. Immediately, he reminded Devon of his father, though they looked nothing alike. “Sounds good, Devon. Have a seat wherever you’re comfortable.”
He chose the corner of the sofa and tried not to fidget.
“So, if it’s okay with you,” Dr. Brennan said as he brought his leather desk chair closer to the sofa. “I’d like to start with the reason you’re here.”
Devon clasped his hands together and processed his thoughts before he spoke. “I came to realize I’ve held in my grief over my wife’s death. She passed away five years ago, and I never quite got through it as well as I thought I did.” He swallowed the dry lump in his throat. “And recently, a close friend of mine injured my daughter Hailey and hid her in a well because he thought he’d killed her.”
“I imagine you had varying emotions regarding that incident.”
Devon laughed bitterly. “You could say that. Betrayal, failure, guilt. Why couldn't I see what kind of monster he was, you know?”
“I understand.”
“And the way he helped search for her, pretended to console me when he knew where she was, well, that’s made it hard for me to trust anybody.”
The doctor nodded. “Once trust is broken, it’s hard to reclaim it. It causes a chain reaction in the way you view other people in your life.”
“Suddenly, I didn't trust my parents or my brother.” Devon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment. “I didn't trust myself.”
“And what actions did you take when you felt that way?”
“I thought I would run.”
“I’m sorry, run?” Dr. Brennan frowned as he wrote on his notepad.
“Leave town. I wanted to leave without my daughter so I couldn't hurt her anymore.”
“The first thing I hear is that you’re using past tense. You don't feel like running anymore?”
Devon shook his head. “Not since I confided in a friend and she told me it was cowardly to run.”
“I see.”
“I was drinking too much, wallowing too much, I guess. She set me straight. I realized I didn't want to leave anyone, least of all my own daughter.”
The doctor scribbled again. “Recognizing there are people in your life who need you is good. What else has happened?”
“Hailey went back to school today. It was hard to let her out of my sight and be in the care of others.”
“How are you dealing with that?”
Devon chuckled. “I decided today was a good day to be here.”
“You know she’s in a safe place. She’s well taken care of, right?” At Devon’s nod, he continued. “No doubt it feels monumental.”
“It does.”
“I bet you handle anxiety better than you think you do.”
“I used to, before she was taken. I suffered panic attacks while she was missing and for months after she was found. It caused me feel weak and useless.”
Dr. Brennan held up a hand. “You are not weak or useless. You might have been scared, confused, worried, and stressed. Stress manifests itself in many ways, depending on the person. You have the right
to worry about your daughter until you’re both old.”
Devon smiled.
“Is there anything else you’d like to add?”
“Um, this friend, Chloe . . . my brother brought it to my attention that she’s interested in me as more than a friend.”
“You stated you’re still grieving over your wife. So what are your feelings on this matter?”
Devon couldn't help the quick grin. “We sort of spent the weekend together. My daughter was sick, and I called Chloe for company. I asked her how she felt about our relationship, and she basically told me to put two and two together. We, um, went to the cemetery yesterday and had a pleasant visit at my wife’s grave.”
“In what way?”
To get more comfortable, Devon shifted on the couch. “Hailey has always spoken to her mother when we go to the cemetery, and Chloe did the same. She said she was asking permission to make me happy. It felt right. Like, I don’t know, like something had loosened up in my chest. And I heard . . .”
“Heard what?” Dr. Brennan prompted when Devon trailed off.
“I swear I’m not crazy, but I heard my wife’s voice. I think she’d be okay with me moving on now. It’s been long enough; too long.”
“What I can tell you is that grief has its own timetable, Devon. There’s no easy method or chart that fits all people. You feel what you feel.” He scratched his chin. “If you’re ready to move on, then the time is right. If you’re not ready, you can’t push it without being unhappy.”
“I don't know how to know. Chloe is attractive, and she’s very good with my daughter. She’s patient with me, but she also tells me how it is without sugarcoating it. I feel good when I’m with her. Like I can relax and be myself. She’s the one who kept pushing me to come to therapy.”
Dr. Brennan smiled. “Then it sounds like we’d get along.”