Page 41 of Bring Me Home (Shattered Hearts 4)

“You can do both. Okay, here’s the joke. How do two surfers say hi to each other?”

“They wave,” she says automatically.

“Have I told you that one before?”

“Only a million times!”

“That’s because it’s so good.”

“No, it’s not!” her and Lindsay shout at the same time.

I take the pancake out of the skillet and grab the ladle to pour some more batter in. “Yes, it is. And Daddy knows best.”

We eat breakfast as quick as we can, which is never really fast at all because Kaia loves to talk while we’re sitting at the table. Finally, we get everyone dressed and slathered in sunblock and I grab both mine and Lindsay’s boards. We drive the block and a half to Carolina Beach because it’s too damn hard to walk with two surfboards and two kids.

We set up our blanket and umbrella far enough down the beach that the crowds that are here for the music festival can’t smother us. Lindsay sits on a beach chair under the umbrella with Mila in her arms. Mila’s sunhat flops over her face so all I see is her chubby cheeks and it takes everything in me not to grab her face and bite those cheeks.

I stand Lindsay’s board up so the sand doesn’t rub off the wax. Then I tuck my board under my right arm and hold out my hand to Kaia.

“Come on. It’s time for your first surfing lesson.”

Kaia slowly reaches for my hand and we set off through the warm sand toward the water.

“Be careful!” Lindsay shouts.

When we reach the water’s edge, we both stop. “You know what Grandpa Jim used to tell me about going in the water?”

“What?”

“He used to say, ‘The water isn’t afraid of you. You have to show the water the same respect.’” I don’t know if she knows what this means, but she smiles. “Are you ready?” She nods and I crouch down so she can climb onto my back. “I love you, baby.”

“I love you, Daddy.”

Epilogue #2

Chris

Jimi’s room still smells like the lilac paint we slathered on the walls four days ago. Claire insisted we paint her room with the non-toxic paint, but I swear they gave us the wrong kind because this smells worse than the stuff we used on our bedroom. Jimi’s sleeping under her white comforter, on her belly, as usual. Ever since she used to fall asleep on my chest, she never really broke the habit of sleeping on her belly.

Her light-brown hair falls in wisps around her face as the soft morning light caresses the tops of her cheeks. Other than her hair color, she looks just like Claire: same eye color, same dip in the tip of her nose, the same pouty top lip. I could watch her sleep for hours, but today is beach day and it’s one of Junior’s favorite places to go.

I crouch next to her bed and rub the back of my finger against her cheek until she groggily opens her eyes. “Good morning, princess.” She closes her eyes as if she going back to sleep, but she grabs my hand to make sure I don’t leave. “It’s time to wake up, sweetheart. We’re going to the beach, remember?” She keeps her eyes closed, but she smiles. I brush her hair away from her forehead and kiss her before I stand up. “Come on, baby. Let’s go wake up your mom.”

I pull the comforter back and she opens her eyes as she reaches her arms out. “Mommy’s a sleepyhead.”

“Yes, she is.” I lift her off the bed and she curls her arms and legs around me. “Mommy loves to sleep.”

“Mommy loves you?”

I chuckle at the beautiful intonation in her question. “Yes, Mommy loves me, and you and Junior.”

“And the baby?” she asks as I carry her down the second-floor hallway past the years of memories captured in family photos.

The pictures hanging on the wall are one of my favorite things about the beach house, and also one of my least favorites because it’s still so incomplete. Abigail is nowhere on this wall. Claire and I haven’t decided yet when we will tell Jimi and Chris, Jr. about their big sister. Jimi will be six years old in September. Three months and my princess will be in first grade. It makes my chest ache just to think about it.

“Yes, Mommy loves the baby, too.”

The baby growing inside Claire right now will be our last, according to Claire. But I have a feeling I may be able to convince her to give me one more.

I push the bedroom door open and Claire isn’t in bed. Jimi’s mouth drops open and I push her chin up with my finger.

She laughs as she pushes my hand away. “Mommy’s not here.”

“Do you think she’s in Junior’s room?” She nods enthusiastically, as if we’ve solved a complex mystery. “Let’s see if we’re right.”

When I open Junior’s door, I’m not at all surprised to see Claire curled up with my three-year-old mini-me in his twin bed. He has the same light-brown hair as Jimi, but everything about his face is mine. Claire acts like she’s a little disappointed with this, but she’s not. She’s forever smothering him with affection and I can never get enough of watching them together.

Claire opens her eyes then whispers something in Junior’s ear. He laughs as he wiggles in her arms and she squeezes him tighter to hold him still.

“Get up, Junior!” Jimi shouts.

She can be a little bossy with her brother, but it’s so hard for me not to encourage her when it’s so fucking adorable.

“Be nice, princess.” She pouts and hangs her head. “You have to be gentle when you wake someone up. Remember how I woke you up?”

She doesn’t nod or say anything. She tends to shut down when I correct her, which is why I hardly do it. Of course, this only makes her more of a daddy’s girl.

“You want bubbles in your bath when we get home from the beach?” I ask Jimi and Claire laughs.

She knows I’m trying to make up for admonishing her. I don’t care because Jimi’s eyes light up as she nods.

Claire sits up and Junior crawls under his blanket toward the foot of the bed to get away from her. “Did Jake call?” she asks as she grabs the blanket and throws it off the bed.

“Still haven’t heard from him. I’ll call him again.” I poke Junior in his ribs and he squeals. “Get up, baby bear. Momma has to get you dressed.” I grab Jimi’s hand and look her in the eye as I sway side to side. She loves when I dance with her. “I’ll get this one ready,” I say to Claire as I carry Jimi back to her room.

Once we’re all dressed, I call Jake again to make sure he and Rachel are coming over to our house in Cary when we get back from the beach. Claire’s been planning an outing for the twentieth anniversary of her mom’s death, so we’re driving almost three hours to Cary from the summer house, just so Rachel and Jake can babysit Junior. Besides my mom and Joel—and Senia and Tristan--they’re the only ones she trusts to babysit her precious monster.

Claire hasn’t wanted to go stargazing since the last time we went on our wedding night. She doesn’t want anything to overshadow that memory. This will be the first time we will acknowledge the significance of June 7th in a long time.

Now that Jimi is older and she loves her Grandma Jackie, Claire thinks it’s time to introduce her to the grandma she never got to know. She’s afraid of the kinds of questions Jimi will ask about her Grandma Kelly, but I’ve reassured her that there’s nothing she could ask that would require anything but the truth: Kelly Nixon loved her daughter more than she loved herself, and she’ll always be a powerful presence in our lives.

Jake still doesn’t answer my call and I’m beginning to get more than a little pissed. Both he and Rachel know how much this means to Claire. I try not to let Jimi see that I’m upset, but she catches on quick. She’s a lot like Abigail. She can sense things inside me.

“Are you mad, Daddy?” she asks as she looks up at me from where she stands in front of the closet at the bottom of the stairs.

; I grab Claire’s beach bag off a hook in the closet just as Claire comes bounding down the steps with Junior bouncing on her hip and a white dress draped over her baby bump.

“No, princess, I’m not mad,” I say, rubbing her head.

“Can I wear my Barbie skates?” she asks, her squeaky voice full of hope.

“To the beach? How are you going to roll in the sand?”

“Let her wear the skates,” Claire says as she passes us on her way to the kitchen.

“Babe, take this.” I hold her beach bag out to her and she snatches it out of my hand as she keeps walking.

“Okay, you can wear your skates, but only if you promise to be extra good tonight when you go to dinner with Mommy and Daddy.”

“I already promised!”

“Baby, what did I tell you about yelling?”

She narrows her eyes. “I promise.”

I try not to shake my head in dismay. This girl is going to give me a heart attack by the time I’m 40.

Grabbing her skates from the shelf in the closet, I glimpse the clear, plastic box where Claire and I used to keep our photos of Abigail until we had a small kitchen fire a couple of years ago and we moved the pictures into a fire safe in our bedroom. The plastic box is now stuffed with foam letters, pipe cleaner, glitter glue, and a bunch of other craft supplies. It used to be too simple for Claire to take the box down and stare at the pictures for hours. Now that she needs a key and a code to get to them, she looks at the pictures less often, but she still talks about Abigail just as much.

We both still strongly believe that she will come back to us, if only just to meet us once in her lifetime. I refuse to believe that she can’t feel how much I love her from hundreds or even thousands of miles away.

Thirty minutes later, we’re packed up and seated in the car and Claire puts on a playlist of pop songs she made for Jimi—with a few of my songs mixed in because Jimi gets so excited every time she hears one of Daddy’s songs in the car. I steal glances at her in the rearview mirror as I drive. Her eyes are closed as she nods her head to the beat. I don’t think I could have asked for a more perfect girl than the one who wants nothing more than to dance to my music.

I look away from the rearview mirror and I catch Claire staring at me. “What are you looking at?”

She shakes her head and sighs. “Nothing.”

I grab her hand and bring it to my lips. “We’re teaching Junior to swim today.”

“No. He’s staying with me in the shallow waves. I’m not feeling well.”

“Why didn’t you tell me? We could have skipped this.”

“No, we can’t. Jimi’s getting her time with us tonight.” She reaches into the back and jiggles Junior’s knee. The sound of his laughter is too sweet for words. “My monster is getting a day at the beach.”

Claire is always putting our needs before her own. Sometimes, I worry that she’s forgetting to do the things that make her happy. But one look at the smile on her face as she gazes at Junior and I know that it’s her family that makes her happier than anything.

I squeeze her hand to get her attention. “Did you call Wendy yesterday?”