Dove

Prologue

DOVE

Then

I didn’t have many vivid memories of my childhood, but the day I lost my dad was the clearest.

It had been just us that day. Why my mother wasn’t along, I couldn’t remember, but I hadn’t minded. Daddy was always sillier when it was just the two of us. It was as if he saved that side of him just for me, because he knew how much I loved his laughter and goofiness.

We’d had a fun day at the strawberry farm we’d visited, but we were both tired from the sun, exhausted from all the picking we’d done. Heading home, I held a container of the berries I’d picked myself on my lap, popping them into my mouth and savoring the taste as the flavor burst across my tongue.

My mouth and hands were stained red from their juice, and my dad’s eyes met mine in the mirror as we slowed to a stop at a traffic light.

His hand reached behind and found its usual resting place along my knee.

“Did you have a good day, my little dove?” he asked me softly, his blue eyes bright with happiness in the rearview mirror. My own sparkled back at him—my Daddy’s eyes, everyone said, and I was happy for that. He had pretty, kind eyes.

I nodded, munching on another piece of fruit. When I offered one to him, he shook his head.

“Someone’s getting a bath when they get home,” he teased.

“Not me,” I sang, popping another strawberry in my mouth.

“Oh.” His eyebrows raised in surprise. “So, you’re not a messy, sticky monster? Because I see one sitting in my backseat.”

Before I could answer his fingers tightened, seeking the tender spot behind my knee he knew was ticklish.

“No!” I screeched with laughter, unable to get away. “Daddy, stop!”

His fingers kept up their assault. I jerked out of his grasp just as he relented, slipping his hand back to the wheel and accelerating forward as the light turned green.

I gasped, my laughter dying as a few strawberries escaped the container, landing with a soft thud on the floor below my dangling feet.

“Oopsie,” I breathed.

His gaze met mine in the rearview mirror.

“I dropped some,” I explained sadly.

His eyes crinkled in the way that meant he was smiling. “It’s okay,” he reassured me. “Don’t worry about it.”

But I did worry. I didn’t want to accidentally step on them when I got out and get Daddy’s nice, new truck messy. Mommy hated messes, and I knew she’d already be upset when I came home all sticky. I didn’t want to get Daddy in trouble for the mess I’d made.

Setting the container of strawberries on the seat beside me, I slipped out of the strap that crossed over my chest and leaned forward, the pressure of the seatbelt at my waist uncomfortable. I reached out, pressing forward as far as I could go, but my arms were too short to reach the fallen fruit.

“Dove,” my father’s stern voice chastised from the front. “Get back in your seat.”

I pouted, both at his reprimand and the fact I was too little to pick up the strawberries I’d spilled.

“I’m not mad, sweetheart,” his deep voice soothed. “But you need to put your seatbelt on correctly, okay? It’s there to keep you safe, to protect you. All right?”

I nodded, slipping the strap back over my chest and leaning into my seat.

His hand came back to rest on my knee again and squeezed lightly, grateful I’d listened.

“Thanks, honey. I don’t know what I’d do if anything happened to y?—”

A shrill screech filled the air, followed by a bang so loud my ears rang. I cried out, covering them as we jerked violently to the side.

The world outside swirled, and the pressure inside my chest grew tight. Jostled from side to side roughly, I started to cry, confused and scared, not understanding what was happening. Pain bloomed along the side of my head, and everything went dark.

When I blinked my eyes open, the world outside no longer passed in a blur, but it didn’t look right, either. The floor was up, the roof was down, and for a moment, it felt like I’d fallen straight into Alice in Wonderland —a movie I’d once watched with daddy because he said it was his favorite.

Something was wrong.

“Daddy,” I whimpered out, my head throbbing and my body sore and achy.

My gaze went to the rearview mirror in search of the comfort of his familiar blue eyes, but it was missing. The windshield was broken and cracked, like a spiderweb. It was also stained red, and I gasped, glancing down, noticing my strawberries were gone.

Oh no . They’d somehow gotten all over Daddy’s truck.

My tears came faster. “Daddy, I spilled all my strawberries.”

He didn’t answer.

Something warm and wet slid down the side of my face. I curiously lifted my fingers to my temple and swiped across my skin, whimpering from the burning sensation it caused. The pads of my fingers came back bright red and glistening.

My tear-filled eyes flicked back to the windshield, and I noticed the same exact shade of red spread across it.

My little chest heaved, and breathing became difficult. The seatbelt was pressed tightly against me, and that—combined with the realization of what coated my fingers and what pooled along the windshield—made it even harder to breathe.

“Daddy!” I screamed between shuddering sobs, wiping my hand frantically along my dress. Why wasn’t he answering?

When he remained silent, I curled into myself, squeezing my eyes shut tightly. I tried to ignore the red that flashed behind my eyes—and whether it was the shade of strawberries or blood.

They looked the same to me, now.