Chapter 18
Eighteen
Rhodes
“Daddy?” Chloe says quietly as I shift things to the side, searching for—
There.
I snag the box from the top shelf of Chloe’s closet and bring it over to her bed.
She sits up sleepily, rubs at her swollen eyes. “What’s that?”
“Your memory box.”
Anna started it when Chloe was born.
“What’s a memory box?”
“Your mom made it for you, see?” I point at the top, decorated plentifully with pink and adorned with Anna’s precise handwriting. “It says To: Chloe Marie, Love: Mom and Dad.”
Chloe traces the curves of the letters. “Did Mom like pink too?”
“It was her favorite.”
Chloe smiles. “It’s your favorite too.”
“Shh, that’s supposed to be our secret.”
She giggles.
But the truth is, I started wearing it when Anna died. It made me feel closer to her—and now…I guess I just like it. Plus, it’s a way to be close to Chloe.
“Want to see what’s inside?” I ask.
A nod.
I show her how to carefully open the lid then set it on her nightstand.
“What is all this stuff?”
“Things from the day you were born,” I explain, pulling out her tiny hospital bracelet and Anna’s larger one. The hat that seems incredibly small. A card from my teammates at the time, congratulating us.
“From the Eagles?” she asks, running her fingers over the cartoon stork.
“No, from the Breakers,” I say. “That’s where I played when you were born.”
“Oh.”
“Who’s that?” she asks, pointing to a picture of Anna.
“Your mom.”
“No, I mean, who’s she holding?”
I grin and tap her nose. “You, pumpkin. See how tiny you were?”
Her eyes are wide. “That’s me?”
“Yup.”
“Wow.”
I show her the lock of hair from her first haircut, the invitation from her first birthday, a card with her footprints stamped on it, the onesie we brought her home in, an ultrasound picture.
Things I never would’ve thought to save, but Anna did.
And thank God for that.
Because in this moment, it means I have something tangible to give Chloe.
“Was Mommy scared?”
The question catches me off guard. “When she had you?”
She nods.
I think back to that day Anna went into labor, remember her joking complaints about being forty-million weeks pregnant in the days before her contractions started in earnest. I think about her as we drove to the hospital and when she was in that bed giving birth to the brightest piece of my life.
“No,” I say softly. “I think mostly she was ready to meet you.” I smile. “We both were.”
Chloe runs one finger over the picture of Anna holding her newly born. “She loved me.”
Not a question.
A statement.
“More than anything.”
“More than you?”
I chuckle softly. “We loved each other so much,” I tell her. “But you, baby. You made us both realize how big our hearts could become.”
Her mouth trembles a little, but she nods.
I show her the first picture we ever took as a family—Anna in bed, me looking half-dead, Chloe red-faced and furious at existence.
“What was I mad about?”
“You had to get a shot.”
Her nose wrinkles, and I laugh quietly.
She joins in. “I was really grumpy about it, wasn’t I?”
“You sure were.”
She giggles—
And that’s when there’s a knock on the door.
I glance up as the wooden panel swings inward, revealing Finn in the hall holding a tray.
My heart kicks hard as she forces a smile, guilt clearly still riding her hard. “I brought you some food,” she says quietly, setting the tray down between us.
It’s filled with all of Chloe’s favorites.
And there my heart goes again.
“I’ll leave you two alone,” she says softly.
But Chloe is already reaching for one of the photos in the box. “Wait, Finn. Look.” She holds out a frame. “That was my mommy.”
The picture is one of my favorites.
It’s of Anna at the beach with Chloe strapped to her chest in a baby carrier. She’s grinning widely as she battles the wind, trying her best to push her hair off her face.
Our picnic aborted by the weather, we’d spent most of that day laughing like lunatics.
Or more likely it was the sleep deprivation.
And also…it was Anna and her patience and her big heart and her uncanny way to always make the best of everything.
Finn’s expression goes gentle as she glances down at the photograph. “Wow, honey. Your mom sure was beautiful,” she says.
And there’s no doubt she means it.
I hear it in every word.
“Do you think I look like her?”
Finn nods. “You have her eyes. And her nose.”
My mouth kicks up. “And her confidence.”
“I’m confident,” Chloe announces.
“You sure are.” Finn ruffles her hair.
“And you’re beautiful too, Finn,” Chloe says, carefully putting the picture back in the box. “Don’t you think so, Daddy?”
Finn freezes, her gaze locking with mine, her cheeks going pink.
“Daddy?” Chloe presses.
“Yeah, baby?” I rasp.
“Finn’s beautiful too, right?”
“Right.”
Finn looks away, and I find myself adding, “So beautiful.”
Her eyes come back to mine, gold and green and brown and warm. Then she smiles and something unlocks in my chest.
Something big and soft and…uniquely Finn.
“My mom liked pink too,” Chloe says.
Finn glances around the room, deliberately looking at the pink walls and the pink comforter and the pink rug on the floor. “You like pink?” she deadpans.
“You know it’s my favorite!” Chloe says on a laugh.
I grin and Finn laughs, and we all talk some more about Anna.
How she used to sing the wrong words to every song, how we put Chloe’s crib together wrong at least three times because neither of us could read the instructions, how Anna insisted on getting married in bare feet because she hated heels.
Eventually, Chloe starts in on her food.
And…I breathe a little easier.
It’s not that I miss Anna any less.
It’s not that the grief is gone.
It’s just—for today, anyway—shared.
And because of that…we’ve been able to find joy in the memories.
Anna’s here. Still part of things.
Still part of Chloe.
Eventually Finn slips out of the room, leaving us to finish dinner and continue talking about Anna. It’s not exactly easy, but it’s…bearable.
Because Finn helped make it that way.
Our eyes connect just before she disappears into the hall, and that spot in my chest softens further.
Our moment is coming.
I’m tired of pretending it isn’t.
For now, though, I stay with Chloe until she’s done with reminiscing—for today, anyway—then carefully set the memory box back on the shelf in her closet.
Then I’m listening to my daughter talk about her day at school and Jake and Ms. Mika and her newest favorite song.
And by the time she falls asleep with one hand curled around the photo of her and Anna that normally sits on her nightstand, I’ve made up my mind.
No more regrets.
No more things left unsaid.
No more distance.
It’s time Finn and I have that moment.