Chapter 35
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
Elliott
When I’m done grocery shopping, I decide to swing by the Hollow Pine Café to grab Baylor a strawberry and cream steamer. She seems okay with the fact that she didn’t win today, but I’m still irritated by it.
Jesus, if this is how I feel after my daughter loses at the town bake-off, how am I going to be when she starts playing sports?
I leave the café with the drink in hand and come to an abrupt stop when I see who’s waiting for me. It takes my brain a full three seconds to process what I’m seeing.
Because Kate Ellison does not belong in Echo Lake. She belongs in whatever city, whatever life she ran off to five years ago when she decided she no longer wanted to be a mother. As if that’s something you can decide not to do anymore.
My stomach bottoms out, and my chest gets so tight, I have to force air in and out of my lungs.
A million thoughts seem to rush through my mind at the same time—what is she doing here, what does she want, has she already come into contact with Baylor and I don’t know about it, I have to protect Baylor, where does she get the fucking nerve to show her face here again.
Kate looks very much the same as she did when she left—sandy blond hair, green eyes, and petite.
We stand there on the sidewalk, fifteen feet apart, staring at each other.
Dottie is probably watching through the window. The Thermos Crew will definitely be watching from across the street. This is Echo Lake. Someone is always watching.
“What are you doing here, Kate?”
She flinches at the tone of my voice—cold, flat, devoid of feeling. If she thought she was going to get the Elliott she used to know, the one who was in love with her and only ever put her and our daughter first, she was mistaken.
“Can we talk?” she asks.
“We’re talking now.”
She takes a quick glance around. I don’t know what she sees, because I only have tunnel vision for this woman who now feels like a predator, here to threaten what I love the most.
“Can we talk somewhere that’s a little more private?”
I don’t want to go anywhere with her. I don’t want to entertain whatever she’s here to say. I don’t want to sit across from her and act like a reasonable adult when what I really want to do is tell her to hightail it straight out of town, back to wherever she came from.
But if she’s here, it’s for a reason. I need to know what that reason is, for the sake of my daughter.
“Meet me on the bench down by the lake near the marina in five minutes.”
She’ll know which one. We used to get ice cream in the summer sometimes and sit and look out over the water.
I don’t wait for her to respond. I just walk past her.
When I do, the scent of her perfume reaches me, and I’m transported back five years.
It’s the same perfume she always used to wear, and for some reason, that scent unearths all the memories and feelings from that time in my life.
Instead of it being years since she abandoned our daughter, it feels more like days.
The anger, the devastation, the heartbreak—all of it is back on the surface.
I cross the street to get to my truck.
Once I’m inside, I set Baylor’s drink—our daughter’s drink—in the cup holder. I don’t know why, but the first thing I think when I look at that drink is that Kate couldn’t name Baylor’s favorite drink for a million dollars, but Emelia could.
My head drops to the steering wheel, and I draw in a few deep breaths, trying to tamp down some of the emotion that’s trying to rise up. I can’t go into this conversation with Kate on a wave of emotion. I need to be smart and practical for Baylor.
When I have myself under better control, I start the truck and turn it around to head to the lakefront. I park on the road, then walk to our meeting spot.
Kate’s already sitting on the bench when I get there. I don’t bother sitting.
“How long have you been in town?” I cross my arms. I’m not trying to appear intimidating, standing over her like this, but I have so much roiling energy rushing through my veins, I need to do something with my hands.
“Since yesterday. I’m staying in Harvest Cove.”
Harvest Cove is about forty-five minutes from here and on the ocean. She doesn’t have to voice the fact that she’s not staying in town because someone might have recognized her.
“Why didn’t you make yourself known yesterday? Or better yet, why didn’t you call and let me know you were coming?”
Her hands shake slightly in her lap, and she drops her gaze to look at them. “I was trying to figure out what to say.”
“You’ve had five years to figure it out.”
She nods, not looking up at me. “You’re right. I did. But I couldn’t think of the right words.”
I draw in a long breath, trying to gather my patience. “You’re here now. Why?”
She raises her eyes to meet mine, tears gathering at the edges. I’m surprised that the sight does nothing to me. There was a time when seeing her cry was so painful, I’d do anything to fix it. No more.
“Why are you here, Kate?”
“Because I have a daughter.” Her voice cracks.
“No. You had a daughter. One you left willingly when she was six months old. One you haven’t bothered to inquire about since you left.”
She starts crying, and I wait, keeping the wall between us up because I cannot afford to soften for her. Not when what happens here matters so much to Baylor.
When she gathers herself, she meets my eyes again.
“I’m not going to try to defend what I did.
I left her. I left you. I just felt trapped, and I couldn’t imagine dealing with that feeling for one more second.
I know I did the worst thing a mother could do, and I’m not going to try to defend it.
There is no defense for it. I’m not here to try to get you to forgive me. ”
“Then why are you here?”
“Because I want to meet her. I want to know her.”
My jaw sets, and my hands fall to my sides in fists. “You want to come here and upset her life. She’s fine, Kate. She’s been fine without you. We figured it out.”
“I believe you. When I left, that was one thing I knew for sure. That you’d be the best father to her.”
“If that’s the case, then why are you here?”
“Because fine isn’t the same as whole.” Her words ring through my head.
“Someday she’s going to have questions, Elliott.
Questions that you can’t answer. Not because you’re not enough—you’ve always been enough.
These are the kind of questions that only I can answer, and I’d rather be around to answer them for her than to have her wonder. ”
I sit on the bench. Not because I want to, but because my legs might give out if I don’t.
When I started this conversation, it was with the goal of running Kate out of town. Now, I can’t help but question if that’s really what’s best for Baylor in the long run.
I think of Emelia and her quest to know more about where she came from.
I think about how many times I’ve imagined what my life would be like if my mother were still in it.
I think about Baylor’s friends at school making her feel bad because her mom isn’t in her life.
Baylor doesn’t ask about her mom often, but she knows there’s an empty space in her life where something should be. The same way you know a tooth is missing even after you stop poking at the hole.
We both stare at the lake, quiet, not saying anything.
My eyes squeeze shut, and I press the bridge of my nose. “What exactly are you asking for?”
“A meeting. At your house, or the park, a restaurant…wherever you’re comfortable. I just want to be able to sit across from her and see who she is.”
“And after that?” I cut a look toward her.
“I lost the right to decide that when I left. I know that. It’ll be up to you from there.”
I hold her gaze until I know she’s hearing me. “She’s not a toy you pick up off the shelf when you feel like playing with her, then set aside when you’re bored, Kate. I won’t let you back in her life to hurt her.”
She nods, a small amount of hope entering her green eyes. “I know.”
“I’m not sure you do, Kate. I need you to hear this—this isn’t about us. There is no us. This is about a little girl who didn’t do anything wrong and deserves not to be collateral damage in whatever journey you’re on.”
She doesn’t flinch at my words, doesn’t shirk back. Kate just takes them, which is more than she would’ve done half a decade ago.
I study her for a beat. “I need to think about it.”
“Okay, sure. Thank you.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t said yes. What’s your number?” She tells me, and I put it into my phone, then stand. “I’ll be in touch.”
Kate nods, then stands. She seems to want to say something more, but she doesn’t.
Turning, I walk away, knowing I have an impossible decision to make.