Chapter 23 Tasha #2
"I can't argue with that logic," I said, taking one last look at the ocean before getting into the passenger seat. "But beaches will still be here next summer."
"Promise?" Paige asked from the backseat.
"Promise," Nate and I said in unison, which made her giggle despite her melancholy.
The drive home was quieter than our trip out had been, all of us lost in our own thoughts and the gentle sadness that comes with the end of something wonderful. But it was a comfortable quiet, the kind that comes from being completely at ease with each other.
Paige dozed in the backseat for most of the journey, her tie-dye shirt clutched in her arms like a talisman.
Every so often, she'd wake up and share a random memory from the trip—the sandcastle with working battlements, the way the campfire sparks had looked like shooting stars, the s'mores we’d made beside the campfire.
"Can we really come back next year?" she asked drowsily as we passed the exit for home.
"Absolutely!" Nate said, catching my eye in the rearview mirror. "The annual Crawford family beach trip is officially a tradition now."
There it was again. Crawford family. The words still sent a warm flutter through my chest. Not Nate and Paige plus their friend Tasha. Not a trial run or an experiment. Family.
As familiar landmarks started appearing outside the windows, I found myself thinking about how much had changed in just four days.
Not just between Nate and me, though our relationship felt deeper and more settled than ever.
Something about myself, about what I wanted from life, about what home meant.
For the first time in my adult life, I wasn't looking ahead to the next challenge or accomplishment. I wasn't thinking about what I should be doing differently or better. I was just happy with what I had right here, right now.
I was happy being part of this family we'd built together—this imperfect, wonderful, completely unexpected family that had somehow become the center of my world.
"Almost there," Nate said as we turned onto his street, and I felt that familiar mix of relief and reluctance that comes with coming home from a perfect trip.
But as we pulled into his driveway, all three of us sun-tired and sandy and completely content, I realized something important had been decided over the past four days.
Not through any grand declaration or dramatic moment, but through the simple accumulation of small joys—wave jumping and s'mores and tie-dye shirts and the way Paige had fallen asleep against my shoulder by the campfire.
And for the first time in my life, that felt like enough.
Nate turned off the engine and we all sat there for a moment, nobody quite ready to break the spell of our perfect weekend. Then Paige stirred in the backseat, stretching and yawning.
"Do I have to unpack everything today?" she asked, though she was already gathering her beach treasures—shells, the tie-dye shirt, a piece of driftwood she'd insisted was "perfectly shaped."
"Just the essentials," Nate said, popping the trunk. "We can deal with the rest tomorrow."
I was pulling our cooler out of the back when I noticed it-- a white envelope taped to the front door.
"Nate, what's that?" I asked, nodding toward the house.
He looked up from where he was gathering beach chairs. "Huh. That's weird. I don't know. Probably a delivery notice or something from a neighbor.”
I went back to organizing our sandy beach gear, making sure Paige had all her treasures accounted for. She was chattering about where she wanted to display her shells, completely oblivious to anything but the joy of being home with her vacation memories.
"Can we order pizza tonight?" she asked. "As, like, a celebration of our last vacation day?"
"I think that sounds perfect," I said, hefting her beach bag. "We can have a 'last vacation day' at home, just the three of—"
I looked up to see that Nate had stopped moving entirely. He stood frozen by the front door, the envelope open in his hands, his face drained of all color.
"Nate?" My voice came out sharper than I intended. "What's wrong?"
He didn't answer. Didn't even seem to hear me. He just stood there, staring at whatever was in that envelope like it contained the end of the world.
"What is it?" I asked again, moving toward him.
Wordlessly, he held out the papers. My eyes scanned the official letterhead, the legal terminology, and my heart sank as the words registered.
NOTICE OF PETITION FOR MODIFICATION OF CUSTODY
Sarah Elizabeth Davis...
"Oh, Nate," I breathed. "Oh, honey."
"Hey Dad, what's wrong?" Paige's voice came from behind us, bright and curious. "You look funny."
I turned immediately, moving to intercept her before she could see Nate's face, before she could sense the wrongness that had suddenly infected our perfect homecoming.
"Nothing, baby," I said, gently steering her toward the front door. "Just some boring grown-up mail. Let's get inside and figure out that pizza situation, okay? We can make this the best last vacation day ever."
Paige looked between Nate and me, clearly sensing something was off, but she allowed herself to be guided toward the house. "Can we get the one with the garlic knots?"
"Absolutely," I said, fishing Nate's keys from his numb fingers to unlock the door. "With extra garlic. Go wash your hands and we'll look at the menu."
As Paige disappeared inside, I looked back at Nate. He was still standing there like a statue, the papers trembling in his hands.
"Just give me a minute," he said, his voice hollow. "I need... I need to understand what this means."
I nodded, my heart breaking for him. "Take all the time you need. I've got Paige."
I went inside, closing the door gently behind me, leaving Nate alone with whatever bomb had just exploded in his hands. But I could see him through the window, standing in our driveway like a man who'd just watched his whole world crumble.
Sarah. After eleven years of silence, she was back.
And she wanted Paige.