7. Photographs & Memories #2
A car passes outside, and street lights are starting to turn on.
Finally, I clear my throat. “Thanks, Bob. I truly appreciate you.”
“Anytime, Doc. That’s what families do for each other.”
“Speaking of which, Ellie’s waiting on me.”
“Then go be a dad, relax, and have some fun tonight.”
“You’re a good man, Bob,” I say genuinely. “Good night.”
“Good night, Doc.”
I end the call and sit there with the phone in my hand.
Tomorrow morning, we’re going to make a few additions to the clinic calendar and hopefully open a door for her to be able to use without bracing for what’s on the other side.
***
At the festival, Ellie is waiting near the entrance with Erin, both of them bright with restless fourteen-year-old girl energy.
“Dad,” Ellie calls, waving me over. “You’re late.”
“I am actually three minutes early, thank you very much.”
“But you always say ‘dad time’ means ten minutes early is on time.”
“Guilty as charged. Shall I brace for the collapse of civilization now?”
Erin grins. “He’s funny.”
Ellie makes a face. “Don’t encourage him.”
Ellie’s cheeks are pink from running around already and nervous excitement. She looks so much like Beth when she wears her hair pulled back. She has one of Beth’s silver clips tucked above her ear.
Rhea gives me a quick wave, friendly and distracted, then goes back to her conversation with another woman a few feet away.
No teenage matchmaking tonight.
Thank God.
Tonight, I get my daughter.
The festival runs along the waterfront, full of food tents, local tables, kids with painted faces, and music coming from somewhere near the end of the street.
Ellie and Erin walk ahead of me, shoulder to shoulder, deciding what absolutely needs to be done tonight and what can be ignored with the brutal efficiency of teenagers.
We stop for a student art display. Erin has a couple drawings in it. Then a booth with handmade bracelets. Then a table run by the historical society, where Ellie surprises me by asking two good questions about the town’s history.
Tonight, she has cold fingers, sharp opinions, too much interest in fried dough, and a laugh I haven’t heard enough in the last four years.
Coupeville is giving me pieces of my daughter back, and I’m so very grateful.
The girls run ahead seeking out the next sugary carb option to ingest tonight while I scan the crowd to see what has become of Rhea.
Ellie runs back to me and starts tugging on my arm. “Dad, you gotta come. The porcupine has cookies and they look delicious. Please, Dad.”
I follow her gaze to the animal shelter booth.
Annie’s there.
She stands behind a long table crowded with baked goods, donation jars, flyers, and a basket full of dog toys. She’s in jeans and a dark sweater, hair pulled up, cheeks flushed from the cooler air.
She’s beautiful and laughing.
Good to see, after this afternoon.
She’s with several people. There’s a guy beside her with a roll of stickers in one hand, wearing an old jacket and easy confidence.
There’s another woman about Annie’s age boxing cookies while a guy in a knit cap tapes a sign to the front of the table.
Friends of the Animal Shelter. Donations Appreciated.
They all look to be about her age and friends of hers. People who know how she takes her coffee, where she went to school, what she looked like before grief entered her life.
The guy leans close enough to read something on the order sheet in front of her. Annie elbows him aside without even looking up, and he laughs.
“Earth to Dad.” Ellie elbows me. “Can we get cookies and say hello?”.
“I can support that.”
“Dad.” She is trying not to smile too hard. “We are supporting homeless animals.”
Erin nods solemnly beside her. “It’s charity.”
“Charity with chocolate chips.”
“The best kind,” Ellie says.
I look at my daughter. Smile wide, laughter on her lips and trouble in her eyes.
For a second, I want Beth there so badly it steals my breath. She would’ve loved this. Our daughter running around, happy with a friend. All of us standing by the water in a town we were supposed to find together.
Then Ellie bumps my arm with her shoulder.
“Dad. Cookies.”
I breathe in. “Right. Charity.”
I cross to the animal shelter booth.
Annie sees me when I’m three steps away. The laugh on her face changes. Not gone. Just quieter. Private in a way it wasn’t a second ago.
“Doc.”
“Annie.”
The guy looks between us, eyebrows lifting. “So, do I get introduced?”
He holds out a hand. “Jake Bellamy.”
I shake it. Firm grip. Looks me square in the eye. Good kid.
“William Bie.”
“Doc,” Annie corrects.
My gaze moves to her. She keeps boxing cookies like she didn’t just call me Doc.
“What can we get you, Doc?” Jake asks.
I call the girls over. “Ladies. What would you like?”
“May I have two chocolate chip?” Ellie asks. “And maybe one of the dog-shaped ones. They’re so cute.”
Erin adds, “Same for me please, but not the ones with blue frosting. Last year they dyed my teeth blue.”
“Four chocolate chip cookies and two dog-shaped cookies without blue frosting,” he confirms. “Anything for you, Doc?”
“I’m good. Thank you, Jake.”
Annie reaches for a bag and puts in two cookies. “Ellie, how about a peanut butter dog-shaped cookie? No dental consequences.”
“Doctor approved,” Jake says.
“PA approved,” Annie corrects.
Jake points at her. “The higher local authority.”
Annie rolls her eyes, but she’s smiling when she does it.
It's a bright, warm smile that lights up my evening. It’s not the polite one from work. This one belongs to the Annie who is with her friends and is relaxed and enjoying herself.
I want to stay near it.
Annie folds the bags closed and holds them out. Our fingers touch when I take them. Her eyes meet mine, and for half a second the booth, the festival, her friends, all of it narrows to the space between her hand and mine.
A small contact. An electric spark, nothing anyone else would notice.
But I do and everything in me stirs.
I don’t know if I’m comfortable or terrified.
Then someone behind me asks about raffle tickets, and Annie pulls back.
“Fifteen dollars,” she says.
I hand her a twenty. She reaches for change.
“Donation,” I tell her. “For the animals.”
Jake drops the bill into the jar. “The homeless cats thank you for your kindness.”
Annie cuts him a look. “Don’t make it weird.”
He grins and steps toward the raffle tickets.
I should leave now.
The girls have their cookies and are starting to traipse off. But something in me wants to stay and talk to her more.
“You okay?” I ask, low enough that it stays between us.
She looks tired around the eyes, and the memory of her crying under Art’s picture hasn’t left me.
Her fingers pause on the next bag.
Then she gives me a small nod toward the end of the table. I move down with her.
“I’m okay.”
“Good.” I believe her more than I would have this afternoon.
“And thank you,” she adds.
“For the donation?”
“No.”
That word stays between us for what feels like forever.
Then she looks past me toward the girls. “Your daughter’s leaving without you.”
I glance over my shoulder.
“She is. I guess this is what the teenage years are going to be,” I mutter.
Annie’s mouth curves. “Painfully accurate, I’m afraid.”
How is it I’m just seeing the funny, relaxed side of her? And God help me, I like the way it looks.
“Well, I should be going.” I look back towards Ellie. “Good night, Annie. And thanks for the cookies.”
“Good night, Doc.”
She says it easily this time.
I force myself to leave the booth and follow after the girls. At the end of the row, I look back once. Annie is laughing again with Jake and her friends, with one hand braced on the table, and illuminated by the lights strung above the booth.
But her face is turned toward me. She catches my eye and smiles.
The sight of her doesn’t just make something in me stir that has not stirred in a very long time.
It makes me want.