Chapter 38
Asher
It’s been two weeks since Claire left. Since I held her.
Touched her. Kissed her. Call me a masochist, because every night, I replay the videos I have saved of her and Bea just so I can hear her voice.
Some are clips I stealthily captured while they were painting nails or playing beauty salon or board games.
Others are videos Claire sent to me, each starring Bea as she painted or fed the ducks or horses.
Though I can’t see her face in those, her voice comes through loud and clear.
I really miss her voice, sweet like honey.
Two days after she left, I found myself frozen in front of the dryer, staring at the pile of bikini top pads she left on the machine. The realization that I’d never do her laundry again was like a punch to the gut.
Though the weeks—months, even—after Daisy died were a blur, I remember the moment I was hit with that truth back then too. How I cried as I’d loaded the washer, knowing I’d never wash another article of clothing of hers. It about killed me.
There was no choice with Daisy. She was here, and then she was gone. With Claire? I was given the opportunity to ask her to stay, but I didn’t.
Her life is in the city, though, and she deserves to live out her dreams with a man who is worthy of her love. A man who isn’t such a coward.
Bea started kindergarten, and that is what keeps us going.
It’s a distraction for the both of us. We have less time to miss Claire.
My girl adores her teacher and climbs out of the car with a wide smile on her face every morning.
But the afternoons and evenings at home are rough.
She’s moody and pouty, the sullen attitude beginning to concern me.
She’s been begging to FaceTime Claire, but I keep making excuses for why we can’t.
Truth is, I can’t bear the idea of seeing her and not holding her.
It’s only a matter of time before my daughter sees right through me.
If I’m not thinking about Claire, I’m consumed by the camp expansion and funding options.
With my laptop out on the front porch, I’m buried in work, somewhat successfully keeping my mind from drifting to a certain woman. When my phone rings, I consider ignoring it, but since it could be work-related, I dig it out of my pocket.
“Can you come into the office?” my father-in-law says in way of greeting.
“I’m in the middle of something right now, but I can be there in about an hour.”
“You’re going to want to see this now,” he says, his voice firm.
My hackles rise. “Why? What’s going on?”
“Just… You’ll see when you get here.”
Depending on how long this thing with Jack takes, I might not have time to email investors before school pickup. But clearly this is urgent, so I hang up and speed over to the main office.
“What is it? What happened?” I ask as I walk into the building.
Jack looks at me, bewildered, and Natalie’s face is blotchy like she’s been crying.
Fuck. My heart sinks.
Jack is holding a long and narrow cardboard box with one end torn open.
“Here.” He passes me a folded piece of paper.
With trembling hands, I unfold it and read it.
Then I read it again. And again and again.
“I—I don’t understand.” I look back and forth between my in-laws. “The construction for the expansion has been fully funded?”
In disbelief, I scan the letter one more time. It’s printed on my lawyer’s letterhead, with his signature at the bottom, so it’s legit.
“Do you know who did this?” Natalie asks.
I shake my head, flabbergasted.
Jack takes the letter from me and passes the package over.
With care, I pull out the bubble-wrapped item. The tape is torn, meaning Jack and Natalie have already seen it. I pass the box to Jack, then unwrap the plastic.
The lights above glint against the gold plaque as I gloss over it with my fingers. And as I read the engraving, my heart lodges in my throat and my breath gets trapped deep within my lungs.
The first line of engraving reads: The Hive.
Below, it says: For our beloved mother, wife, daughter, and friend, Daisy Greer. May her memory live on in children’s smiles at The Hive.
Tears spill over my cheeks like water from a dam. Thankfully, Natalie shuffles over with a box of tissue.
“Claire,” I choke, stumbling back and bumping into a chair. I collapse, causing the chair to scoot back a few inches, clinging to the plaque, my tears running unchecked.
“What did you say?” Natalie sits beside me and rests a hand on my shoulder.
Focusing on my mother-in-law, I inhale deeply. “It was Claire.”
Her eyes go wide. “Did you know?”
I simply shake my head.
“How do you know it was her?”
“She’s the only one who knew that Daisy and I wanted to name the children’s center The Hive.”
Jack and Natalie sit with me for several minutes, saturated tissues piled high on the side table.
After a while, Jack clears his throat. “You have our blessing, you know.”
Blinking in confusion, I frown.
With a hand clasped tightly on my arm, Natalie says, “Claire may not be our daughter, and you are in no way obligated to ask for our permission, but you have it anyway. We like her, Asher. We really like her. And we see how she’s changed you.”
With my heart still hanging out in my throat, my words are garbled. “What do you mean?”
“You’re lighter, freer, more playful. We’ve watched you two this summer. She’s good for you.” Jack says. “Bea too. That little girl adores her. And you know the feeling is mutual. Why else would she have done what she just did?”
“Honey, you know this is what Daisy would have—” Natalie gulps back a sob.
While she’s too emotional to finish the sentence, I know what she’s trying to say.
And she’s right.
“You don’t think we’re given unlimited chances to go after the things we want, do you?” Jack asks, his eyes steely. “Because we don’t. So son, if you want her, go get her.”
I stand, and my in-laws follow, sandwiching me in a deep and tearful embrace, one full of immense understanding. Natalie insists on collecting Bea from school, allowing me some time to sort out the events of this afternoon.
At home, I stumble to the fridge for… I don’t know.
A beer? Water? As I grasp the handle, the pictures Bea and Claire created earlier this summer—the ones with the bumblebees and daisies—catch my eye.
A detail I’ve never noticed before jumps out at me.
A tiny symmetrical heart next to Claire’s signature.
I yank both pictures off the fridge, the magnets clattering onto the floor, and stuff them in my pocket.