If Forever Comes (Take This Regret #2)(7)
Author: A.L. Jackson

“Bye, Mommy,” she called behind her as she turned and walked away.

I took her hand and led her down the sidewalk. The door quietly clicked shut behind us.

Lizzie climbed into her spot in the backseat of my car, tossing her backpack onto the seat beside her before she buckled herself into her booster.

I situated myself in the driver’s seat, put my car in reverse, and glanced at my little girl through the rearview mirror as I backed out of the driveway.

I hadn’t seen her since I’d dropped her back at her mother’s on Saturday morning after she spent Friday night with me at my condo. The weekends without Lizzie were the worst.

“How was your weekend, princess?”

Lizzie shrugged a little and trained her attention out the window. “Okay, I guess,” she said, her voice low, woven with despondence.

I put the car in drive and headed toward her school. Maybe it was completely out of the way, an irrational chore to travel all this way to drive her a mile to her school every morning. I didn’t care. I needed this time with her, this connection that promised I was still an integral part of her life.

“Just okay?” I prodded, struggling to keep my voice from cracking. I hated seeing her this way. Her mood constantly fluctuated, up and down, back and forth, hints of my sweet baby girl emerging then receding just as quickly.

“I was just bored. Uncle Maffew and Auntie Natalie didn’t come over all weekend, and Mommy didn’t want to go to the beach,” she almost pouted. She paused, grimaced as she continued on, seemingly grasping for the good things that did transpire over the days we’d been apart. “Mommy did play with me a little bit, but then she got tired and took a nap. And she let me pick out dinner and I helped her make it, too.” She smiled a little as her attention flitted up to meet mine in the mirror. “I got lots of time to play with my new dolls you got me, Daddy. And I got my dollhouse all set up.”

We’d gone shopping Friday night, searching out a dining room set for her prized dollhouse that was tucked in the corner of her room. We’d ended up with a tiny dining room set, and I couldn’t say no when Lizzie had asked me to add two new members to the ever-growing miniature family. Lately Lizzie seemed to spend more time lost in the sanctuary of their world than in her own.

Sorrow swamped me, because I could feel my daughter’s own. I hated it. I would do anything to be able to take it away.

“That doesn’t sound so bad.” I made a feeble attempt at encouraging her.

She sighed, slumped her chin in her hand as she rested her forehead on the window, her attention focused on the blur of the passing street. “I just don’t know why you can’t sleep at our house. It’s better when you’re there, Daddy.”

Her words cut right through me. I fought to gather myself, to keep it under control, because I knew I had to stay strong for my little girl.

I forced myself to speak. “We already talked about why I can’t right now.”

The problem was all of those reasons had come with little conviction. I didn’t believe them myself.

“Just tell Mommy you’re sorry,” she begged quietly. I heard the tears building in the vulnerability that wound its way into her angel voice.

God.

How was I going to get through another conversation like this? We had them often, and I’d give just about anything to offer her a different answer, to come up with a different result.

I wanted one myself.

Sighing heavily, I scrubbed my palm over my face, blinked as I tried to focus ahead through the sorrowful haze that clouded my vision.

“It’s not that simple, Lizzie.” God, how much did I wish it was.

Silence hovered in the car before she finally spoke again. “Your voice was so loud, Daddy. You made Mommy cry.” Her words came as a whisper, a memory that so clearly traumatized my little girl.

That day had been the first emotion I’d seen from Elizabeth in weeks. It’d been charged, the moment when Elizabeth had finally broken and I’d cracked.

I’d said things I never should have.

But Elizabeth had said them, too.

“I hate that you heard that, Lizzie, but sometimes grown-ups have fights and we raise our voices. None of that was directed at you.”

“But then you left,” she countered. “You’re supposed to say you’re sorry when you do something bad.”

Palpitations fluttered my heart. The deepest sense of grief and a suggestion of awe took hold. My little girl forever grasped so much more than I imagined she did. The intuitiveness that always seemed veiled beneath her child-like naivety shone through with the wise, logical words that she spoke.

If only it were that easy.

“Your mom and I are doing the best we can right now, sweetheart. But no matter what, we love you more than anything. You know that, don’t you?”

Intense blue eyes met mine in the mirror, honest and pure. “I always know that, Daddy. It just makes me sad that you can’t stay.”

Relief assuaged some of the guilt that wouldn’t let go, and a wistful smile pulled at my mouth. “You’re an amazing child, Little Elizabeth.”

Lizzie blushed the brightest red and fought a grin. Dimples dented her cheeks.

Affection pushed at my ribs.

I rarely called her that, but sometimes, I just couldn’t help myself.

She bore little physical resemblance to her mother, but I glimpsed her in so many things, the child a striking reminder of a young Elizabeth.

Sweet and kind.

Timid and shy and incredibly confident in the exact same moment.

Wise, but continuously led by her emotions.

Good.

That, and she shared Elizabeth’s grandmother’s name.

“I like that name, Daddy,” she mumbled through her shyness, that sweet little girl back again.

“I do, too, princess,” I whispered to her, emotion cresting my mouth. I loved her so much, so much it hurt.

She smiled a little. A silent conversation passed between us, something that spoke of a deep understanding. On some level, my little girl recognized what I was going through and the way I truly felt. She knew I would go home to them if I could, that if I could break down Elizabeth’s walls, I would.

I made a left-hand turn and merged right to wind into the circular drop-off in front of Lizzie’s school.

“Look!” Lizzie suddenly squealed.

I craned my head to try to take in what had caused such a reaction in Lizzie, the child overflowing with excitement. As I came to a full stop at the curb, she quickly unbuckled and shot forward in her seat. She pointed out to the sidewalk.