Trish told Jackson to have someone bring Ophelia’s truck to the hospital for her, and one of the men from the Pirates loped into the store, apparently to retrieve the car keys.
But for everyone else, silence reigned while the paramedics loaded the ambulance. And then lights flashing, it slowly drove away, followed by the police cars and the fire truck. The crowd dissipated quickly, and within moments, there was a procession of cars following the ambulance. The last car in line was an old, blue pickup truck that pulled around from the back of the store, with Wright & Son painted in faded letters across the side.
In less than five minutes, the town was empty as its inhabitants escorted their leader on his journey.
The store was locked up, and Griffin was alone on the porch of the building that had always been bustling with activity since the day he’d arrived. Now? Abandoned.
The sign on the door said to ring the doorbell if it was after hours, and someone would be down to help. How many times had Norm come downstairs in the middle of the night to help someone who needed diapers, or baby formula, or even beer? Griffin suspected that Norm would have deemed all requests sufficient to rouse him from his sleep and his wife’s arms.
And now he was gone.
Griffin sat down in the chair that Norm had used the night they’d had their talk. The one Norm would never use again. He leaned back and looked up at the sky. The stars were bright tonight, just like that evening he’d been out here with Norm.
How could Norm be gone? He was the town. He was Wright’s. Would the store stay open? And what would Ophelia do? Would she even be able to live there anymore? Or run the store? Or would she lose everything on top of her husband?
Griffin’s chest tightened and he leaned forward, pressing his forehead to his hands as his body began to shake. Ophelia’s courage and strength had been astonishing. Her life, her soul mate, her reason for being had been stripped away from her, and her heart had been breaking, and yet somehow, she’d had the capacity to share Norm’s love with the town he’d loved so much.
Norm had been Ophelia’s life, and she’d loved him so much, yet she hadn’t broken under the agony of losing him. Shouldn’t her love for him have brought her to her knees? How had she used her love to survive that moment? But she hadn’t simply survived. In that moment, he’d seen her glow with something powerful. With an inner spirit that had carried her through. Was that love? Was that—
“Dad?”
Griffin looked up to see his daughter getting out of the passenger door of Hillary’s Mercedes. “Brooke?” His voice was raspy and thick, and he couldn’t clear it.
She walked to the bottom of the steps. She was wearing jeans and a tee shirt, a pair of old flip-flops, and her hair was shoved in a crooked ponytail. It was the most disheveled he’d ever seen her, and the most beautiful, because her spirit wasn’t hidden behind makeup, fancy hair and designer labels. His daughter. So precious. So alive.
Brooke peered at him. “Are you crying?”
He was too drained to lie. “Yeah, I am.”
“Why?”
“Because a good man died tonight.”
“Oh.” Brooke hesitated.
Griffin patted the seat beside him. “Come sit, Brookie.”
She hurried up the stairs and perched on the swing that Griffin had used the night he’d been talking to Norm.
For a moment, neither of them spoke.
Finally, Brooke said. “I’ve never seen you cry.”
“I don’t much.” It was difficult to talk, his throat was so heavy and thick.
Again, conversation faded until the only sound was the squeak of the swing as Brooke pushed off, back and forth, back and forth. How many times had Ophelia sat in that seat while Norm had occupied Griffin’s? Hundreds? Thousands?
And now, it was over. How did love like that end? It was too soon for them. They had so much more they were supposed to live.
Hillary got out of the car and leaned on the roof to watch them. But she said nothing. She was just waiting. For what? Why were they in Birch Crossing? Not that he could muster up the energy to figure it out. Not right now. After all the energy he’d spent trying to win his daughter over, he had nothing left.
“Dad?”
“Yeah.” He rested his forearms on his thighs and clasped his hands, staring at the gray paint on the porch. How vividly he recalled Norm walking across those boards, accompanying his wife to the door. He could still see their wrinkled hands entwined, the way they’d parted, with a promise of love and intimacy and foreverness. It had been a moment of beauty. And it would never happen again. He pressed the heels of his hands to his eyes again and his shoulders began to shake. “That’s not the way it should be.”
He felt a soft touch on his shoulder. “It’ll be okay, Dad.”
He couldn’t look up. He couldn’t talk. He couldn’t respond.
His daughter’s arms went around him, and she leaned her head on his shoulder.
“Oh, God, Brookie.” He grabbed her and pulled her onto his lap. He held her as he trembled, as his beautiful child hugged him for the first time in far too long. “I missed you.”
“I missed you too,” she whispered. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, Brookie.” He hugged her, so tightly, so fiercely, and he knew he could never let go, not ever.
It felt like an eternity before his body stopped shaking, before his throat loosened enough that he could speak, and Brooke held him the whole time, never letting him go.
He swallowed finally and lifted his head. To his surprise, tears gleamed on his daughter’s cheeks. “Brookie,” he said softly, brushing his thumb over her face. “Why are you crying?”
She sniffled. “I don’t know.”
He managed a smile, and kissed her forehead. “You’re so beautiful,” he said. “You’re growing into the most incredible young woman. I’m so proud of you. I’m sorry I’m such a bad dad. I’m sorry I can’t get it right, but you need to know that I love you every minute of every day, and I will always do anything you need me to do.” He held her face. “I love you, Brookie. I just wanted you to know that.”
She smiled through her tears. “I know you do.”
“You do?” At her nod, the most intense relief rushed through him. “Oh, God, you really do, don’t you?” His daughter believed him. She knew his love. She did. He grabbed her and hugged her again, pressing his face in her hair like she used to beg him to do when she was little.
Brooke laughed and pushed him away. “You’re messing up my hair.”
He grinned and tousled her hair even more, feeling like a tremendous weight had fallen from him. “Sorry, pigeon. You know I’d never mess it up on purpose.”
“Stop!” She swatted his hand away, but her eyes were sparkling. “I’m not five! You can’t call me pigeon anymore.”
“You’ll always be my pigeon,” he said. His little girl, no matter who she called Dad or whose last name she carried. He suddenly understood that truth. Just as Norm’s spirit would always remain, kept alive by the people of Birch Crossing and by Ophelia even though he was gone, his daughter would always be a part of his heart, regardless of whether her last name was Friesé or Burwell. She would always, always be his daughter, and the love would always be there.
And by God, that felt damn good.
“Dad,” his daughter groaned. “I’m not your pigeon.”
“Okay.” He laughed softly. “You’re right. I’ll try to remember. But you might have to remind me.”
She studied him, her face suddenly solemn. “But will you listen to me?”
He nodded, his amusement vanishing. “Yes, I will.” He turned toward her, giving her his full attention. “I swear I’ll listen to you from now on, Brooke. I promise it.”
She smiled and took a breath. “Then I’ll come to Boston with you.”
Griffin felt like something had knocked the wind out of him, and he looked sharply at Hillary. And that’s when he saw the tears on her cheeks. He returned his gaze to his daughter, barely able to fathom her words. “That’s why you’re here? You came after me?”
Brooke nodded. “When Mom told me you said I could change my name, I freaked.” She hit his shoulder. “I never thought you would say yes. You weren’t supposed to actually let me go!”
He was so shocked by her words that he couldn’t speak.
She didn’t really want him to let her go
. “Oh, God, Brooke.” He hugged her again, so fiercely, fighting the surge of emotion that threatened to bring back his unmanly tears again. “You broke my heart today,” he told her thickly. “I thought that’s what you wanted.”
Big, huge tears trickled down her cheeks as she buried herself against him. “I just wanted my dad,” she whispered.
“Well, you’ve got him.” He looked again at Hillary, who was standing there, patiently waiting for Brooke to leave her. Hillary was giving her daughter the freedom to make her own choice, even if that meant losing her forever.
“My stuff is in the car,” Brooke said. “I’m ready to go tonight.”
“Tonight?” Griffin saw then that Brooke was holding her pink stuffed poodle. The one she’d had since she was a baby. He touched it. “Do you still sleep with Ponzo?”
She hugged him to her chest. “Of course. Ponzo would get very upset if I didn’t.”
And in that moment, as his daughter peered at him over the head of a very ragged poodle, Griffin realized how young she was. How fragile. How delicate. She wasn’t a commodity to be pulled back and forth. She was a tiny, vulnerable person with a heart that had shut him out because she’d been afraid of losing him.
He saw Hillary had her head down, and her hand was covering her eyes and the tears he knew were on her cheeks. Tears like the ones Ophelia and the others had shed tonight, tears of loss for the one they loved.
No. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. No more loss.
He took his daughter’s hands. “Brooke,” he said. “Do you love mom? And the twins?”
She nodded. “Of course.”
“And Dan? Tell me the truth. I won’t be mad.”
She looked down. “Yes,” she whispered.
Yes.
She loved them all. But she also loved him. How could he cause her the kind of pain he’d felt and seen tonight with Norm’s death? How could he make her choose between those she loved? He couldn’t.
Brooke pulled back. “Well, let’s go, then.” Her voice was impatient, but tears were glistening in her eyes, and her mouth was pulled into a tight line. He knew that expression. It was the one he’d seen so many times, moments before his little girl exploded into tears and sobs. She was being so brave, but he knew her pain.
“Dad? Let’s go.”
Griffin didn’t move. “I can’t.”
She frowned. “You can’t what?”
“I can’t take you away from your home.”
Hillary’s head came up, disbelieving hope etched on her face.
Brooke’s face crumpled. “You don’t want me.”
“No!” He grabbed her arms. “Never think that. I just can’t take you away from them, either. It’s not right for us to be apart, but it’s not right to take you away either.”
“But—”
“Brooke,” he said. “I’ll find a way for you to have both.”
And there, in that moment, he finally saw his daughter’s face come alive with the joy and love he’d always wished for her. “I don’t have to leave them? Or you? I don’t have to choose?”
“No.” He brushed her hair back from her face. “Never.”
“Really?”
“Really.” He realized his hand was shaking. “I’ll never ask that of you again, I promise.”
She grabbed his wrist, her delicate fingers tight on his arm. “And you’ll still come by? A lot? You promise?”
“I swear it.”
Brooke shook her head, confusion and doubt wrinkling her forehead. “But your work—”
He laid a finger over her lips, silencing her. “I’ll make it happen. I promise.”
She searched his face, those dark brown eyes so intent as she sought to understand if she could trust him. He met her gaze. He didn’t look away. He allowed her to see his love.
And then she smiled, a great big smile that broke like the dawn over her face. “Thank you!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him, and he held her tightly. “I love you, Daddy.”
“I love you, too, pigeon.” And by God, he did.
She pulled back and stuck her tongue out at him. “Dad! You called me pigeon!”
He laughed. “Go back home with Mom. I have to go to Boston tonight.”
Excitement danced in her eyes. “Can I still be involved with In Your Face?”
He smiled. “Of course. We’ll figure out a way.” He winked at her. “Maybe we’ll have you skip school on Fridays so you can come down and hang with me.”
“Oh, yeah! That would be awesome! No school on Fridays!” She hugged him and then raced down the stairs. “Mom! Mom! Guess what! I don’t have to go to school on Fridays anymore!”
“Is that so?” But Hillary’s voice was light and happy as she hugged her.
Griffin smiled as he watched his daughter jumping up and down with excitement. It was the way it should be. Somehow, someway, he’d finally gotten the dad thing at least a little bit right, and it felt damn good.
Hillary bundled Brooke into the car, and shut the door. Then she looked up at Griffin. “Thank you,” she said.
He nodded, then leaned back in the chair as he watched them go. But this time, as his daughter drove away, he didn’t feel sad or empty. He knew he was going to make it right. It wasn’t going to be easy, but if Clare could balance work and being a mom, then he could do it, too.
Clare.
The thought sobered him up pretty damn quickly. He glanced in the direction of her farmhouse. Was there a way to make that work, too? A way to—
No.
Just as he couldn’t ask his daughter to leave her family, he couldn’t ask Clare to love a man who lived in Boston, who belonged in Boston. It was time for him to let her go. It was time for him to leave.
But he didn’t get up.
He just leaned back in his chair, looked up at the stars, and asked Norm for advice.
Clare was still sitting in the driveway when Sara’s mom dropped Katie off at the house a while after Griffin had left. Her phone had rung several times, but she hadn’t bothered to move to answer it. She had nothing left to say to anyone, no reserves left to cope.