Take This Regret (13 page)

Nervously, I ran my hand over my face and through my hair in a vain attempt to calm myself.

Sarah appeared at my side, nudging my shoulder.

“Relax.”

I suppressed a snort.

How could I relax when I had to welcome Christian into my home, the one who had wounded me deeper than anyone, the one who haunted my days and held me in my dreams?

Impossible.

The worst part of it al was, somewhere deep inside me, I knew that al owing him here today was official y inviting him into our lives.

Anticipation stirred, pushing me forward.

Yeah, I was nervous and unable to imagine how an afternoon spent with Elizabeth’s family could turn out pleasant, but I didn’t care. Seeing my daughter again, sharing her birthday with her were the only things that mattered.

Last Saturday had been the most important day of my life—wonderful, perfect, and entirely horrifying—but the most important. Standing in the middle of the McDonald’s parking lot and watching the tail ights of Elizabeth’s car disappear, I’d been hit with so many emotions, and I couldn’t discern them al . For the first time I real y understood what I’d missed. I hadn’t been there when my child was born, had no idea what she looked like as a baby, hadn’t witnessed her first steps, her first words. I’d missed birthdays and holidays, years of love, and certainly plenty of heartache. I
missed
Elizabeth.

God, I missed Elizabeth.

Sleep eluded me that night as I dealt with the anger; al of it directed at me. Lizzie had undone me that day, and once she’d loosed the regret that I’d kept bottled inside for years, I could not hold it back any longer. My soul mourned for what it had lost, for every day I had lived without them, for every moment wasted, for time that could not be reclaimed. I’d buried my face in my pil ow as I thought of Elizabeth and the pain I had caused her and what she must have felt.

Shame.

I’d felt it before, but that night it devoured me. By the time the sun broke through the night, I’d accepted that I could never do anything to erase those mistakes. They had marred our lives, sending them on a course they never should have gone. The only power I had was in today, and I was determined to live every day for Lizzie and Elizabeth.

Even if Elizabeth never forgave me, I would live for her.

That didn’t mean I’d forgotten what my mother had told me. Elizabeth needed time to deal with my return, time to figure out where I would fit into their lives.

I started by asking for
seven fifteen
.

When I cal ed at seven fifteen on Sunday evening, Elizabeth had answered, sounding irritated, icy.

But at least she’d answered. I’d take what I could get.

I’d only offered a quick unreturned hi and asked if I I’d only offered a quick unreturned hi and asked if I could speak with Lizzie to ask her what she wanted for her birthday. As strong as the urge was to apologize again and try to talk to Elizabeth, I’d realized my words were never going to mean anything to her until I showed her I real y meant them.

Of course, I wanted to know what Lizzie wanted for her birthday, but it was real y just an excuse to cal . The disquiet I’d felt the entire day in her absence was put to ease with the sound of her voice, giggling as she sang
hi, Daddy
into the phone, her words a warm embrace. When I’d cal ed the next day at the same time, Elizabeth had seemed just as irritated but maybe less surprised. By the third night, Lizzie answered, squealing
Daddy
into the phone.

The amount of love that surged through me each time I heard her voice was shocking, more than I’d ever imagined possible.

I spent those cal s listening to her, learning her, knowing her. Through them, I also gleaned information about Elizabeth, smal tidbits that answered some of my questions and others that only gave rise to more. I never asked, but whatever Lizzie offered, I was al too happy to accept.

Seven fifteen
Lizzie could count on, whether I was alone on the balcony of my condo, staring out at the bay, or if it drew me from a board meeting—it was our time.

My breath caught in my throat when I turned onto their street and saw the number of cars lining it. Pink bal oons tied to a mailbox flapped in the breeze, confirmation for partygoers that they had come to the right place. A shaky feeling swept through me when I stepped from my car and heard the sounds of playing children and adult conversations coming from Elizabeth’s backyard. I pul ed the four presents from the trunk of my car and attempted to balance them with one hand while I swept the other hand through my hair in another vain attempt to calm myself.

Ringing the doorbel , I felt my chest tighten with excitement and dread.

I shifted uncomfortably while I waited unsure of who I would face first. When the door swung open, I looked around the stack of presents I had balanced in front of me.

The smile on the woman’s face melted into a hardened scowl. I recognized her as Sarah, Elizabeth’s older sister, though I’d only seen her in pictures. The two bore a remarkable resemblance. The only difference was the five years and probable twenty pounds Sarah had over Elizabeth, though neither of those things made her any less attractive.

I offered a feeble smile.

She narrowed her eyes and stepped back against the wal . She crossed her arms over her chest and al owed me inside without a welcome.

I grimaced and dropped my eyes to the floor as I stepped over the threshold.

This was going to be uncomfortable.

“Everyone’s out back,” she mumbled.

I offered a meek
thank-you
that remained unreturned.

Shifting the packages in my arms, I took in my surroundings and grinned.

Elizabeth.

The place screamed it. It was warm and cluttered and messy.

In the middle of the room sat a cozy brown couch with fuzzy blankets draped over the back and large pil ows thrown randomly against it. A toy box overflowed, spil ing toys out onto the carpet. Framed pictures sat on every shelf and table, mingled with the books on the large bookshelf in the corner, and covered the wal s that led upstairs.

I wanted to study each one to discover Lizzie at every age. Instead, I forced myself to fol ow the noise from the backyard. I walked through smal living room and the archway that led into the kitchen. A sliding glass door sat wide open to the party happening just outside.

I took a deep breath, tried to convince myself I could do this, and stepped through the doorway.

“Daddy!” Lizzie screamed over the roaring volume of voices.

Silence washed over the gathering. Guests trailed off mid-sentence as they turned to look, or rather, glare at me

—everyone except the precious child who threw herself around my leg, hugging me. I smiled at her, dropping to my knee to pul her into a one-armed hug as I continued to balance the packages in the other. I nearly melted when I saw what she wore.

“Hi, sweetheart.” I kissed her dark, silken hair, careful to avoid the adorable tiara she wore. “Happy birthday.”

“I’m so happy you came, Daddy.” For a moment, I forgot she was a five-year-old child. There was so much emotion in her words and maturity in her tone as if my presence was a validation of trust and she understood my heart. I could only pray she did.

“Me too,” I said to reassure, hugging her to me again.

“Me too.” I patted her back before releasing her. She grinned and then raced to rejoin the group of children running and playing on the grass.

Me too.

Even if it meant enduring the quiet hostility that had settled over the smal group of adults in Elizabeth’s backyard, it was worth it. They stood straighter, backs rigid, taking a protective stance. I didn’t even want to begin to imagine what these people thought about me, though I couldn’t blame them. If our positions had been reversed, I was sure I would feel exactly the same way.

Averting my gaze, I busied myself by searching for the gift table. I placed the packages on it, stal ing a moment before I turned back to face the awkwardness of the situation.

Everyone had returned to their conversations, though they now spoke in hushed, low whispers that I could only assume had much to do with me. Palpable tension clung to the air, the festivity dampened by my presence.

I warred against the need to justify myself to these people, to explain my intentions, and to apologize. Words meant nothing, I reminded myself. I had to earn that forgiveness, and that forgiveness could real y only come through one person—Elizabeth.

through one person—Elizabeth.

She’d ignored my arrival. Her back was turned to me as she spoke quietly to a couple I didn’t recognize, and she acted as if she hadn’t noticed the shift in the mood—

pretended it meant nothing—that I meant nothing.

I found reprieve in a plastic chair at the far corner of the yard where I sank out of view and watched Lizzie play. She ran in and out of the house, the children playing a game of chase, al of them squealing and laughing as they moved in a pack. I leaned my elbows on my knees, straining to get a better look as they wove through tables, chairs, and in between the adults where they stood talking.

Lizzie’s face glowed, happiness pouring from her as she raced around the yard.

So beautiful.

My
child.

Never had I imagined that loving someone could hurt so much.

I did my best to keep from staring at Elizabeth, but there were times I couldn’t help but search for her, to watch as she chatted with her family and friends, her hands animated and her laugh free, pure honey, thick and warm—

sweet.

When she’d feel the intensity of my eyes upon her, she would immediately tense, but she stil never turned to meet my gaze.

So wrapped up in the woman in front of me, I jumped when the chair beside me shifted.

Shit.

Matthew.

He sat back, and from a distance, he would have appeared calm, though I knew he was anything but. His jaw twitched from muscles held taut in restraint. What felt like an hour passed as we sat in silence, neither acknowledging the other while tension ricocheted between us.

When at last he spoke, his voice was low, indignant.

His nostrils flared as he forced heavy, control ed breaths through his nose. “You’ve got a lot of fuckin’ nerve, man.” Stiffening, I fought off the instinct to become defensive.

The group of children came barreling back outside, al of them chasing Lizzie who laughed harder than I’d ever seen.

I watched her, al owing her to remind me of why I was here and relaxing as that knowledge soothed me, calmed me.

Matthew laughed, cynical and sarcastic when he caught me staring at Lizzie. “Did you know you almost got your way?” Matthew gestured to her with his head as she ran by.

His statement tore my attention from Lizzie. “What?”

“You have no idea what Elizabeth went through while you went on living your cushy little life, do you?” He pressed his clenched fists into his thighs, his anger barely constrained. “How she struggled every day, how she sacrificed . . . how she almost lost that child because of what you did.”

Al the blood drained from my face. I felt lightheaded, faint with visions of Elizabeth suffering, the idea of Lizzie not being a part of this world a sick delusion.

And I had wanted it,
demanded
it.

I gripped the back of my neck, struck by searing guilt.

“And now she final y has her life together, and you waltz back into it like it’s your God-given right,” Matthew said with a tone that held a hint of a growl, each word delivering a blow directly to my gut.

But I took it, deserved it—needed it. I needed to know what I’d done.

Elizabeth’s laughter carried in our direction. I looked at her, pained and sickened with the realization that I’d wronged her so severely. I was sure the surface of that wrong hadn’t even been scratched. It seemed that at every turn, I learned I’d only cut her deeper than I could have imagined.

So much for unfounded nobility, so much for the fairy tale I’d painted in my mind, one I now realized I’d conjured only to make myself feel better.

Matthew’s lip trembled as he swal owed and dug his fists deeper into his legs. “I don’t know what your game is, but you need to know I wil do whatever it takes to protect them. Do you understand what I’m tel ing you?”

“What do you want me to say, Matthew?” My voice came out raspy, regret laced with frustration. “That I’m sorry? Because I wil if it makes you feel better, but that’s not going to change anything that I did in the past.” He snapped, turning to me in what seemed to be disbelief. “You think I want an apology?” He shook his head, looking incredulous. “What I want is for you to stay out of their lives.”

“Wel , that’s not going to happen,” I retorted harder and faster than I’d anticipated. Matthew needed to understand that I was not playing some game and there was no way in hel he would keep me from Lizzie.

He narrowed his eyes. “If you real y care about them, you’l stay out of their lives.”

I wanted to laugh because he was feeding me the same bul shit line I’d fed myself for the last five years—to the day.