Every day, he brought me coffee and a treat from the café. They waited on my desk each morning. Twice, a small bunch of flowers had appeared. A pretty new day planner showed up in the middle of my desk, with penciled-in V’s filling in upcoming weekends and evenings. I was touched he remembered my need to jot down notes to jog my memory. And his gift made me smile.
Regardless of where he was working from during the day, he called me every afternoon at two. He asked the same questions.
“How’s your day going, Livvy?”
“How’s Mouse?”
“Anything you need?”
And he always finished the call the same way.
“I loved hearing your voice, and I miss you. I’ll call you tonight if that’s okay.”
“Yes,” I would reply.
“Okay. You know where I am if you need me.”
Indeed, I did. I felt his presence everywhere. It was as if my body was tuned to his. I knew when he was in his office. I felt his absence when he left the building. I longed for two o’clock every day, and my nights were no longer complete without his call.
The evening calls were different. Personal. He talked about his life in the band. Shared amusing stories of life on the road. Talked about his parents. Asked me countless questions about growing up and Sammy when she was a baby. It was as if he wanted to know as much about us as possible. I told him things I had never told anyone, and he listened.
One night, he called earlier than normal. Sammy was still awake, and I put him on speaker. They talked for over thirty minutes. I realized it was the first time I had ever heard her talk to someone for that long aside from my mother or me.
She was more than attached already.
And I was beginning to think I was as well.
I passed a weary hand over my face, feeling confused.
How had Van Morrison slipped so deeply under my skin without me even realizing it?
Then, as if I had conjured him up, he was there. Standing beside the park bench, a tray of steaming coffees in one hand and a brown bag in the other.
I blinked at him in surprise.
He looked nervous and worried.
“I wanted to come and say hi. I thought we could have coffee together while you watched Mouse.” He hesitated. “If that’s okay?”
The words were out before I could think. “Yeah. More than okay.”
His smile was brilliant. He sat beside me, handing me a cup. Then he dug into the bag and handed me one of his favorite lemon Danishes. Sammy spotted him and, with a whoop of delight, ran toward us. Van set down the food and met her partway, bending low to catch her. I felt a lump build in my throat. He was as happy to see her as she was to see him. He brought her to the bench and sat her on his knee, listening to her rapid conversation as she tried to fill him in on her life since she last saw him.
“Whoa, take a breath, Sammy,” I chuckled.
“But, Mommy, I have to tell Mr. Van about the spelling bee! I won second place!”
He ruffled her hair. “Good job, Mouse.”
She grimaced. “The last word was too hard. But Mommy says I learned something new.” She peeked into the bag. “Is one of these for me?”
He chuckled and handed her another lemon Danish, then opened a small container of milk. He pulled out the last Danish, and together, they munched. There was a running commentary between bites, and I was content to sip my coffee and watch them together. Van’s immense form filled the park bench, and Sammy looked so small on his knee. He kept one arm wrapped around her in a protective gesture, and my heart warmed at the sight. He listened intently, although his gaze drifted to me often. When she finished her snack, she jumped up, demanding he watch her as she went back to playing.
He produced a wet-nap from his pocket. “You know the drill, Mouse. Hands up.”
Giggling, she held out her fingers, and he gently wiped the sticky icing from them. He tapped the end of her nose. “You go play, and I’ll watch as I talk to Mommy, okay?”
She flung her arms around his neck, squeezing him. “I’m so glad you’re here! I missed you!” She scampered off.
He sat back, finally opening his own coffee and sipping. He was quiet for a few moments, then stretched his arms casually along the back of the bench.
“You look tired,” he observed. “You feeling okay, Livvy?”
“I’m good, Van. No need to worry about me.”
“But I do.” I felt his fingers tangle in my hair, rubbing the strands.
“I miss you,” he murmured. “Both of you.”
My breath caught, but I wasn’t sure what to say.
“Any chance you might miss me?” he asked, his voice tense. “I know it’s only been a week, but it feels like longer to me.”
I glanced at his profile. He was watching Sammy, his jaw tight, the strain around his eyes evident. The need to ease his pain stirred within me.
“Yeah,” I sighed. “We both do.”
He exhaled long and hard. “That’s good to hear.”
“I’m not ready yet, Van.”
He leaned forward, his elbows braced on his knees. “I know. I told you I would wait.”
Sammy called to him and he stood. “I’m not giving up, Liv.”
Then before I could say anything, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to my forehead. “And I’m not going anywhere. You let me know when you’re ready to move forward.”
Then he hurried toward Sammy and played with her. My heart swelled watching them together—the gentle giant and my daughter.
I thought about my fears. Although he had overreacted with Vicky, his anger hadn’t been directed at me. It was born out of worry and fear of what she would say or do, not something I had done. He had apologized, more than once, and shown me nothing but patience and care every day.
And I did miss him. I missed everything about him. Especially his touch and the way he looked at me.
I ran a hand over my head, weary and confused. Was I ready to move forward? Could I trust him? Could I trust myself?
The low rumble of his laughter caught my attention. He was on the ground, Sammy lifted high on his feet as he supported her with his hands. She was laughing with him, her trust in him absolute.
Their antics made me chuckle.
Van made me happy.
Were we more attached than I realized, as I had thought earlier?
I thought perhaps I had my answer.
Van
Tuesday morning, the sky was overcast and gray. It matched my mood. I hadn’t slept much lately, and the early call I’d had made me tense. I wasn’t sure how Liv was going to react. I wasn’t sure how I was going to handle the day. I had kept my promise as best I could. But the daily phone calls to Liv were all I had, and she hadn’t asked me to stop. I sensed a growing closeness happening between us, and I hoped I wasn’t wrong.
I pulled up to the curb and climbed out of the truck. Liv was waiting, looking over my shoulder toward the cab.
“I thought you were picking up Bentley?” she asked, confused. “More Braxton Hicks with Emmy?”
“He called me about five a.m. Her water broke and she started having contractions—the real kind—and they’re on their way to the hospital.”
“Oh!”
“I asked him if he wanted us to handle it today, and he said he’d be grateful. He didn’t want more time to pass, and he wasn’t sure when he’d be able to make the time over the next while. I told him it wasn’t a problem.” I eyed her speculatively. “Is it a problem, Liv? Should I call Bentley and tell him we need to reschedule?”