Mari.
God, I miss her.
When I open my eyes, Soph’s looking at me. She smiles like she’s read my mind. “I’m glad you’re my dad.”
“Thanks.” I swallow back the lump in my throat. “I’m pretty glad you’re my kid.”
She smiles and turns her focus to the new room we’ve entered. Glancing at the signage, I remember this is one I planned to steer her past. The space focused on the worst of the hospital’s history, from violent attacks to mass poisonings. Not stuff a twelve-year-old needs to see.
I ready myself to offer a hug or an explanation or just a soft place to land. But Soph’s shoulders are squared, her eyes dry as she stares at a video screen where a documentary blares the grim story of three thousand urns of cremated patient remains housed in a separate building. Christ, what was I thinking bringing my kid here?
“Sophie?” As she turns to face me, I do my best to block out the grim words. I think about what Mari said that first day Soph told us about her friend troubles.
“Admitting you messed up doesn’t make you dumb or weak. It makes you strong and kind and self-aware.”
Christ. What if I’m the one who messed up here?
First things first. I catch Soph by the arm and look into her eyes. “Look, your mom loves you.” I clear my throat as emotion threatens to pinch it shut tight. “Sometimes I think maybe she loved you so much that she wanted you to have the kind of stable life she wasn’t sure she could give you. That letting you go was an act of kindness.”
My daughter studies me with dry eyes, and I worry I’m getting more worked up than she is. “So that’s what you’re doing with Mari?” She asks. “You think she’s better off without you?”
“What? No.” Christ, how do we keep coming back to this? “Look, I think I may have screwed up with Mari.”
“How do you mean?”
This hurts to admit, but I need to do it. For myself, for Soph…hell, especially for Mari. “I spoke rashly.” I sigh and force myself to look Soph in the eye. “I hurt Mari’s feelings and said things I don’t mean.”
My kid folds her arms over her chest and gives me a look I can picture her flashing at future patients if she does become a shrink. Her expression is wise and serene and, good Lord, what did I do to deserve a kid this clever?
“Remember what Mari said when I told her about Avery?” Soph says. “She said it’s never too late to apologize. You can tell Mari the same thing I said to Avery.”
I doubt it’s that simple, but I’ve heard worse ideas. “What did you say to Avery?”
“Just what Mari told me. ‘I’m sorry I responded poorly and I’m really sorry I hurt you. I’ll try to be a better friend, and I’m wondering if you could forgive me?’”
“You said all that?”
“Yeah.” Soph grins. “I wrote it down after Mari suggested it. You can borrow it if you want.”
My chest burns with love for my daughter. And for Mari, dammit. I didn’t want to feel like this, but here we are. “Anyone ever tell you you’re too smart for your own good?”
Soph grins and uncrosses her arms. “Does that mean you’re going to do it?”
I already knew I was before she opened her mouth. “Come on,” I say. “Let’s get cupcakes and make a plan.”
It’s just before noon the next day when we get back to Juniper Ridge. I’m alone in the truck with Soph, who’s dozing with her head on the passenger door.
Emergency!
That’s the lone word my ex-wife texted as Soph and I approached Portland coming back from the museum. We’d been looking forward to dinner in the city with Elle. To a mature, platonic, co-parenting moment.
Emergency? What emergency?
Five nail-biting minutes later, Elle texted the rest.
Problem on set at Hustlers and Housewives. Flying back to LA tonight. Will catch up later.
I pulled off in a parking lot and showed the words to Soph. She stared at my phone for a long time before looking up at me. “We should just go home now, Dad.”
“Home,” I repeated, not sure what she meant. “You mean moving back to Sacramento, or—”
“Dad, no.” She rolled her eyes. “Juniper Ridge. That’s our home now. We should get back to it. So you can fix things with Mari.”
“Good idea.”
We didn’t go back that night, though. Responding rashly got me into this mess, and it’ll take more thoughtfulness to get me out of it. I made a few calls after Soph went to sleep, and I feel good about the plan as we ease off the highway and onto the sparkling asphalt drive that leads to the Juniper Ridge compound.
Soph perks up as we bypass the road to our cabin and head toward the next one. Rubbing her eyes, she looks around. “Are we going right to Mari’s?”
“Yes.” I take a deep breath, hoping this isn’t a mistake.
Soph pats my arm. “Good job, Daddy.”
It’s the best compliment I could receive. Also, it’s the boost I need to be sure I’m doing the right thing. I miss Mari so much I ache with it, but knowing my kid is proud of me? That’s medicine on the cut that’s been killing me for days.
As I pull up to Mari’s cabin, I spot Lauren off to the side talking with Gabe. He’s adjusting a camera that’s tucked in the bushes, but they look up and wave when they see me.
As I ease to a stop, someone raps on the window. “Hey.” Lana grins as I open the truck door. “You ready for this?”
“I think so.” I glance toward the cabin as Soph gets out and comes to stand beside me on the gravel patch just off Mari’s back deck. “Are we sure she’s in there?”
“Lauren and I just did her hair and makeup,” she says. “She had a zoom call with her old mentor, so we convinced her to get fancy for it.”
It’s not something that would have occurred to me, and I’m grateful her sisters have her back. Part of this is about posterity, and I want Mari to feel good about the end product.
That’s assuming she forgives me.
I glance over at Soph. “This is either brave or stupid.”
My kid grins. “Maybe both?”
“Right.” I step out of the truck and scan the camera setup. Besides the one Gabe’s hidden, there’s another on a tripod to the right of her front door. I glance at Lana, who reads the question in my eye. “Might as well get all the angles,” she says. “Mari’s big on documentation. Besides, this only happens once.”
“Let’s hope so.” Not that I don’t expect I’ll screw up again, but hopefully not on such a grand scale.
I plant my feet on the gravel and close the truck door. It’s fifteen steps to Mari’s front door, and I count each of them with my heart hammering in my ears. I’m still not used to having cameras on me, and I try not to look at them. Not to sweat or scowl or do anything to wreck this more than I already have.
Lana and Soph are murmuring behind me as I take a deep breath and rap on the door. Footsteps, soft and familiar, tap across the hardwood. And then she’s swinging the door open, silver-gold eyes widening when she sees me.