“How’s that tummy ache?” I asked her as we cleaned up.
“Better,” she said.
While the pie was in the oven, Abby got out her crayons and colored at the kitchen table. I made a cup tea and sat across from her.
“What are you coloring?”
She looked up at me like I was crazy. “It’s a heart.”
“Ah.” I looked at the picture. “So it is.”
“Nana said any time I feel sad about my daddy or miss him, I can just touch my heart, because that’s where he is now.”
My throat threatened to close, and I steadied myself with a deep breath. “That’s a nice idea.” Another deep breath. “Uncle Wes told me about this morning.”
She kept coloring.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“He said he can’t sell his house. And Nana said it would be wrong for him to be my dad. And that you can’t marry him.”
“How did you feel about that?”
“It made me sad.”
“Do you still feel sad?”
“Yes,” she said. She touched her chest. “I love the daddy in my heart, but I would like a daddy in real life too.”
I didn’t know what to say to that. While I was thinking about it, she asked another question.
“Is it true that you can’t marry Uncle Wes?”
I thought carefully before I answered with the truth. “No. It isn’t.”
Abby looked up at me with wide eyes. “But Nana said.”
“Nana thinks it would be wrong. I don’t.”
“I don’t understand. How can it be right and wrong at the same time?” She tilted her head. “Is she lying, or are you lying?”
“No one is lying, Abby. Sometimes people just disagree. This is one of those times. But that doesn’t mean it will happen. Right now Uncle Wes and I are just good friends.”
She appeared to think about that for a moment and then went back to coloring.
Later, we ate hot dogs and green beans, followed by slices of apple pie. We did Abby’s homework, read a story and filled out her reading log, and got ready for bed. Then we cuddled on the couch in our pajamas, watching America’s Funniest Home Videos. Her little giggle made me feel good, like maybe I hadn’t done irreparable damage.
Maybe things would be okay.
After putting Abby to bed, I dug my phone out of my purse and sat on the couch again. Grimacing at the text messages that had upset me last night, I deleted them without replying. Same with the voicemail.
Then I dialed Wes, but it went to voicemail. I left a message.
“Hey, it’s me. Just wanted to let you know Abby is doing okay. We talked about it, and I think she understands better now. Anyway, hope you’re having a good night. I love you.”
I turned off all the lights, locked up the house, and went upstairs. It was only eight o’clock, but I was exhausted—physically, mentally, emotionally. I felt better about Abby, but that still didn’t change the fact that Wes and I had huge problems. As I slid between the sheets I’d shared with Wes last night, I tried to think it through.
Mad as I was at Lenore, I had to admit, some of the things she said were true. For example, she was right about people talking—if my text messages were any indication, the gossip was already spreading. And even if we had skin thick enough to endure it, she would remain a problem. What if she didn’t come around? What if she refused to accept us? What if she made Wes choose?