“She’s always sad when you leave, honeybee. She misses you when you’re gone,” I said.
“So, nothing bad happened?” Lily asked.
“No, sweetie. Nothing bad happened.”
“Why doesn’t Grandma come to visit us then?” she asked.
“Because Grandma can’t move as easily as we can.”
“Are you calling her old?”
“No. Grandma’s not old. She’s got a lot more life in her, but that doesn’t mean she can move like we can.”
“Is that why Grandma always only wants to rock and read me a story?” she asked.
“Maybe Grandma likes reading to you. What’s wrong with that?”
“Sometimes, I wanna run around outside with her.”
“Then ask her to do that next time. Grandma might have to sit on the porch, but she’ll watch you while you do it.”
“Will you run around with me outside?” she asked.
“We can play tag when we get home. How does that sound?”
“Yeah! Tag with Mommy!”
I looked into the rearview mirror and took in my daughter’s eyes. Lillian looked just like me. Auburn hair, apple cheeks, and fair skin that held a tan instead of burning in the sun. But she didn’t have my eyes. They weren’t a sea green like mine. She had her father’s eyes, that crisp sky blue I’
d fallen in love with all those years ago.
Even though he’d been gone a year, it still hurt to look into my daughter’s eyes.
“Mommy?”
“Yes, honeybee?”
“Why do you call me honeybee?” Lily asked.
“Do you want me to call you something else?” I asked.
“Grandma calls me princess.”
“Well, that’s Grandma’s nickname for you. That’s why I don’t call you princess.”
“Daddy called me princess.”
I gripped my steering wheel hard as tears brewed behind my eyes.
“That he did,” I said.
“Does Grandma call me princess because Daddy isn’t here to do it anymore?” Lily asked.
“I think so, yes.”
“Do you not call me princess because it hurts to say it because Daddy’s gone?”
My daughter always had a way of reminding me that she had her father’s intuitive spirit. She was remarkable for her age.