Page 89 of On the Slopes of Tahoe
“I hate it here!” she yells, storming into her room and slamming that door behind her too. Well, shit.
My bare feet slap against the tile and I lean my head against her door with a light knock. “Willow Bear?”
“Go away.” I flinch and my heart cracks in my chest. Do I force her to talk to me? Give her space?
“Can I come in?” I try again, but all I hear is a muffled cry from the other side of the door. “Come on, baby girl, please?”
Shuffling footsteps sound on the other side of the door before it opens a few inches. Her head is down so I can’t see her face. She immediately turns back to her bed and climbs on, pulling her favorite stuffy, a kangaroo that was the same size she was when she was born, into her lap. She’s picking at the fabric that’s pilled and worn.
Not wanting to crowd her, I sit at the end of the bed.
“Can you tell me what happened?”
She shakes her head.
“You can tell me anything.”
“I don’t want to make you mad.” Her lip wobbles.
My eyebrows pull down. Make me mad? Did she get into trouble?
“You won’t, sweetheart. Promise.”
She looks up from under her onyx lashes, long dark hair framing her face. “The kids at school—” She puffs out a breath and starts again. “The kids at school said you cheated on Mom and that’s why she left you. Left me. It’s not true!” She shouts the last words, and if my mouth wasn’t already hanging open, it would’ve been after that exclamation. I want to know how she even knows what “cheating” is in reference to a relationship, but that’s a conversation for another day.
“No, it’s not true, sweetheart.”
I promised Willow I wouldn’t get mad, but I want to rage. The kids at school didn’t get to that conclusion on their own. I won’t take it out on her though.
“I told them it wasn’t true, but they didn’t believe me. Then Andrea asked why Mom didn’t want to take me with her and I started crying.” The tears begin anew and she buries her face in her pillow. “Then I had to ride home with her.”
I crawl up the bed so I can lie down next to her and pull her into my body. She turns over and hides her face in my chest. I hold her, my own tears threatening to spill over. I lose the battle when she whispers the question I’ve dreaded for months.
“Was it my fault she left?”
I drop my head back and breathe, eyes squeezing so tight I feel it pull everywhere on my face. I hold in a sob for my girl who’s been through too much.
“No, baby. It wasn’t your fault.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yes.” For that one word, I pull it together, because I’ll be damned if she hears even a quaver in my voice.
“But why didn’t she want me anymore?” Her voice cracks.
Fuck. It’s like my heart is in a blender.
“Because she was selfish, sweet girl. I know that’s hard to hear and hard to understand, but it’s the truth. She chose not to keep either of us in her life because she wanted something different. Her making that choice had nothing to do with us and everything to do with her. I’m so sorry, baby girl. I’m so sorry.”
I hold her tighter and she cries until she runs out of tears. With a little hiccup, she looks up at me. “I miss her, but I don’t want to.”
“Both of those things are okay. To miss her and also to wish that you didn’t.”
“Do you miss her?”
“I miss her for you and for what you lost. You deserved a mom who’d always be there. I didn’t have that growing up, and I wanted it so badly for you.”
“I have you though,” she says as she nestles closer. “I think that might be all I need anyway.”
