Page 116 of Tempt
Swallowing hard, I reached into the front, where the yellow envelope rested on the passenger seat, then handed it to her. “These are for you.”
Sophie looked at me blankly.
“The new identities,” I explained. “And some cash.”
Her eyes closed. “Right. This is all so strange and frightening.” They opened again. “Tell me we’ll be okay again.”
“You’ll be okay,” I said. “You have my word.”
She studied me for a moment. “I believe you.”
A few minutes later, we were on our way to Oregon.
* * *
The drive was long, over twelve hours. We stopped a couple times to eat and get gas, and I was also careful not to speed—no need to call attention to ourselves.
At the gas station, Sophie asked if she could take Eden inside to use the bathroom, and I requested that she wait for me to accompany her inside the store. She nodded and dutifully sat in the back seat until I opened the door, locked the SUV, and followed them to the restrooms. I waited for them a little ways away, and when they came out, the little girl wanted a snack. When the mother said no, because she’d left her purse in the car, I offered to buy it.
At first, Sophie demurred, but when Eden started to cry, she relented. I watched the pint-sized version of her mother peruse the selection, her eyes wide and excited.
“American snacks are new to her,” Sophie said, the closest thing to a smile I’d seen yet on her face. “She’s never seen half this stuff.”
“She can pick whatever she wants. As much as she wants.”
Back on the road, Sophie caught my eyes in the rearview mirror. “How old are your children, Zach?”
“I have a grown son.”
She looked surprised. “You seem young to have a grown son.”
“Yeah. Life is unpredictable.”
“It is,” she said, her eyes drifting to her daughter, who joyfully shoveled bright orange Cheetos into her mouth. “And scary sometimes. But I guess...” She closed her eyes. “I guess sometimes you just have to believe everything happens for a reason, and trust the people you love to protect and guide you—even if they seem to be guiding you to a whole new life.”
Her words stuck with me.
* * *
After delivering Sophie and Eden safely to Rose Canyon, I went back to San Diego and my silent, stuffy apartment. I’d done my job, but I remained on edge—as if I’d forgotten some detail or left something to chance. Multiple times, I checked in with Jackson to make sure everything was okay with Sophie and Eden, and he said they were fine.
I went to the gym to try to work off some of the restlessness, but it didn’t help. I unpacked. Did laundry. Cleaned out the fridge (not much in there, anyway). I turned the television on, then off again. I picked up the thriller I’d bought in the airport, but I found myself stuck on the same page for long stretches of time, not seeing the text, not caring what happened, not invested in anyone in the story. The only person I cared about was Millie.
Was she still upset with me? Did she miss me? Had she tried to reach out? I checked my phone for the millionth time—nothing.
Frustrated, I put the phone down and went into the kitchen. Maybe I was hungry.
But once I got in there, all I did was open the fridge and stare at the empty shelves. When I closed it, the ultrasound photo caught my eye. I’d stuck it there, as promised, out of guilt. Neither Mason nor Lori had reached out to me since I’d abandoned them on Christmas Eve, and I wondered if I should try calling them. Or maybe send a screenshot of the baby’s picture on display.
Baby.
In just a few more months, they’d have a baby. I imagined what that would be like, sharing something as monumental and transformative as bringing a life into the world. Keeping her safe. Feeding her. Teaching her to talk and walk. I pictured a tiny little thing on two chubby, wobbly legs, her little fists wrapped around my thumbs, taking her first halting steps.
But the child I imagined wasn’t Mason and Lori’s—she was my own, and the steps she took were toward Millie, who waited with arms outstretched. A crack in my heart began to widen as I imagined watching my little girl ride a tricycle or splash around in a puddle or—my throat closed—chase butterflies.
I’d missed all those things with Mason. For the first time, I felt cheated by that, but I knew I’d only cheated myself.
I’d denied myself the chance to be a father to a child, to watch him or her grow, to experience all the joys and sorrows that came with it. And to share it all with someone I loved.
