Page 317 of What We Brave
"You're right. I apologize."
"To who?"
"To Daddy. For his personality."
Laine's laughing, and it hits me low in gut. That sound, the fact that I had some part in her joy is never going to get old.
"Daddy!" Caleb's out of his seat, throwing himself at Reid's legs. "Papa said you were resting but I wanted you to make pancakes."
"Papa's eggs are better than my pancakes."
"No they're not."
"Hey," I say, but I'm not offended. The kid's right. Reid makes better pancakes.
Iris is reaching for Laine, making grabby hands. "Mama Mama Mama."
Laine scoops her up, settles her on her hip like she weighs nothing, even though my girl has some heft to her. Seven years of practice. We're all stronger than we used to be.
"You're on airport duty," Reid says to me. "Go shower. I've got cleanup."
"You sure?"
"Go." He puts a hand on my shoulder, squeezes once. "Give David and Mary my love."
I hold his eyes for a second. There's something there—gratitude, maybe. For taking the interruption. For giving them those extra minutes. For all of it.
The airport is crowded with holiday travelers—families hauling luggage, kids hyped up on excitement, couples holding hands. I find a spot near the bottom of the escalator and wait.
Their flight landed twenty minutes ago. Baggage claim takes a while, but they should be coming through any?—
"Blake!"
Mary's at the top of the escalator, waving frantically. She's got acarry-on over one shoulder and she's practically bouncing, which makes David grab her arm to keep her from tumbling down the moving stairs.
She doesn't wait for the escalator to finish. The second she's close enough, she's off and moving, crossing the distance between us at a pace that makes David shake his head.
Then she's in my arms.
"Oh, sweetheart." She's hugging me tight, her face pressed against my chest. "Look at you. You look so good."
"You saw me six months ago."
"Six months is too long." She pulls back, holds my face in both hands, studies me the way she does every time. Looking for cracks. Looking for signs that I'm not okay.
She won't find any. Not today.
"I'm good, Mary. Really good."
Her eyes get bright. "I know you are." She kisses my cheek, then swats my shoulder. "You're too thin. Are you eating?"
"I have three children. I eat whatever they throw on the floor."
She laughs, and then David's there, and I turn to face him.
In the years since he told me he'd murder me if I ever hurt Laine, we've found our way to family. Holidays and phone calls and grandchildren. Seven years of proving I meant what I said.
He pulls me into a hug.
