Take This Regret Read online

  Christian pul ed into my driveway just before eleven.

  The neighborhood was quiet as I stepped from his car, both my body and my mind weary. Stretching, I was unable to stifle the yawn that came as I rounded the driver’s side of the car. Christian beat me to it and waited beside Lizzie’s opened door.

  “May I?” He inclined his head toward Lizzie.

  Out of instinct, I almost said no, but instead I stepped back. “Sure.”

  Taken by surprise, he studied me for a moment before smiling sleepily and ducking his head into the back of his car. Once again, his movements were gentle, mindful of the sleeping child as he unbuckled her and gathered her into his arms, fumbling as he tried to grab her dol and backpack.

  “Here, let me get that.” I nudged him aside, reached in, and col ected Lizzie’s things before I slowly led Christian and Claire up the sidewalk to my front door. Taking a calming breath, I inserted the key, turned the lock, and pushed the door wide open.

  For the first time since Lizzie’s birthday, Christian stepped through the threshold and into my home, a fulfil ment of the promise he’d made to return.

  He stood in the foyer, holding my daughter and appearing, once again, to ask for permission.

  With a smal amount of reticence, I motioned with my hand toward the staircase. “Her bedroom is the first door on the right.”

  Christian quickly ascended the stairs, his footsteps light as he disappeared at the landing.

  Claire reached out and cupped my face, her touch a grateful whisper.

  I nodded against it, al owing a single, frightened tear to slip down my face. She wiped it away and then hurried to join her son upstairs.

  Muted, soft words floated downstairs. I had no idea how many minutes I stood alone before Christian and Claire final y left Lizzie’s room, their leaden steps revealing their reluctance to leave her. I fidgeted, unsure of what to do with myself in my own home, thrown off kilter by their presence.

  Christian moved toward the door, pausing when he stood in front of me, his expression solemn. “Thank-you, Elizabeth.” He glanced toward the stairs and then back at me. “This was the best day of my life.”

  I looked down at my feet, unable to respond. The day had been too much, and the sorrow that came with his statement nearly brought me to my knees. He shuffled out the front door, and in his absence, Claire wrapped me in her arms. “Thank-you, Elizabeth,” she whispered against my ear. “You are an amazing, wonderful girl, and I’m so happy you al owed me to share this day with you.” In confusion and heartbreak, I clutched her to me, weeping quietly against her shoulder. She shushed me and murmured, “It’l al work out. Just wait; you’l see.” She pul ed back and took my face in her hands. “You’l see.” She hugged me once more before stepping away and walking out the door.

  Sniffling, I wiped my eyes with the back of my hand, chuckling somewhat nonsensical y at the dol I stil held. I took it upstairs and tucked it in beside my sleeping daughter. I kissed Lizzie’s cheek and prayed that her grandmother was right.

  Something had changed. There had been a shift sometime during that day, the day that had been the most amazing of my life. It had been a glimpse of what life would have been like had I not thrown it al away, if we were a family.

  Of course, I’d sensed Elizabeth’s discomfort, how she’d guarded herself in an attempt to protect herself from me. But as the day had progressed, I’d felt her soften—

  thaw.

  Relaxing in the damp comfort of the San Diego evening, watching the beauty exploding in the night sky, surrounded by the three people I loved most had been surreal, a fantasy I’d had a mil ion times come true. The warmth of Elizabeth’s body beside me had been hypnotizing, and I could focus on nothing other than the perfect weight of my daughter in my arms and the heat radiating from Elizabeth’s skin.

  It was then that I’d felt the shift as the tension seemed to drain from her, a calm taking its place. I’d chanced a quick glance in her direction. My breath had caught in my throat. My love for her felt as if it would burst through my chest.

  I don’t think I could ever forget the expression on her face.

  She was so beautiful, and seeing her like that, so peaceful as if she had been freed of a suffocating weight, had brought me such relief.

  That relief became overwhelming when she’d welcomed me into her home. Every part of me had wanted to wrap her in my arms, to thank her endlessly for the gift she had given me, trusting me enough to al ow me into another part of Lizzie’s world—her world. It meant everything to me.

  Obviously, something had transpired between Elizabeth and my mother, even though Mom refused to share it. She insisted anything Elizabeth may have confided in her was between the two of them, and with a gentle hand on my arm, she’d encouraged me, once again, to be patient.

  And I would. I’d wait forever for Elizabeth.

  Bit by bit she opened up. Last night when I’d picked Lizzie up for our Friday night visit, Elizabeth hadn’t vocalized the invitation but stood aside when she opened the door in silent permission that I’d accepted.

  As much as I wanted to, though, I didn’t push it. At the end of the night, Lizzie and I said our goodbyes at the door.

  I had no idea what to ask of Elizabeth or how far her forgiveness would go. But for now I rested, satisfied in knowing I was doing something right on the way to gaining back her trust.

  Every second she gave was precious.

  I just wished the minutes away weren’t so lonely.

  Hugging the smal , square pil ow to my chest, I sank deeper into the black leather of my couch. Restlessness nipped at my nerves as I flipped through channel after channel on the flat screen against the wal , the isolation reminding me again that I was living the wrong life. It was Saturday night. I should be with my family.

  Sighing, I pointed the remote at the television and clicked it off, deciding to give up on the failed attempt to entertain myself. I tossed the pil ow aside, stood, and stretched my arms overhead, yawning as I made my way to my bedroom. I shrugged out of my shirt, figuring a hot shower was my best shot at a soothing distraction.

  From the other room my phone rumbled against the glass coffee table, buzzing before giving way to its shril ring. I glanced at the clock on the nightstand.

  Eight twenty-three.

  I rushed back out to the main room, expecting it to be Mom cal ing to wish me a goodnight, although part of me hoped that it was Lizzie thinking of me. I pictured her sweet face pressed to her mother’s phone as she cal ed just to say she loved me one more time before her mother tucked her into bed.

  I grinned when I saw the cal er ID.

  Elizabeth’s name and number flashed on the screen as the phone vibrated and rang out again.

  I grabbed it, sliding my finger across the faceplate just before it went to voicemail.

  “Hey, sweetheart.” I could feel the force of my smile, thankful for the welcomed surprise.

  “Christian . . .” I felt sick when I heard her voice, panicked and afraid.

  “Elizabeth?” Immediately the panic in my voice matched hers. “What’s wrong?”

  When she spoke, her voice trembled, and I could tel she was crying. “Lizzie fel down the stairs.” Fear clawed up my spine, and I fought against the nausea rushing up my throat with the sick image that flashed through my mind. I was back in my room and dragging my shirt over my head before I had time to respond. “Is she okay?” I tried to remain calm and clearheaded, but I knew I was about five seconds from a breakdown. The thought of something happening to Lizzie

  —I’d never survive.

  Elizabeth spoke in quiet distress, whispering, “I think she broke her arm, and she has a cut above her eye . . . it won’t stop bleeding.” She stumbled over the last, choking on her worry, although her news instantly eased my racing nerves.

  Lizzie’s injuries definitely didn’t sound as serious I’d first imagined them to be. I shoved my feet in my shoes and

  grabbed my keys from
my desk.

  I had started for the door when Elizabeth began fumbling over earnest words. “I tried to cal Matthew, but he didn’t answer . . . and Lizzie won’t stop crying . . . and she keeps asking for you.” Her voice dropped as her unease increased. “Can you come? I don’t want to take her to the hospital by myself.” A brief moment of silence fel between us at her request. Her discomfort in asking for my help was clear, but the need of our daughter was so much greater than that.

  My condo door slammed closed behind me as I hit the hal and rushed for the elevator.

  “I’m already on my way.”

  Traffic was heavier than I’d hoped, but I stil made the short trip to Elizabeth’s house faster than I ever had. The neighborhood was already quiet when I turned onto their street. Children no longer played on the grassy lawns of their front yards or on the sidewalks. Instead windows glowed as families had taken their activities inside.

  I jumped from my car, not bothering to pause to knock when I reached the door. I threw it open to find Lizzie on Elizabeth’s lap where they were huddled on the couch.

  Lizzie clutched her left arm protectively to her chest and whimpered while Elizabeth held a damp towel to her head.

  “Lizzie,” I said as both worry and relief rushed out of me from where I stood in the doorway, stil clutching the door handle. My heart ached to see her this way but was thankful it had not been so much worse.

  “Daddy.” She sniffled but stil managed to welcome me with a smal smile.

  I crossed the room, dropped to my knees in front of her, and brushed back the matted hair stuck to her face.

  “Oh, sweetheart, are you okay?” My gaze swept over her, ultimately landing on the towel slowly saturating with blood that Elizabeth had pressed to Lizzie’s forehead.

  “My arm hurts.” She grimaced and hugged her arm closer, her bright eyes wet with tears. The sharp stabbing in my chest made me wonder if it were physical y possible to feel someone else’s pain.

  “I know, baby girl, I know.” I smiled sadly and then shifted so I could pick her up. “Come on, let’s get you fixed up.”

  Lizzie’s eyes grew wide, and she pul ed away. For a moment, my heart fel with rejection before she shook her head stubbornly. “No, Daddy, I don’t like doctors.” Oh.

  I glanced at Elizabeth, her eyes pleading. Say something.

  I scooted closer. I tried to ignore the fact that as I did so, I hovered over Elizabeth, her knees brushing against my chest with every unsteady breath I took.

  Instead, I focused on what was important—reassuring my daughter.

  “Did you know I used to be scared of the doctor when I was a little boy?” I asked, keeping my tone light in an effort to comfort Lizzie.

  She looked surprised. “You were?”

  “Yep,” I answered, nodding. “And do you know what I learned?”

  She shook her head.

  “That doctors want to help us feel better,” I said, hoping I sounded convincing enough.

  “But doctors give shots,” Lizzie said, pressing her lips together in defiance.

  I suppressed a chuckle. Even in her distress, she was stil the cutest thing I’d ever seen. I felt Elizabeth’s smile, and imagined she was thinking the same thing.

  Reaching out, I cupped Lizzie’s face, running my thumb over her cheek. “Sometimes they do, but it’s only to help you feel better.”

  Lizzie’s bottom lip trembled. “But I hate shots, Daddy.” My expression softened in sympathy. This was the first time I’d real y seen my daughter frightened, and while I wanted to take away al her fear, to be her hero and to promise her I’d never let anyone or anything hurt her, I couldn’t do that. I had to be honest with her.

  “I know, Lizzie.” I leaned in further. “But if you have to get a shot, Mommy and I wil be right there with you the whole time, okay?”

  “Promise?” Lizzie whispered, stil fearful, though I could feel her resistance fading.

  “Promise.” That was a promise I could make.

  “Okay, Daddy.”

  Careful y, I took Lizzie into my arms and murmured how proud I was of her. Elizabeth looked up at me as she handed Lizzie over and mouthed, “Thank-you.” Her lips moved slowly, cautiously. I knew it was hard for her to put this much trust in me, to place our injured daughter in my waiting arms. I nodded once as I met her eyes, wordlessly promising to never give her reason to regret it.

  I carried Lizzie to the car where I strapped her into her booster seat, mindful of her injured arm. Elizabeth climbed into the backseat beside her, rattling off directions to the nearest ER. Within minutes, we walked through the doors and had Lizzie signed in.

  We tucked ourselves in the farthest corner of the waiting room. I cradled Lizzie on my lap, and Elizabeth sat down in the chair next to me, closer to me than she was probably comfortable with. Warily, we eyed the room overflowing with people sporting about every il ness and injury we could imagine.

  I blew out a loud sigh through my mouth.

  Obviously, it was going to be a very long night.

  By ten, probably thanks to the dose of medicine Elizabeth had given her before I arrived to their house, Lizzie’s pain had waned enough that she’d fal en asleep curled up on my lap as I rubbed continuous circles along her back. Elizabeth had said little, only quiet murmurings when she checked on her daughter, sweet words of reassurance and comfort.

  Lizzie couldn’t have had a better mother.

  For the hundredth time that night, I looked to the beautiful woman beside me. She appeared exhausted, dark bags beginning to appear below her honey-colored eyes, her blond waves in disarray from the number of times she’d wrenched her fingers through them. This time she must have felt me, and she lifted her eyes to meet mine as she smiled somewhat apologetical y.

  “Thanks for being here, Christian,” she said as if she thought my being here was putting me out.

  I inclined my head, turning so that I nearly spoke against her ear. “Would you be anywhere else right now, Elizabeth?”

  She glanced at our sleeping child and then back at me, her brow furrowed. “Of course not.”

  I looked at her intensely. “Neither would I.” She blinked several times before she pursed her lips and nodded. My mouth fel into a smal , sad smile, knowing part of her stil didn’t believe it. But that was okay because I knew another part of her did.

  It was just another thing that only time would prove.

  We sank back into silence. The passage of time dragged by as patients were cal ed back and others

  arrived to take their place. Elizabeth yawned, her eyes drooping. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered under her breath as she scrubbed her palm over her face.

  “Here.” I shifted, laying Lizzie in her arms. Her eyes shot to my face, wild and pleading. Don’t leave me.

  She fel back into distrust so easily. It stung. “I’l be right back.”

  Less than five minutes later, I returned with two Styrofoam cups of steaming coffee. I had prepared Elizabeth’s the way I remembered she liked it, one cream and two sugars.

  She moaned in pleasure when I handed her the cup.

  “Christian.” She breathed in the aroma, and her eyes closed as she brought it to her lips. “You’re a life saver.” Then she flashed me the first real smile she’d given me since I had come back into her life.

  For what had to be the twentieth time in the last ten minutes, Elizabeth looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure Lizzie was comfortable. Lizzie had fal en back asleep almost the moment I’d put her in the car.

  Elizabeth sighed as she faced forward, slumping deeper into the front passenger seat. Her elbow rested against the door with her head in her palm. “I always overreact when it comes to her,” she uttered, mostly to herself.

  Glancing to my right, I smiled softly at the woman who owned my heart, who I now had come to know as one who questioned herself as a mother, worried that she was making mistakes, that she was too cautious or not cautious enough. Apparently, parenthood
did that to you. She rol ed her head across the headrest and turned to face me, her eyes tired but warm. My smile grew.

  “What?” she drawled, returning a lazy grin.

  “I was just thinking what a good mother you are.” I pul ed into her driveway, cutting the engine and hoping I hadn’t ruined the amicable mood we’d fal en into over the last several hours.

  She laughed quietly. “Sometimes I feel like I have no clue what I’m doing.”

  Through the rearview mirror, I peered at the child she had raised, the little girl I had a hard time seeing as anything but perfect, and shook my head before turning back to Elizabeth. “You shouldn’t doubt yourself so much.” The urge to reach out and touch her was almost too much to resist—the way her lips parted in response to my words as she stared across the smal space at me, her body fatigued and mind weary. It reminded me so much of the way she used to look just before she fel asleep in my arms.

  I quickly removed myself from the car before I did something very stupid.

  Careful y, I gathered Lizzie in my arms and fol owed Elizabeth into the dark house and upstairs to Lizzie’s room where I laid our daughter on her smal bed. While Elizabeth dug in the dresser to find Lizzie’s favorite nightgown, I pul ed off her shoes and shorts. Guided by the dim light filtering in from the hal , Elizabeth and I worked together to get Lizzie ready for bed by removing her shirt over the sling that protected her elbow and wrist, her tiny fingers now swol en.

  “You have no idea how happy I am this isn’t a cast,” Elizabeth whispered as we coaxed the shirt from her head.

  I nodded. I couldn’t have agreed more.

  Lizzie’s injuries could have been so much worse, but she had escaped with only a sprained wrist and the cut on her head had only required a simple butterfly bandage.

  Most important to Lizzie was the fact that it meant no shots.

  She’d been so brave with the doctor and nurses, sitting stil as they’d examined her and ran a series of x-rays and cooperating while they placed the bandage above her eye and rested her arm in a sling.

  I was so proud of her.