Page 92 of Someone to Hold

“I think so, too,” she answers.

I should tell her violence isn’t the way to handle problems. But I’m still too upset at the memory of seeing my child knocked to the ground by a grown man to make that particular point.

“Let’s get this mini spa night going.” I make my tone bright,both for my daughter’s sake and to remind me that I won’t let other people’s ugliness steal our happiness.

Laurel climbs off the couch. “If Chase is back when we start watching the movie, can we invite him or are you mad?”

“I’m not mad at him.” I tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “I wish today didn’t happen, and I have a feeling he’s plenty angry with himself. But people aren’t perfect, and I know Chase is a good man.”

“Daddy was a good man,” she says softly, but there’s a question in the statement.

“Yes, he was,” I assure her. “He loved you and your brother.” I take a deep breath and continue, “He loved all of us.”

“I miss him.”

“Of course you do.”

“Sometimes I forget what he looked like.” Her honey-colored eyes fill with tears. “I know we have pictures, but I can’t remember him in my mind. Does that make me a bad daughter? Am I going to forget him?”

“Sweetie, no.” I pull her into a hug. “You’ll always remember him in your heart. But it’s okay for us to be happy without him. He’d want that, Laurel.”

“I feel happy. Not right now because of Luke, but mostly I feel happy.”

“Your brother’s upset, but he’ll be okay. Without the times we feel sad or angry, it would be hard to appreciate the happy feelings. A full life has both. That’s what I want for you, and your father would want that, too.”

She runs a hand across each of her cheeks. “Let’s go tell Luke he can pick the movie. He’s probably gonna choose something babyish.”

I shrug. “Well, I’m in the mood for babyish.”

She rolls her eyes but takes my hand as we walk up the stairs, still slow with the boot, but I’m so close to being free of it that I barely even mind.

Luke is lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling when we walk in.

“Hey, buddy,” I say. “We’re going to paint nails. You want to join us?”

“No.”

“You want to talk about anything yet?”

“No.”

“We’re watching a movie tonight,” Laurel tells him. “And making caramel popcorn because it’s your favorite.” I squeeze my daughter’s hand, then let go so she can take a step closer to Luke’s bed. “We can be sad sometimes, Lukey,” she continues. “And we can be happy. Because they’re both okay.”

He shifts on the bed, looking at his sister like she has a unicorn horn growing out of her forehead.

“Just think about what movie you want to watch,” I say softly.

I gather my small stock of nail supplies from the bathroom, and Laurel and I spend the next twenty minutes on the floor next to my bed painting each other’s nails. She’s better at it than I am, which thrills her to no end.

“Piper gave me all her tips,” she reports as she smooths a final coat of gloss over my nail beds. “She’s got like a million colors.”

“I’m pretty partial to this one,” I tell her, holding up my right hand to examine my nails. The color a deep shimmering red calledNot a Waitress, and I think it fits my current vibe.

“I’m going to ask for a gel machine for my birthday,” my daughter tells me.

“Aren’t you a little young for gel nails?”

“Miranda and Lola get theirs done at the salon with their grandmas every month.”