Page 41

FORTY

SARAH MORGAN

“Will you please put your feet down, Summer?” I say, gripping the steering wheel as I drive down a back road, heading into town. It’s a bright sunny day without a cloud in sight, and I’d probably enjoy it much more if it weren’t for my angry passenger. She’s continuing to give me the cold shoulder. But today, her attitude is much snarkier—slamming doors, stomping her feet, random huffs and puffs, refusing to eat breakfast, and anything else she can do to annoy or frustrate me.

Summer huffs. See? Like I said, random huffs and puffs. She begrudgingly removes her feet from my dashboard and places them on the floor.

“Thank you,” I say, glancing over at her and forcing a smile.

Her blond hair hangs in front of her face like a curtain, so I can’t see her expression, but I’m sure she’s wearing a scowl, especially for me.

“Why’d you pack my stuff up in a suitcase?” Her tone is harsh, almost accusatory. But at least she’s talking to me. Summer crosses her arms over her chest, sinking deeper into the passenger seat.

“You’re gonna be staying with Aunt Anne for a few days.”

“Why?” she snarls.

“Because you said you wanted a divorce from me too.”

She huffs again, blowing a piece of hair out of her face.

“Anne will pick you up from school and take you to her house. It’ll be good for you to have some space and time to process these new changes.”

It’s only a half truth. Yes, I’d like her to cool down, and I think it will be beneficial for her to talk to someone who grew up with divorced parents. Anne can resonate with Summer in ways I can’t. But I also have no idea what Bob’s up to, and I’m sure as soon as he hears about the protective order, he’s going to blow a gasket. I can’t have Summer around if or when that happens. Last night, I dreamt Bob took Summer, and I never saw her again. I know it was a dream, but I wouldn’t put it past him to do something like that. He wants to hurt me, and that’s the way to do it. So, at the very least, having her stay with Anne will put my mind somewhat at ease.

“Why can’t you and Dad just stay together?” she pouts.

“We’ve been over this, Summer, and no matter how many times you ask, the answer isn’t going to change. Why don’t you look at the bright side? You’ll have two Christmases, two birthdays, two of every holiday, and two bedrooms.” I slow the vehicle down, stopping at a red light, and smile at her again.

Summer’s neck is craned toward the passenger window, and I can see the reflection of her face in the glass, all scrunched up and angry. “I don’t want any of that. I want you and Dad together.”

“Well, I don’t want to be with your father,” I nearly yell as I press the toe of my shoe on the gas pedal, accelerating through the intersection.

Summer swivels her head, staring at me. “Why?”

“Because I don’t trust him. He broke our trust,” I say, turning the vehicle onto her school’s street, located just a few blocks down.

“Can’t you just... trust him again?” Her tone has changed from cutting and full of disdain to one of understanding, or at least trying to understand.

“I wish I could. But the damage’s already been done, and there are some things you just can’t salvage.”

“What did Dad do?” she asks.

I pull up to the school and throw the vehicle in Park. Other kids hop out of their parents’ cars, smiling and waving before they sprint toward their friends.

Taking a short, deep breath, I turn partially in my seat to face my daughter. Her green eyes have a sheen to them like she’s scared or already upset at what I’m going to say.

“That’s between me and your father, Summer. Your dad may have broken my trust, but he still has yours. And although he hasn’t been the best to me, he’s been that to you. We both love you more than anything, and whether your dad and I are together or not, that’ll never change.” I reach for her hand, fearing she’ll pull away, but she doesn’t. Instead, she squeezes mine, and I squeeze back. “I’m sorry you’re unhappy, sweetie, and I know none of this is easy. But one day, you’ll understand that everything I’ve ever done is because I only want the best for you.”

A tear rolls down her cheek, and I quickly swipe it away. She outstretches her arms and leans into me. I wrap mine around her small body and hug her tight, running a hand through her soft hair.

“You’re the only thing that matters to me in this world,” I whisper. A tear falls from the corner of my eye, splashing onto the top of her head. She hugs me even tighter.

“I’m sorry Dad hurt you.” Her words come out muffled.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the rearview mirror. Sometimes I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. But today, I do.

“I’m sorry too,” I say.

Summer tells me she loves me, and I tell her I love her more. We break our embrace, and I wipe her wet eyes. She tries to return the favor, dabbing at mine, but I tell her it’s okay. Sometimes it’s good to see the tears.

The school bell rings. “Go on,” I say.

Summer nods and exits the vehicle, closing the door behind her before sprinting up the sidewalk. She turns and waves, and I wave back, smiling. Children are resilient. They go through change every day—their bodies growing, their brains developing—so they can accept it and adapt to it much faster than adults. She’ll be okay, just like I was.

My phone rings through the car, startling me. The name Bob Miller flashes across the dashboard screen . I put my SUV in Drive and pull away from the school, accepting the call.

I don’t even get a chance to say hello before his voice is roaring through the speakers. “You miserable bitch,” he spits.

“Good morning to you too, Bob.”

“You requested a protective order against me. Are you out of your goddamn mind?”

I pause briefly at a four-way stop sign.

“No, but I think you might be, which is why I filed it.”

He chuckles. It’s forced, more of a manic laugh. “You messed with the wrong person, Sarah.”

“No, Bob, you’re exactly who I wanted to mess with. Fuck around and find out, as the kids say.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “I hope you’re ready for what’s coming next.” His tone is sinister, and the call immediately disconnects.