I flew out to Idaho the day after Christmas.
I sent Mason and Lori an apology text, explaining that an emergency had arisen at work, and I was needed on a job and promising to come back soon. I thanked them for the gifts and said I planned to put the ultrasound photo on my fridge where I’d see it every day. I wasn’t sure I’d actually do it—did I really want that constant reminder of impending grandfatherhood?—but I hoped it would make them happy. I knew I was letting them down by leaving early. I felt even worse when I received no reply to my message.
After checking into a nondescript Twin Falls motel, I met up with Jackson at a place called The Anchor Bistro for a bite to eat. Over wings and nachos, Jackson went over the instructions with me for the job, which included providing the woman and her child with new identities.
“Give them this.” Across the table in our booth at the back, Jackson handed me a large yellow envelope, which I assumed had documents with their new names on them.
I put the envelope on the seat next to me. “Where are they now?”
“Sleeping. They were exhausted.” He took a drink of his coffee. “I’ve got them in a safe house, and it’s being watched.”
“How old is the kid?”
“Little. Maybe two or three.”
My protective instincts went into overdrive. “Are they being tracked?”
“I have to assume someone is trying. The woman—her name is Sophie—is scared and confused. Her husband was obviously involved in something he didn’t want her to know about, and we can’t provide her any details—we don’t even have them—but he took extensive measures to keep them safe.”
“Does she trust us?” I asked.
“Probably not, but we’re all she’s got right now.” He ate a wing and wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Move fast. She’ll be ready at four a.m.”
I nodded. “Got it.”
Jackson hadn’t been lying when he said the woman was frightened. She was visibly trembling in the front hall of the home where I picked her up. “It will be okay, Sophie,” I told her, meeting her distrustful eyes. “My name is Zach Barrett. And you’re safe with me.”
“My daughter, Eden,” she whispered in a British accent. “She’s asleep upstairs.”
“I’ll put your things in the car while you wake her,” I said. After loading two small bags into the back of the SUV, I went back inside to find the woman standing at the top of the steep staircase, carrying a sleeping child.
Nervous that she would fall, I took the steps up two at a time and reached for the girl. “Let me.”
“But—”
“If anything happens to either of you, I’ll get fired,” I told her, transferring the child to my arms. Sound asleep, she didn’t protest, her head resting neatly on my shoulder, my arms securely around her back. “And I happen to like my job. I’m good at it.”
Sophie gave me a ghost of a smile.
We went out to the car, which idled in the dark under the watch of another Cole Security hire. He opened the passenger-side back door for me and went around to the other side of the car to help Sophie in. I carefully placed the little girl in the back seat and buckled her seatbelt.
Sophie slipped in beside her daughter and covered her with a blanket before looking up at me. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” I tucked the blanket around the little girl’s legs.
“Do you have children, Mr. Barrett?”
I almost said no. “Yes.”
“I can tell.”
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.
I’d never have the opportunity to experience it again, unless . . .
Unless what?
Unless I had the guts to admit I’d been wrong. To open a door that I’d closed long ago. To undo a decision I’d made out of fear and obstinacy, and give myself a chance at a new life.
My vision swam, and I felt light-headed. When I could see clearly again, I grabbed my keys and ran out the door.
Fifteen minutes later, I found myself knocking on Jackson’s door. One of his daughters answered it with a big smile on her face, which faded the second she saw me. “Oh, it’s you,” she said.
I had to laugh. “Sorry to disappoint.”
“I’m waiting for my ride. Come on in.” Then she yelled over her shoulder, “Dad! Mr. Barrett is here!”
I stepped into their foyer, and Jackson came jogging down the stairs. “Hey,” he said. “What’s going on?”
“I’m not sure.”
He reached the landing and studied my expression. “Come on, brother,” he said, throwing an arm around me. “Catherine is gone for the evening. Let’s have some scotch and talk it out.”
We went into the kitchen, and I took a seat at the island. After opening the bottle of scotch I’d gotten him for Christmas, he poured us each a couple fingers and set a glass in front of me. “Speak.”
I turned the glass on the stone counter without even taking a sip. “I think I made a mistake.”
“Zach, you didn’t. Sophie and Eden are fine.”
“That’s not what I mean.” I took a deep breath. “With Millie. I think ending things was a mistake.”
“Okay.” He leaned back against the counter across from me and took a sip of scotch.
“But when I think about what it would take to turn it around, I feel like I might pass out. It’s . . . so much.”
“Okay, let’s go piece by piece. How much of your decision to end things was about Mason?”
“Some.” I paused. “But I think I could talk to him. Get him to understand. I never felt right about keeping the truth from him anyway.”
“Okay, and how much was about what people would say, or small town gossip?”
I shrugged. “I don’t really care what people say, but I worry about Millie. If she could get past it, I could. People would probably find something else to talk about pretty fast.”
“I agree. So now the family issue. Would you consider surgery to reverse the vasectomy if it came to that? Or are you at least willing to have that conversation?”
I took a deep breath. “I would have that conversation.”
“Good. So now we go deep.” Taking a step toward me, he leaned against the island with both hands. “How much of this is about unpacking your baggage?”
I opened my mouth to argue once again that this wasn’t about the past, but as soon as I met his eyes, I closed it. Jackson knew me too well. “How do you get over it?” I asked him, because he’d suffered loss too.
“You don’t. You accept it and move on with your life. And you haven’t done that, Zach. Don’t even bring up that bullshit marriage to Kimberly—I know what that was. That was you trying to go through the motions without actually feeling the feelings.”
“I know,” I muttered, dropping my eyes to the marble. “I know.”
“Okay, so I have one more thing to ask you. You love this woman. And by the way, that’s not the question, because I already know you do. You love this woman. So how could you possibly trust that someone else would take care of her like you would, or keep her as safe?”
“I couldn’t,” I said, looking up at him again. “No one would ever take care of her like I could. The thought makes me sick.”
Jackson’s arms went out. “So what the fuck are you still doing in my kitchen?”
I was awake all night trying to think of what should happen next. Obviously, I needed to go back to Michigan, but I needed to prepare. First, I’d have to have a conversation with Mason. I’d admit the truth, apologize, and explain that while I’d never meant for any of this to happen, I was in love with Millie and wanted to be with her. Since I knew Mason cared for Millie, I was hoping he’d want her to be happy—and I could make her happy.
I just had to convince her.
Not that I thought she’d deny it, but I wanted to do something to show her that I didn’t just miss her or even just love her—I needed her in my life. Always.
As I tossed and turned, I kept thinking about what Sophie had said. Sometimes you just have to believe everything happens for a reason, and trust in the people you love to protect and guide you.
Trust the people you love to protect and guide you.
There was something about those words that embodied Millie and me, but I couldn’t put my finger on what it was. I fell asleep toward morning knowing the answer was there somewhere, but I still hadn’t figured it out.
It was when I was getting dressed after my shower that it hit me. I caught a glimpse of my upper body in the mirror before I pulled on my shirt, and the sight of my tattoos never failed to remind me of the way Millie touched them—reverently, tenderly, curious about the story behind each one.
I knew what I wanted to do.
