Chapter 3: The Girl by the Tree
My feet moved before my mind caught up.
The grass was soft and uneven and I nearly stumbled once, but I didn't stop.
The girl watched me come.
She didn't run.
She didn't smile either.
She just stood there with her hands at her sides, very still, the way a child stands when they've been told to wait and have been waiting for a long time.
I stopped about three feet from her.
She had Cara's coloring — dark hair, olive skin, the kind of face that would be striking when she was older.
But her jaw was mine.
The slight downward pull at the corners of her mouth when she was uncertain.
I knew that expression because I'd seen it in mirrors my whole life.
"Hi," I said.
My voice came out lower than I intended.
"Hi," she said back.
Diane had followed me across the grass.
She stopped just behind my shoulder.
"Her name is Lily," Diane said quietly.
I crouched down so I wasn't towering over her.
"Lily.
That's a beautiful name."
Lily looked at me for a long moment.
"You're him," she said.
Not a question.
"I think so," I said.
"What did your mom tell you about me?"
"That you didn't know about me." She said it plainly, without accusation.
"She said it wasn't your fault."
Something cracked open in my chest.
"She was right.
I didn't know."
"I know." Lily glanced toward the grave, then back at me.
"She told me everything before she got too sick to talk.
She said she was going to fix it."
I had to look away for a moment.
The casket was fully lowered now.
The small crowd was beginning to drift toward the cars.
Nobody was paying attention to the three of us at the edge of the cemetery.
"Where have you been living?" I asked.
"With Diane," Lily said.
"Since Mom went to the hospital the last time."
I stood up and looked at Diane.
"You've been taking care of her?"
"Cara asked me to," Diane said.
"She didn't have family.
Her parents passed years ago.
There was no one else."
"How long have you known about me?"
"About eight months.
When Cara realized she wasn't going to recover, she told me everything.
She made me promise to bring Lily to the funeral and make sure you got the letter."
I looked back at Lily.
She was watching me with those dark eyes, patient and serious in the way that children are when they've had to grow up faster than they should.
"Are you going to go away again?" she asked.
The question hit me somewhere I wasn't prepared for.
"No," I said.
"I'm not going anywhere."
Lily nodded slowly, as if she'd been hoping for that answer but hadn't let herself count on it.
Then she reached out and took my hand.
Her fingers were small and cold from standing in the shade.
We stood there together at the edge of her mother's grave, and I held her hand, and I didn't let go.
Diane touched my arm gently.
"There's more in the letter," she said.
"She didn't put everything in the part you read."
I looked at her.
"What do you mean?"
"There's a second page." She paused.
"Cara wasn't sure you'd want to know.
But she decided you had the right to."
I reached into the envelope.
I hadn't noticed there were two sheets.
I unfolded the second page.
May you like
The first line stopped me cold.
*"The reason I never told you about the pregnancy — the real reason — was because of what your mother said to me the night before I left."*
