Inglath Cooper - John Riley's Girl

He could still remember so many of them line by line.

He remembered the look in Laura’s eyes when she’d admitted to reading them—understanding tinted with sadness and resignation, and awareness that what had come before her would always be between them.

It had been almost two years since Laura had died. If he could give her nothing else, he would make sure that everyone at this damned reunion knew he had loved her. That she had been his wife. The mother of his daughter. The one who counted.

He owed her that much.

And Sophia was right about one thing. He wasn’t going to prove any of that by standing up here acting like he cared whether Liv Ashford had waltzed herself back into town or not.

So he yanked open the back door with enough force to make the old hinges groan and headed outside.

OLIVIA MADE her way to the back of the house, keeping her head down to avoid meeting anyone’s eyes, grateful for the darkness that concealed her from view. A few minutes to get herself together, and she would be fine. Just fine.

What in the world had she been thinking?

Coming back here had been nothing but a mistake. How could she have believed anything else?

Once, she’d had a panic attack on a crowded elevator in an Atlanta bank. She’d been standing in the back, and it had hit her before she ever saw it coming, tightening her chest, refusing to let air in her lungs.

That’s how she felt now. As if breathing had become something she had to think out second by second.

Tall, old oak trees threw evening shadows across the backyard. Wrought-iron chairs were arranged in a circle on the brick patio. Olivia pulled one away from the halo of light dancing out from the lanterns hanging by the French doors. She sat down and dropped her head onto her hands.

How could something still hurt this much after so long? She had not seen John Riley in fifteen years, and in all that time her heart had not gained an ounce of immunity to him.

“Whatcha doin’?”

Olivia shot up from the chair and whirled around. A small face stared down at her from the second story of the house, the curious eyes disturbingly familiar.

“Oh. I was just…”

“You’re crying.”

“No. I…well, not really.”

The little girl disappeared from the window, popped back seconds later and said, “Here.”

Two tissues floated down. Olivia caught them. “Thank you.”

“They’re the soft kind. Are you sad?”

This was John’s child. If Olivia had not been able to tell from the eyes alone, her shoot-from-the-hip manner would have been a dead giveaway. “A little, I guess.”

“It’s okay to be sad. That’s what Aunt Sophia says. And she says sadness can’t get better until you ’knowledge it’s there.”

A name from the past. How many afternoons had she come with John to this house after school where they would do their homework at the kitchen table while Sophia fixed dinner? Olivia had helped her peel potatoes or shred lettuce for a salad. Sophia had taught her how to make homemade biscuits. They were John’s favorite, and he’d made her promise she would make them every morning for breakfast after they got married. After leaving Summerville, Olivia had never made biscuits again. “Sophia is a wise woman,” she said.

“She’s real smart.” The little girl nodded, rubbing an eye with the back of a small hand. “My mommy died. I’ve been sad a lot. I think my daddy has been, too. Only he won’t admit it.”

Olivia took a step back. Shock ricocheted through her like a stone skimming the surface of a pond. Laura Riley had died. That pretty girl who had answered the door on a winter afternoon so long ago was dead. John’s wife.

How many times had she imagined the kind of life John would have had with Laura? Imagined her being the kind of woman who sent him off each morning with a hot breakfast and greeted him at the door each night with the smell of bread wafting from the oven.

The wondering seemed trivial now, intrusive even.

She took a deep breath and finally managed, “I’m so sorry.”

“She was a good mommy.”

“I’m sure she was,” Olivia said, her throat so tight she was surprised the words had actually made their way out.

“Daddy says she’s in heaven, and that it’s a good place. He says she gets to have her real hair there, and she won’t even have to chew sugarless gum. She can have real bubble gum.”

Olivia’s heart contracted. “That’s nice, isn’t it?”

She nodded. “But I wish she didn’t have to go. I miss her. Daddy says God sometimes takes the good people and leaves the rest here to give them a chance to figure out how to be that way. I’m not good sometimes ’cause I don’t want to leave Daddy. He needs me. Every once in a while I won’t eat all my dinner or forget to make up my bed.”

“I bet God understands.” Olivia swallowed hard at the little girl’s matter-of-fact assessment. “What’s your name?”

“Flora. What’s yours?”

“Olivia.”

“That’s pretty.”

“Thank you. So’s Flora.”

A black nose appeared in the window and nudged Flora’s arm aside. “We woke up Charlie.”

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