KATHLEEN DIDN’T return to the office for the rest of the week, and she kept a low profile. The likelihood of her accepting a job offer in Colorado increased with each passing day. The longer she was away, the more she was considering a future without me. My days and evenings rolled by with sluggish dread. I missed the springtime when everything had been so happy. I missed Kathleen and understood that if she moved to Denver, I would always miss her.
I was in critical need of a good day, and Heide needed time to shine.
My brave seven-year-old daughter had survived a life-threatening accident, her parents’ divorce, and the uncertainty of my rocky relationship with Kathleen. As her father, I was concerned about Heide’s overall well-being. Her health was more important than mine. I wanted to tell her that life was returning to normal, but it would be premature to do so now. Having seen Robert and Kathleen, I’d come to understand what resulted when a father and daughter lost trust in one another. I needed to talk to Heide about everything without overwhelming us both.
Summer had given way to autumn, and the weather was turning cool. Heide’s body was still healing, and she was adapting to the reality of living without fully operational lungs. Her injury from the backstop collapse was one she would never overcome, and I didn’t want to compromise her fragile health. I had to get creative when picking a place to spend an afternoon away from the house.
I settled on the idea of taking her to the Bend Fall Festival. With Allison’s thoughts focused on her upcoming return to Baltimore, a local tradition was a good place for just the two of us. As we navigated past countless vendors and their tents on our way to explore the Family Fun Street, I took my cues from Heide. When she grew tired inside a maze built of hay, I carried her in my arms. We sat and rested while watching the boxcar derby. She grew irritated when she wanted to do more than she was physically capable of, yet I refrained from pressuring her to move along to something new. All it took to reinforce my patience was the fear I’d experienced the day she’d been hurt. I’d been certain Heide was going to die. I’d been terrified we wouldn’t enjoy moments like these ever again. From now on, I would never rush her through anything.
We spent the better part of an hour hand-painting a pumpkin, and when we finished, I gave her a piggyback ride to a restaurant that offered comfortable seating and a kid-friendly menu. After she ordered her macaroni and cheese, I smiled at my daughter.
“We have a lot to catch up on,” I said. “There are some things I need to tell you.”
She took a sip of her apple juice and nodded. “I know.”
As usual, I couldn’t suppress my delight over her wise reactions. “You do?”
My daughter stared at me and quirked an eyebrow. “We’ve had this talk before.”
Although these words also took me by surprise, I didn’t find any humor in them.
“That’s true.” I sat back in my seat and absorbed the truth of her words. “I’m glad we can have these talks. Aren’t you?”
“I guess so.” She appeared somewhat confused and looked over my shoulder and out the window. I tried to simplify the moment.
“At times, we have to talk about things that aren’t easy. When I say I’m glad we can talk, I mean that I’m glad we can get through the tough times together.”
She returned her attention to me, her eyes searching mine.
“Heide, some daughters fear their fathers. I never want you to be afraid of me.”
“You’re not scary.” She was trying not to find the thought funny, but she couldn’t help it. My words of wisdom gave her as big a kick as hers gave me.
“Good. I was hoping you’d say something like that.”
“What do we need to talk about?” she asked, the uncertainty between us forgotten.
“There are several things, really. First, your doctors think you’re almost ready to go back to school.”
Heide nodded.
“Do you feel ready to be away from home all day without Mom or me close by?”
She gave my question thoughtful consideration. “Recess will be hard, but sitting in class will be okay.”
“What worries you about recess?”
“I shouldn’t swing. Or go down the slide. What if another kid knocks me down? I don’t want to get hurt again.”
I took her hand and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “We’ll help you figure out recess. We can talk to your principal and your teacher.”
“What about PE?”
“We’ll figure that out, too.”
“Okay.”
“Is there anything else about school you’re worried about?”
She shook her head.
“All right. That’s good. Are you ready to talk about something else?”
“Sure.”
“Have you talked with Mom about her going back to Baltimore?”
“A little bit.”
“How do you feel about that?”
Heide folded her arms on the table and rested her chin on them. “I’ll miss her.”
I was far more concerned about her mother’s departure than her return to school. Although the date for Allison’s return to Baltimore hadn’t been finalized, we’d spoken about it during the week. We’d agreed that Allison would wait until Heide was settled at school and accustomed to spending her days away from her mother. Allison admitted she would need time to adapt as well.
“It’s been good Mom could be here to help. But you understand why she’s going back, right? Maryland is her home.”
“And Oregon is yours.” She took another sip of her juice.
“That’s right.” I swallowed my emotion and tried to keep a brave face. “But both places will be home to you. We want you to have a vote, too.”
“What do you mean?”
“If you’re unhappy here in Bend, if you think you’ll miss Mom too much, you could go with her.”
Worry flashed in my daughter’s eyes. “Do you want me to go?”
I gave her hand another squeeze. “No. Never. But I wouldn’t stop you if that’s what you want. After everything you’ve been through with your accident, it would be understandable if you didn’t like Bend anymore.”
She answered me without too much thought. “I like it here. I like my school and my friends. I like the mountains. I like Kathleen.”
Heide’s declaration reminded me of an afternoon in Portland, when I’d held Kathleen in my arms and listened to her express similar thoughts about my daughter. My heart clenched with bittersweet intensity.
“She likes you,” I replied.
Heide began to fidget a bit in her chair.
“What is it?” I asked with growing concern.
“Why doesn’t she come over to see us?”
“That’s difficult to explain, but I can try.”
“Is it because of that fight in Portland?”
“Not completely. But I know that one of the reasons she doesn’t come over is because she doesn’t want anyone to fight. She wants you to be happy, and she wants you to get better. She cares about you and she knows that the fight upset you.”
“I miss her,” Heide replied.
“I miss her, too.”
She crossed her arms in defiance. “At least you get to see her at work.”
“That’s true. It’s not the same though.”
“When Mom goes to Baltimore, will Kathleen start coming over to see us again?”
I hesitated to answer this question, but Heide watched me expectantly. I scratched my cheek as I struggled to find the right combination of words. I wanted to be truthful, but I didn’t want to cause her unnecessary distress.
“Kathleen wants to see you. I’m sure of that.”
“What about you? Doesn’t she want to see you?”
“I don’t know. I hope so.”
“Is she still your girlfriend?”
“That’s what we’re trying to figure out.”
Her face projected her deepest concern yet. There was a level of sorrow in her eyes that I hadn’t been prepared for.
“Why is it so hard for grown-ups to stay friends?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe because grown-ups have more things to worry about. They get busy and they lose touch with each other.”
“Did you tell her you were sorry?”
“For the fight?”
She nodded.
“I did. And to be honest, I need to tell you I’m sorry, too. It wasn’t fair to put you through that. I wasn’t being a good parent. I’ll always feel bad about that afternoon.”
Heide stood up and walked around the table to my side. She didn’t hesitate to climb onto my lap, even though she needed some help. She wrapped her arms around my neck, pulling our foreheads together.
“It’s okay, Dad. We were all tired.”
I wanted to squeeze her hard but needed to be mindful of her fragile ribs. I kissed her forehead instead.
“You’re amazing. You know that?”
She ignored my praise and moved on to her next point.
“Did you tell Kathleen you’ll always feel bad about that afternoon?”
“I’ve told her a lot of things, but I still have more to say.”
She leveled me with a serious stare. “You need to take care of that, Dad.”
“I know. But I’m trying to be careful with her, too.”
“Why do you need to be careful?”
“Well, it’s kind of like you and recess. She’s afraid something bad is going to happen, and she’ll be really hurt by it.”
“You talk to me because you don’t want me to be scared. If you don’t want Kathleen to be scared, you need to talk to her.”
I froze as I contemplated these words. Kathleen’s biggest hope was that I would trust her in the same way she had trusted me. I did trust her. I’d been telling myself so all along, but I hadn’t proven it. I’d convinced myself that my past wasn’t important to my future. I’d decided the truth would cause more harm than good, and I didn’t want to become someone else who’d hurt her. But where had that logic gotten us? Kathleen was frightened of where our relationship was headed and was preparing to uproot her entire life as a result. We’d never been farther apart, emotionally or physically.
“You’re right. You’re such a smart person. How did you get to be so wise?”
“I don’t know. It just came to me.”
Our server returned with Heide’s lunch and she carefully climbed off my lap and reclaimed her seat. Then she began eating her meal with enthusiasm while I gathered my thoughts and my courage.