AFTER I GET SAMMY’S BOOSTER seat out of Sophie’s car and put it in my truck, I lift Sammy up and buckle her into the seat.
From being around Carter, I know kids are supposed to sit in the back seat, but I don’t have one of those. I’m going to need to get something safer to drive her around in as soon as I can, until then, this will have to work. I give an extra tug on the straps, making sure Sammy is as secure as possible.
“That’s tight enough,” Sammy says with a grunt.
“Sorry,” I tell her, giving her an apologetic smile.
“S’okay.” She watches me as I watch her, and then I finally break our little stare-off and run around to my side and hop in.
“What kind of music do you like?” I ask, needing something to distract the both of us from leaving Sophie, as I start up my truck and slowly pull away from the curb.
“I like fun music,” she tells me with a smile. It’s so innocent and sincere. I want to laugh at the simplicity of her answer, but I don’t. After the incident earlier, I now know she doesn’t like being laughed at, even if she is being incredibly adorable and funny.
“I like fun music, too.”
Turning the station to something easy, and fun, we drive down the street and out onto the main highway. The knot from leaving Sophie is still in my stomach when we reach the highway, but I put on a brave face for Sammy. When I look over, she’s fully engrossed in the song, kicking her little feet to the beat as she watches the outside world go by, seemingly without a care.
I want to talk to her, somehow prepare her for what’s to come, but I don’t know how. So, I let her be. If I’ve learned anything about Sammy, it’s that she’s not afraid to speak her mind. I’m hoping if she has questions or worries, she’ll ask me, eventually.
A few miles out of town, when the song ends and the station starts playing commercials, Sammy sighs.
“You okay?” I ask, keeping my eyes on the road.
“Yeah,” she replies in a somber tone, pushing her blonde curls away from her face.
“What’s wrong? You can tell me, you know. I’m a great listener.”
Listening really is something I’m good at. I’ve always been a sounding board for Micah and Deacon, so I feel comfortable offering that up. I might not have the right response, but I can definitely listen.
When she doesn’t reply, I give her a little push. “Are you worried about your mom?”
“Yeah.” Her head bows to her chest and I’m afraid I might’ve said the wrong thing. I don’t want her to cry. I’m never good with girls crying. “I don’t want her to be sick,” she confesses. “But she’s bad sick. She told me the doctors tried to fix her, but they can’t.”
My heart sinks with this revelation. I guess that answers my question about how much Sammy knows about Sophie’s illness.
“Do you know what happens when the doctors can’t fix you?” At that question, I turn to look at her, afraid of what comes next, wondering if she’s asking or telling.
“You go to heaven,” she finally replies, solemnly.
I swallow, relieved that she’s answering her own questions.
“You’re really smart for a four-year-old. Has anybody ever told you that?”
“Well, I’m almost five.”
She says it so matter-of-factly that I have to laugh, but I cut it short when it dawns on me I don’t even know when her birthday is. I remember seeing a spot for it on the forms Sophie and I filled out at the vital records office, but she did that part. I was so distracted by what was happening, I couldn’t think about anything else except the fact I was a father . . . am a father.
“When’s your birthday, Sammy?”
The question makes me feel an inch tall. Dads are supposed to know this stuff.
“May twenty-fifth. I’m a Gemini.”
Again, her response makes me laugh. Not the birth date though, that makes me swerve a little and grip the steering wheel harder.
“May twenty-fifth?” I ask, making sure I heard her right.
“Yes, and it means I’m a Gemini,” she says it slowly, sounding it out for me, as if I’m hearing it for the first time. “Mommy says that explains why I’m so smart.”
“Oh, really?”
The air around me feels thicker and I try not to read too much into the date of her birth, but I can’t help it.
“My mom’s birthday was May twenty-fifth.” The words are out of my mouth before I even think about them.
“Where’s your mom?” she asks, her little mind working as she tilts her head and looks over at me.
“Heaven.” I train my eyes back on the road. For the millionth time since I found out about Sammy, I’m lost for words. I don’t know which way is up or down or if I’m saying the right thing. So, instead of saying anything else and possibly opening a can of worms I’m not ready to handle yet, I turn the radio up a little and Sammy begins to hum along.
She doesn’t ask anything else until we get off the main highway and are headed into French Settlement.
“Do you like grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“I love grilled cheese sandwiches,” I tell her, grateful that we’re onto lighter subject matter.
“I’m hungry. Can we have grilled cheese sandwiches?”
“Absolutely.”
As we turn down the dirt road, I feel my heartbeat spike. I’m not nervous about my dad and Kay meeting Sophie. They’re going to love her. And she’s going to love them. But tomorrow is Sunday, and like every Sunday, I’m expected to be at dinner at the Landry’s. Which means tomorrow, I’ll be telling everyone about Sammy, and they’re going to meet her.
“There’s the castle,” Sammy whispers as we drive by the big house.
“Castle, huh?” I ask, trying to ignore the nerves building in my stomach.
“Yeah, it’s big and white. That’s where princesses live. In big, white houses.”
“What if I told you I know the people who live there?” I ask, almost hating that I’m going to ruin her fantasy about a princess living there.
“Really?” Her eyes grow wide and her little mouth drops open. “You know the princess?”
“Well, I know the, uh, king and queen of the castle.”
“There’s no princess?” Her eyebrows furrow at the disappointment.
“No, just a couple of ornery princes.” I smirk at the thought and the idea of Micah and Deacon finding out about this conversation.
“What’s the king and queen’s name?” she asks, turning around as far as she can to watch the house in the distance.
“Sam and Annie.”
“And the princes? What’s their names?”
“Micah and Deacon, but they don’t live there anymore.”
“Oh.” She turns back around and frowns. “Well, I’d like to meet the king and queen.” The words are a bit more proper sounding than her normal tone and she crosses her legs and places her hands daintily on her lap.
It’s the cutest fucking thing ever.
“I can arrange that.”
Annie will get such a kick out of her. And just wait until she finds out that Sammy was born on my mama’s birthday. I’m not sure if that’ll make her happy or sad, but I’m guessing it’ll be a little bit of both.
Maybe tomorrow won’t be so scary after all.
They’re all my family, and Sammy is now a part of that. It’s just a matter of taking the leap and telling them. Cami, my dad, and Kay are already in the know. Sam will probably have a pretty good idea once I start to talk. Annie, Micah, Deacon, and Dani are the only ones who will be blind-sided, like me.
But looking over at Sammy as we turn into the drive at the house, I can’t imagine anyone not falling in love with her. I remember what Annie told my sister when she was pregnant with Carter: a baby is never a bad thing. Sammy isn’t a baby, but she’s also not a bad thing.
She’s perfect.
After parking the truck and staring at the house for longer than necessary, I finally get out and jog around to Sammy’s side.
“Ready to meet Kay and Clay?” I ask, unbuckling her seatbelt.
“Yep.” She smiles up at me and stretches out her arms for me to pick her up and my heart flips in my chest.
I wish I would’ve known her before now.
That’s the thought that’s running through my mind as I lift her up and place her feet on the ground.
I wish I would’ve known her from the beginning.
Bending down, I take a page from Sophie’s book, and get on her level.
“Kay and Clay are super excited to meet you,” I tell her, hoping to calm any fears she might have. “And tomorrow, you’ll get to meet the rest of my family . . . our family.” I give her a smile, hoping she understands that she’s not alone. It’s not just her and her mom and Mamie anymore. She’s got me. And she’s got all the rest of my crazy family. We might not be conventional, but there’s a lot of love—plenty to go around and plenty to share with Sammy.
“Let’s go,” I grab her bag from the back of the truck and hold out my hand for her to take.
When she puts her hand in mine, I melt a little more.
It’s so little and soft, and a bit tentative at first.
As we reach the bottom step of the porch, the front door opens and my dad is standing there with an expression that matches how I’m feeling inside—nervous, but excited . . . maybe a little scared, because this is a little girl and what do we know about little girls?
Sammy’s grip on my hand tightens when she sees him.
“Dad, this is Sammy,” I say, kneeling at her side. “Sammy, this is Clay, my dad . . . your grandpa. Remember what I said?”
“I can call him whatever I want to?” Her words are quiet, and it’s the first time I’ve seen her act timid. I want to hug her and tell her everything is going to be okay—shield her from the world and every uncomfortable situation.
Give her a soft place to land.
My sister’s advice from a few weeks ago comes back to me.
“That’s right.” Pulling her into me, I squeeze her shoulder in reassurance.
“Anything you want.” My dad mimics my pose and kneels in front of us.
“I never had a grandpa before,” she says, looking over at my dad with an intense gaze, like she’s searching his soul. She must like what she sees, because slowly, she eases up and releases her grip on my hand.
“Well, I’ve never had a granddaughter before,” my dad counters.
Sammy smiles and looks around my dad, into the house.
“Where’s Kay?” she asks.
We both laugh, but Sammy is serious. She looks over at me with those incredible blue eyes, questioning what’s so funny.
“Kay went into town. She’s gonna be real sorry she wasn’t here when you showed up,” my dad answers.
I stand up and my dad moves away from the door, allowing us to step inside.
“Let’s put your bag in the room you’ll be staying in and then I’ll make you a grilled cheese, okay?”
Without hesitation, she reaches out and grabs my hand, following me to the stairs.
I look back at my dad who looks like he’s trying not to cry, so I look away.
I can’t see that.
I’m still trying to keep it all together myself. If I saw my dad shed a tear, I’d be done for.
When we get to the top of the stairs, I lead Sammy down the hallway, past my bedroom and to the door of Cami’s old room. It doesn’t look much different than when Cami lived here. The pale-pink curtains are still on the window. Kay put a new white quilt on the bed not too long ago. That’s probably the only thing that’s changed, except for Cami’s personal stuff she took with her when she moved out. The rocking chair our mama rocked us in as babies is over in the corner and Cami’s vanity is still against the far wall. It’s a nice room.
“This is where you’ll sleep,” I tell Sammy, sitting her bag on the bed. “Should we set Bubba free from his cage?” I smile, unzipping her bag.
“Yeah, he’s probably tired. He needs some tea.”
“I bet Kay will hook you and Bubba up with some tea.”
Sammy walks over to the bed and puts her blanket up by the pillow. Taking Bubba out, she holds him up, inspecting him and then crushes him to her chest.
For some reason, it makes my own chest ache.
“How about that grilled cheese?” I ask, needing the distraction.
Back downstairs, I sit Sammy up at the table with a glass of sweet tea. I’m not sure if Sophie is okay with her having it, but at this point, I’d give her anything to make her comfortable and happy. I even poured a small glass for Bubba.
She’s watching me as I move about the kitchen, pulling out the necessary ingredients for grilled cheese. It’s crazy, but it’s making me nervous. I’ve made hundreds of grilled cheeses in my life, but I’m suddenly afraid I’m going to mess this one up. I feel like I’m on one of those cooking shows Annie and Kay are always watching.
“You just like your grilled cheese regular?”
“Um, yeah?” Sammy scrunches up her little nose and gives me a funny smile. “Just like Mommy makes it—bread, butter, cheese.” She counts each ingredient off on her fingers. “Then you cut it two times.” Holding her little arms up in an “x”, she shows me how Sophie cuts it for her.
“Bread, butter, cheese; and cut it into triangles. Got it.”
“And cook it. Don’t forget that part.”
“Right. I’m glad you reminded me,” I joke.
“That’s the only part Mommy won’t let me do. So, sometimes, when Mommy’s bad sick, I make cheese sandwiches.”
“Cheese sandwiches are good,” I tell her, trying to sound like I’m not affected by her confession, but I am. It guts me.
All I can see in my mind is Sammy taking care of herself, and it kills me. I can only imagine what that does to Sophie, because one thing is for sure, she loves Sammy more than life itself.
“I heard we have a special visitor.” Kay’s voice is soft and melodic.
I turn around in time to see Sammy smile widely at her. “Hi,” she says, waving a little hand in Kay’s direction.
“You must be Sammy.” Kay walks around and sits in the chair beside her.
“You must be Kay,” Sammy counters.
Kay gives me a wide-eyed smile, her hand going to her mouth as she tries not to laugh or cry, or both.
“Me and Bubba are having tea. You want some?” Sammy asks, like this is her kitchen and she’s the hostess. “It’s not fancy tea, but he still likes it.”
“Well, I’d love some.” The expression on Kay’s face tells me she’s mesmerized, completely under Sammy’s spell with their short exchange of words.
“I smell grilled cheese,” my dad says, walking into the kitchen and sitting across from Sammy, like it’s something he does every day.
And that’s what we have for dinner—grilled cheeses, sweet teas, and cookies Kay baked earlier in the day. I watch Sammy’s every move, listen to every word, and watch for any sign that she’s unhappy, but I never see it. She talks to Kay and my dad, making them laugh and wowing them with how smart she is.
Occasionally, I catch my dad looking at her with a soft, sad expression, and I wonder what he’s thinking.
That she looks like me?
That she reminds him of my mama?
That she acts like Cami?
Because those are the things I think of and it amazes me too, makes me a little sad, but more than anything, it makes my heart expand—wrapping around Sammy.
When I see her yawn, I look at my watch as realize it’s already almost nine o’clock.
“What’s your bedtime?” I ask, thinking that’s probably something I should’ve asked Sophie.
We should call her.
“I have to go to bed at eight thirty. Not eight thirty-five. Eight thirty,” Sammy says seriously and I can hear Sophie in her words.
“Well, I hate to break it to you, kiddo, but it’s past your bedtime. And we need to call and check on your mom.”
Sammy frowns and looks at my dad, and then at Kay.
They’re both smiling these goofy, sappy smiles at her, kind of like the ones they had on their faces the day Carter was born.
I realize they’re not going to be any help in the bedtime enforcement. From the look they’re giving her, they’d let her eat chocolate and stay up until two in the morning. She could bring a horse into the house or burn it down, and it’d be okay.
And then I realize I know nothing about putting a four-year-old to bed. I was on the road a lot when Carter was a baby, so I wasn’t ever around for that kind of thing. I’ve heard Cami talk about the horrors of bedtime, but never witnessed it myself.
Suddenly, I’m dreading walking upstairs—fear of the unknown and all that jazz.
“Will I see you tomorrow?” Sammy asks Kay, sadness lacing her words.
“Of course, honey.” Kay reaches over and squeezes Sammy’s hand. “How about I make you some pancakes in the mornin’. Do you like those?”
“Yes,” Sammy says with a fervent nod, her frown quickly changing into a smile.
“Let’s go call your mom, okay?” I ask, thinking that’s a good way to get her up the stairs.
“Okay,” she says, still with a bit of reluctance in her voice.
“Good night, Grandpa.” Walking over to my dad, she hugs him and I watch as he turns into a pile of goo.
“Good night, Sammy,” he replies, hugging her back. His voice is thick with emotion, but he clears his throat to hide it, looking away when she pulls back.
As I’m walking her upstairs, she yawns again and I stop and pick her up, carrying her the rest of the way. When she lays her head on my shoulder, I close my eyes, wondering what I did to deserve this.
What makes me worthy of getting to raise this little girl?
Why me and not Sophie?
The familiar questions that have been plaguing me the past few weeks are on constant repeat in my mind.
Once we’re in the room, I sit her down on the bed and open her bag, looking for a nightgown or pajamas of some sort.
“I can do it,” she says, reaching over and pulling out a blue and pink polka dot shirt that looks like it’s two sizes too big for her. “I’m big. I can do it by myself.”
“Okay.”
She jumps off the bed and starts pulling off her yellow dress, but gets stuck halfway. With her arms up and her face hidden by the dress, she walks closer to me. “Help.”
I laugh to myself, shaking my head at her simultaneous independence and dependence.
Once I get her arms unstuck, she takes over, changing from her dress to her polka dot shirt.
“This was mommy’s, but she let me have it.” She smiles proudly, looking down at the shirt. “I love it.”
“I love it, too. How ‘bout we call her and check in . . . tell her goodnight.”
“Yes,” she says, climbing back up on the bed and sitting beside me, with Bubba in her lap.
I dial Sophie’s number, waiting a good six rings before she finally answers.
“Hello.” Her voice is still weak and tired, but she does sound a little better than earlier.
“Hey, it’s Tucker,” I tell her, unsure of what to say.
“And Sammy,” Sammy chimes in, smiling up at me.
“And Sammy.” I convey the message to Sophie with a laugh. “Who is up past her bedtime. Sorry, I forgot to ask and then we lost track of time.”
“It’s okay. It’s definitely not the first, won’t be the last,” Sophie says, her tone sounding a bit relieved and I wonder if she’s been waiting on us to call. “How is she?”
“Good.” I look down at Sammy, pausing for a second. “Want to talk to her?”
“Sure.”
When I hand the phone to Sammy, she stands up and starts pacing around the small room as she talks, like she’s sixteen instead of four.
“Yes,” Sammy says, but I’m not sure what the question was. “Grilled cheese. Tucker made them. And Kay made cookies. And we had sweet tea. Grandpa said he made that. I didn’t make anything.”
I listen and watch with rapt attention, soaking in every second of Sammy talking to her mom. I think about recording it, because it’s so cute.
I hope she remembers this. I hope when she’s my age, she’ll be able to recall being four and talking to her mom on the phone like they’re old friends.
After a few minutes, Sammy stops pacing. She nods her head as she listens to whatever Sophie is telling her and then says, “Okay, Mommy. I love you.”
Sammy hands the phone back to me and I wonder if Sophie’s hung up, so I check, just in case.
“Hello?”
“Thank you for taking care of her,” Sophie says.
“You’re welcome.”
There’s no thanks necessary, but I don’t know how to tell her that taking care of Sammy is now my job. I’m her dad. She doesn’t have to thank me.
“How are you feelin’?” I ask.
“Better.” I think she’s trying to convince herself as much as me, but I can hear the weariness. It seeps through the phone. “I’ll be better. Just give me a day or so.”
“Alright. Call if you need us.” I give Sammy a wink, because she’s looking at me with pensive eyes. She’s perceptive. I doubt I’ll ever be able to hide anything from her for too long.
“I will.”
After a second, the phone goes silent and I pull it back to make sure Sophie hung up before putting it in my pocket.
Turning to Sammy, I feel the nerves from earlier back in full force.
How do we do this?
What does she like?
I barely remember my mom putting me to bed as a kid, but what I do remember was every night, she would go into Cami’s room and tuck her blanket in tight around her. I would hear her in there asking Cami what she was going to dream about. Cami would giggle and tell her she didn’t know, and mama would tell her to think of something good and keep thinking about it until she fell asleep. That’s what she’d dream about.
Maybe that’s why Cami always had her head in the clouds, chasing dreams.
“You have to tuck me in,” Sammy instructs, pulling the blanket back as I stand there in the middle of the room. “Then we have to say three things we’re thankful for.” She hops up on the bed and grabs her pink blanket and Bubba. “Then you kiss me on my head and tell me to go dodo.”
At first, I’m confused by that last part, but then it hits me. Dodo is Cajun for go to sleep. If I had to guess, I’d say that’s another Mamie word.
Pulling the blankets up around Sammy’s shoulders, I tuck them in around her. “How tight do you like it?”
“Really tight.” She laughs when I tuck it into her sides, squirming around and untucking part I’ve already done. “That tickles.”
“Oh, you’re ticklish?” I ask, quirking an eyebrow at her. “That’s good to know.”
“Do it again.” She laughs and her wild, blonde hair gets crazier as she flails.
I tuck the blankets in tight, intentionally tickling her sides just so I can hear her laugh again.
After a few seconds, she calms down and pushes her hair back off her face with a contented sigh.
“What are three things you’re thankful for?” I ask, knowing that she’s on my list.
She starts ticking off own, one-by-one on her small fingers.
“Mommy, you, Grandpa and Kay.”
That’s four, but I don’t correct her. She could go on all night telling me what she’s thankful for and I would sit here and listen to every one of them.
She pats down the blanket around her, and then positions Bubba just so at her side. “What’s your three?”
I think for a second, trying to figure out exactly what to say.
“You,” I tell her, swallowing hard. “And I’m thankful for grilled cheese sandwiches and fun music.”
Sammy smiles. “I like those things too.”
“Good night, Sammy.”
This is the first time I’ve ever told her that—the first time I’ve ever put my little girl to bed and it’s hitting me hard that this is my life now—she’s my life.
Sammy stretches her arms out and waits for me to come down to her. When I do, and her little body is close to mine, I’m afraid I won’t be able to stop hugging her. Taking a deep breath, I get my first good whiff of Sammy. She smells sweet, with a hint of lavender and outdoors.
Kissing her on her forehead, I sit up and smile down at her.
“Good night.”
“I’ll be right next door, if you need me. And Grandpa and Kay will be in the room across the hall.”
I stand up and walk over to the door, unsure of what to do next.
“Do you need a nightlight or somethin’?”
“No.” She hugs Bubba to her and rolls over on her side.
After I turn the light off, I walk out the door and slide down the wall in the hallway. I sit there, thinking about the day and the little girl sleeping a few feet from me, and I don’t leave until I hear a faint little snore coming from inside the room.