“THESE PANCAKES AREN’T AS GOOD as Kay’s,” Sammy says as she crams another bite in her mouth.
I laugh, shaking my head. “Give me a break, kid. That’s my first attempt.”
“You’ll get better.” Her words are mumbled as she talks around a mouth full of food.
If I’ve learned nothing else about my spunky little girl, I’ve learned she’s honest, sometimes to a fault, but it’s okay. I love that about her. I love always knowing what’s on her mind. It makes me hopeful that we’ll make it through these next few weeks.
After our visit to the hospice facility yesterday, I’m afraid that Sophie only has a few more days, maybe less. She was only awake for a brief time while we were there, but it was enough time for her to acknowledge Sammy, giving her the connection she needed with her mom.
Since Sophie passed out in the middle of the night and Sammy slept through most of it, she didn’t understand that her mom was super sick. She needed to see her. She needed that concrete proof, something tangible to help her process.
“After you’re finished with my mediocre pancakes, how about we go out to Annie and Sam’s to play with Carter?”
“Yes,” Sammy replies excitedly, stuffing the last bite into her mouth. “I’m ready. Is Aunt Cami gonna be there?”
“No, Aunt Cami is at the art studio, but we can visit her, if you want. I’m sure she’d love to see you.”
It’s been my goal this week to keep Sammy busy. I’ve noticed when it’s just the two of us at the house, her questions about her mom are more intense. She thinks about everything and it’s too much for a four-year-old. I know she needs to think about it some, but I don’t want it becoming all she thinks about, so we play with Carter as much as possible and visit everyone. She’s even been to Grinders for lunch, and yesterday, we stopped by the old Pockets site to see the new walls being built.
She thought that was awesome.
Tomorrow, I’ll take her back to see her mom, but for today, I want her to be four.
“Go get your shoes from your room while I clean up this mess,” I tell her, smiling as she skips down the hallway.
We’re still adjusting and things aren’t smooth sailing, but we’re getting there.
Sammy’s had a few meltdowns. The first time she fell apart over me choosing the wrong bow to match her dress, I stood in her doorway like a deer in headlights. I had no clue what to do, so I just let her cry it out. When she was ready to talk, we talked. And I called my sister who assured me that it won’t be the last time and to expect her to be irrational about things. For one, she’s four. For another, she’s going through changes most adults can’t handle.
So, we’re taking it slow—day by day.
I still make mistakes—like choosing the wrong bow or not knowing what pants go with what shirt.
Sammy still has meltdowns from time to time.
But I’m learning and so is Sammy. She’s teaching me what acceptance looks like and what true love is. I’m teaching her that it’s okay to feel however you want to feel and that I’ll be here for her, no matter what.
As I’m drying the pan I used for pancakes, my phone rings from the living room. Running in to grab it, I see No Caller ID on the screen and my heart stops, and then starts back up, double time.
By the time I realize I need to answer it if I want to talk to her, it’s too late. The ringing stops and it goes to voicemail. I wait, hoping for a message to pop up, but it never does.
“Ready!” Sammy exclaims from the hallway. “I got my shoes!”
“Uh, just a second,” I tell her, holding up a finger. “I need to make a phone call.”
“Okay,” she sighs, plopping down on the couch.
When I go to hit redial, nerves flood my body. I don’t know why. She called me. All I’m doing is calling her back. So, why the sweaty palms?
The phone rings and rings. Just as I’m getting ready to hit end, Piper answers, “Hello?”
“Hey,” I say.
“Hey.” She sounds perplexed or caught off guard.
“You called me?” It comes off more as a question than a statement, but I’ll be damned if it isn’t good to hear her voice. Just the two words she’s said are enough to relieve the ache in my chest. I’ve missed her, more than I’d like to admit.
“I did?” she asks and I don’t know if she’s playing dumb or if she’s serious.
“Yeah, I just missed your call, like a minute ago.”
“Oh.” She laughs, somewhat nervous sounding herself. “I’m sorry. I must’ve butt-dialed you.” There’s a rustling sound and then a thud.
“Piper?”
“Sorry,” she yells. “I dropped the phone. Hold on.”
A few seconds later, the rustling is back, along with a winded Piper.
“I can tell this is a bad time,” I tell her. “I just thought you—”
“No, I’m just running stupid errands and have my hands full. I’m really sorry I called you on accident . . . well, not sorry I called you, just—”
“It’s fine. Really.”
“You doing okay?” she asks and it makes my heart pound harder.
“Yeah, we’re makin’ it.”
“We’re?”
“Me and Sammy,” I clarify.
“So, she’s living with you now?”
“Yeah, just the last few days.”
“Oh, well, I hope everything’s going well.”
“It’s goin’,” I tell her, not wanting to say too much in front of Sammy.
“Sounds like you probably can’t talk right now either,” Piper says. “Tell you what, how about I call you back later? Maybe after bedtime?”
I laugh, smiling as if she can see me. “Sounds good. Like, nine-ish?”
“Nine-ish.”
“Hope you have a good day,” I tell her, knowing she needs to go, but not wanting to let her.
“Thanks, you too.”
“Later.”
The phone goes dead and I stand there for a second, holding it to my chest.
“Who was that?” Sammy asks with a funny expression on her face. Her little nose is scrunched up and she’s tilting her head looking at me, as I scramble to think of the right answer.
“That was Piper—my, uh, friend.”
“Is it a girl or a boy?”
“She’s a girl.”
“Does she have blonde hair like us?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, it’s dark brown, like this,” I say, holding up one of my favorite guitars. It’s made from mahogany, and ever since I met Piper, I’ve thought of her every time I pick it up. Which is probably why I’ve been using it to write a song these past few days.
All my woodworking stuff is still out at the barn, so after Sammy goes to bed, I’ve been left with nothing but my guitar and time to think. It never fails that my thoughts turn to Piper. Every lyric that’s come to me lately has been about her.
“That’s pretty,” Sammy says. “I wanna hear you play it, like last night. I heard you play a song.”
“Oh, really?” I ask. “Weren’t you supposed to be asleep?” I walk toward her, hands out in a tickle motion.
“Yes,” she giggles, crawling away from me. “But it was pretty.”
I reach in for a tickle and then hug her to me. “I’ll play for you later, after we go play with Carter.”
“Okay,” she agrees, hugging me back.
On the short drive out to Sam and Annie’s, I glance over to Sammy. The windows are rolled down and she has her eyes closed, letting the breeze blow her hair.
“Do you like it here?” I ask, needing to know if she’s happy.
“Uh huh,” she replies, opening her eyes, but keeping them on the passing trees. “Mommy likes it here too.”
“She does?” I know she needs to talk about her mom, so I let her.
“She said it’s a happy place.”
“I’ve always thought so.”
“I wish she could live here too.”
I know she means that, but I know she also knows that her mom is dying. Sophie told me that she’s talked to her about it, not wanting her to be scared, but wanting her to be aware. So, I know when she says things like that it’s more of a wish than anything. However, seeing that she’s big into fairytales, I don’t want her to get her hopes up, just to have them crushed.
“Me too.” It’s all I can say, anything else feels like it would either feed the fantasy or crush the dream, and I can’t bring myself to do either.
When we get to the big house, Annie is waiting for us on the front porch.
“There she is,” Annie gushes, holding her arms out for Sammy.
The two of them have become fast friends.
Annie and Kay came over the first day Sammy was here and surprised her with princess bedding for her princess bed. But I don’t think it’s the gift that got Sammy hooked on Annie. It’s deeper than that. There’s a connection between them that goes beyond materialistic things. I think for Annie, it’s a connection to my mom, plus Sammy is the first little girl she’s had to mother since Cami was little. For Sammy, I think she’s senses what we all know already—Annie is a mom in every sense of the word. She’s a soft place to land. Sammy needs as much of that as she can get right now.
While Carter and Sammy run around back and begin to play, Annie and I find a comfortable spot on the porch to watch them.
“How’re things goin’?” Annie asks, keeping her eyes on the kids as they used some old wood and begin building what looks like a castle.
“Good, I guess.” I shrug. “I mean, I still feel like it’s the blind leading the blind, but I think we’re figuring it all out slowly, but surely.”
“Has she talked about Sophie much?”
“Some, I try to let her talk when she brings her up, but I worry about her. I worry about her worrying.” I laugh, but it’s not out of humor. It’s because this is all so fucked up and even though on the outside it looks like I’m dealing, on the inside, I’m a mess. “What happens when she’s gone?”
Annie sits there quietly for a second, collecting her thoughts.
“She’s gonna be fine. It might not be immediate, but eventually she will be. There will always be a hole there. She’ll always miss her mama. Look at you and Cami . . . and Clay . . . and me. We all miss Jessie, even after all these years, but life goes on. And just like Jessie, Sophie wants that, especially for Sammy.”
“I know. She’s told me.”
“Sammy’s lucky to have you,” Annie says, reaching over to pat my hand. “When I see the two of you together and think about the circumstances, it’s evident that God always has a plan, even when we can’t see it.”
“I’ve thought about that, too,” I admit.
“You should tell her about Jessie,” Annie encourages. “It’ll help her, when the time is right.”
“She would’ve loved her,” I say, looking out at Sammy running around a tree with Carter hot on her heels.
“Oh, Tucker, I see so much of Jessie in your girl. Cami, too. They have the same childlike wonder and fantastic imaginations. I believe they got it from your mama. But, don’t worry. There’s plenty of you in that precious child. She’s wild and brave and full of life. And, if I’m not mistaken, she’s already a daddy’s girl.”
“I don’t know about that, but I’d say she has me firmly wrapped around her little finger. I just don’t want to let her down.”
“You won’t, sweetheart. Parents make mistakes, but it’s how you learn and grow from them that matter. Just continue to love that baby girl with all your heart. The two of you are gonna be just fine.”
She pats my hand again, and I can tell by the mischievous look in her eyes, she’s not done with me.
“I also don’t want you to put a wall up when it comes to finding love. I see what you’re doing, putting everything on hold for Sammy, and that’s very admirable of you. But, Tucker, honey, there’s plenty of love to go around. Trust me, your heart is so big; it needs to be shared, and not just with Sammy. Don’t be selfish with it, you understand?”
I swallow, wondering how she knows exactly what I need to hear without even knowing what’s going on in my life.
I give her a smile and nod, which she returns with a knowing look in her eye.
“I see things,” she says. “And I know things. I know that little girl is gonna need someone and be a second mama to her. Sure, she has me and Kay and Cami and Dani, and that’s all fine and dandy. We’re all more than happy to step in, but she’ll need someone to call her own.”
“You were that for me,” I admit, wondering if I’ve ever told her thank you for all the times she stepped in and filled the huge gap my mama left behind.
“I was happy to do it.”
“Thanks, Mama A.”