But London stayed smart. Back home, I made sandwiches and while we were eating on the back porch, she pointed to a massive tree in the backyard. “That’s a Carya ovata!” she exclaimed.

“That one?” I asked, not bothering to hide my amazement.

She nodded. “Shagbark hickory.”

“How do you know?”

“Because you showed me,” she said, gazing up at me. “Remember?”

Not even slightly, I thought. To me, it had reverted to being a tree. “I think you’re right.”

“I am right.”

“I trust you.”

She took a drink of milk. “When’s Mommy getting home?”

I checked my watch. “Pretty soon.”

“And then we’re going to Nana and Papa’s?”

“That’s the plan.”

“I want to bake today. Cupcakes again.”

“I’m sure Nana will love that.”

“Will Auntie Marge and Auntie Liz be there?”

“I hope so.”

“Okay. I’d better bring Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles. I’m sure they’ll want to say hi.”

“I’m sure.”

She chewed her sandwich. “Hey Daddy?”

“Yes?”

“I’m glad I get to stay with you.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mommy told me that I’m not going to day care. She said you could work and take care of me at the same time.”

“She did?”

She nodded. “She told me this morning.”

“She’s right, but you might have to be in the car with me while I get my stuff done.”

“Can I bring my Barbies? Or Mr. and Mrs. Sprinkles?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Okay. It’ll still be fun then.”

I smiled. “I’m glad.”

“When you were little, did you go to day care?”

“No. Auntie Marge watched me.”

“And Auntie Liz?”

“No. Auntie Liz wasn’t around yet.”

“Oh,” she said. She took another couple of bites of her sandwich, her head turning from side to side as if taking in the world one sense at a time. I watched her, thinking about how beautiful she was, not caring whether I was biased at all.

“Daddy! There’s a giant bird in the tree!” she cried. When she pointed, I spotted the bird. It was chocolate brown with white head feathers glowing in the sunlight. As I stared, it spread its wings before tucking them back in.

“That’s a bald eagle,” I told her in amazement. In all the years I’d lived in Charlotte, I’d only seen one twice. I was struck by a sense of wonder, a recurring theme during our weeks together. Staring at my daughter, I suddenly understood how much had changed between London and me. Because I’d become comfortable in my role as the primary caregiver, London had become more comfortable with me, and all at once, the thought of being separated from her for hours on end once school began made my heart ache in a way I hadn’t expected. That I loved London had never been in question; what I now understood was that I liked her, too, not only as my daughter, but as the young girl I’d only recently come to know.

It might have been that thought, or maybe it had something to do with how the week had gone, but whatever the reason, I felt unusually tranquil, almost entirely at peace. I’d been down and now I was heading back up, and though I acknowledged that the feeling might be a fleeting one – I was old enough to know that much – it was as real as the sun. Watching London’s rapt expression as she stared at the eagle, I wondered if she would remember this experience, or if she knew how I felt about our newfound closeness. But it didn’t really matter. It was enough to feel it myself and by the time the eagle flew away, I held on to the image, knowing it would stay with me forever.

CHAPTER 12

Bad Weather on the Horizon

In February 2004 – I’d been out of college for almost two years, and had been seeing Emily almost as long – I went to visit my parents on the weekend. Already, the habit of seeing them had been firmly established by then. Normally, Emily would join me, but for reasons lost to time, she couldn’t make it that weekend and I was on my own.

When I arrived, my dad was working on my mom’s car, not the Mustang. His head was under the hood and I saw that he was adding a quart of oil.

“Glad to see you’re taking care of your better half’s car,” I said, half joking, to which my dad nodded.

“Have to. Gonna snow this week. I already have the winter survival kit in the backseat. I wouldn’t want your mom to have to get it out of the trunk in case she gets stuck on the roads.”

“It’s not going to snow,” I said. The temperature was already springlike; I was wearing a T-shirt and had actually debated wearing shorts to their house.

He squinted at me from under the hood. “Have you been watching the weather?”

“I heard something about it on the radio, but you know weather guys. They’re wrong more often than they’re right.”

“My knees say it’s going to snow, too.”

“It’s almost seventy degrees!”

“Suit yourself. I’m going to need some help wrapping the pipes after I finish up here. You’ll be around to pitch in like the old days?”

My dad, I should say, had always been that type of guy. If a hurricane was expected to hit the Carolina coast, my dad would spend days clearing debris from the yard, moving things to the garage, and closing up the shutters, despite the fact Charlotte was nearly two hundred miles from the coast. “You weren’t around when Hugo hit in 1989,” he would tell Marge and me. “Charlotte might as well have been Dorothy’s farmhouse. Whole city practically blew away.”