And she picked up her bag and went out the back door to say goodbye to Ava. And Marcus stood in his kitchen alone with a dish in his hand and the distinct sensation that something had just shifted in the foundation of the life he'd constructed very carefully around himself. He stood there until Ava came back inside cheeks red from the autumn air chattering about a trick she'd figured out on the bike. He listened. He nodded.
He made hot chocolate and he did not think about what Emily had said. He thought about it constantly. Three days later he made a mistake at work. Not a dangerous mistake. A measurement error on a custom cabinet installation that cost him two hours and a redo on material he'd already cut.
Deshawn caught it which was the most annoying part because Deshawn was 24 and not supposed to be catching things Marcus missed. You want me to recalculate it? Deshawn asked carefully. No. Marcus said pulling the tape measure and doing it again himself.
Because I could I said no Deshawn. A silence. Then Deshawn quieter than usual. You good boss. Marcus measured the cabinet face.
Measured it again. The numbers were right this time. He wrote them down and handed the pad to Deshawn without a word. Reggie found him at the truck during the lunch break eating a sandwich he'd already half forgotten about. Woman trouble?
Reggie asked. Marcus looked at him. Why does everyone—because there are two kinds of things that make a man miscalculate. " Reggie said. "Money and women. And you don't have money problems. " Marcus took a bite of his sandwich, chewed it, said nothing for a long time.
"Then, she asked me if I know what I want. " Reggie was quiet. "And I didn't answer. " Marcus said. Reggie nodded slowly. "Yeah, that tracks. " "What does that mean? " "It means that's your answer. " Reggie crumpled his lunch bag and stood. "You know what you want.
You're just scared it's real. " He went back to the job site. Marcus sat with that for the rest of the lunch break, the rest of the afternoon, honestly. Scared it's real. He hadn't thought about it that way. He'd been so focused on the fear of loss, on the shape of what grief had done to him, that he hadn't considered the other fear.
The one that lived on the opposite side. Not the fear of loving someone and losing them. The fear of loving someone and having them stay. The fear that he might actually deserve that. The following Saturday, Emily came over as usual.
They worked on the deck through the morning, making real progress now. The frame taking shape in a way that made the whole project feel suddenly possible. Ava brought them water without being asked and monitored their work with the evaluative eye of a small supervisor. "It looks good. " She announced around 11:00 hands on her hips in an unconscious imitation of Marcus that made Emily press her lips together to suppress a smile. "It's getting there. " Marcus said.
"Miss Emily, is it structurally sound? " "Getting there. " Emily said. "That's what Dad always says right before something is actually already done. " Marcus looked at Emily. "She's eight years old. She's accurate. " Emily said. They broke for lunch, sitting on the back steps with sandwiches and the kind of easy layered conversation that took months to build jokes that referenced earlier jokes, shorthand that had developed without either of them deciding to develop it.
Marcus had not had that with anyone since Denise. He recognized it now for what it was, which was the problem. Ava fell asleep inside after lunch, which she occasionally still did on long physical mornings, curled on the couch with the television on low. Marcus and Emily went back to work on the deck quieter, now the afternoon light shifting across the yard in that slow late autumn way. Marcus was securing a cross brace when Emily said without preamble, "Ava told me she prays for you. " He looked up.
"She said she prays that you stop being sad when you think she's not looking. " He had nothing to say to that. Emily wasn't looking at him. She was measuring a board with the precision she brought to everything, eyes on the tape. "She's taking care of you, Marcus. She's eight and she's taking care of you. " His throat was tight.
"I know. " "Do you? " "Emily, I'm not judging you. " She set the tape down and turned to face him, and her eyes were serious in a way that was different from her usual precision. This was not structural assessment. This was something more direct. "I'm telling you because she loves you and she's worried and she told me because she didn't know who else to tell. " He sat down on the deck frame, put his hands on his knees, breathed. "She talks to you," he said quietly.
"Yes. " "About things she doesn't tell me. About things she's afraid of telling you because she doesn't want to make it harder for you. " That hit him somewhere he wasn't prepared for. He stared at the grain of the wood beneath him. His daughter, his eight-year-old daughter was editing herself to protect him. Was measuring him every morning at the kitchen table and deciding what was safe to show him and what needed to be hidden.
He had done that to her. Not on purpose, not with cruelty, but he had built such high walls around his pain that she'd learned to build her own. "She's going to be fine. " Emily said, and her voice had softened. "She's strong. She's got you.
But you could let her have more of you, Marcus. The parts you keep locked up. " He was quiet for a long time. Then he said, "I don't know how to do that without breaking. " She sat down beside him on the frame, not touching, just beside him. "You're already broken. " she said quietly. "You've just been holding the pieces so tight nobody can see the cracks, but they can.
Ava can. And holding it that hard is the thing that's wearing you out. " He looked at her. Up close in the afternoon light, she looked tired, too. Not worn out, but the kind of tired that comes from caring about something that doesn't yet know it's being cared for. "Why does this matter to you? " he said.
It wasn't quite a question. She met his eyes. "You know why. " He did. That was what scared him. He stood up, picked up the drill.
"We should finish the cross brace. " he said. She stood, too, picked up her measuring tape. "Yeah. " she said simply. They worked for another hour without talking much. When she left that evening, she waved from the end of the driveway the way she always did, easy and unhurried, like a woman who had somewhere to be but no reason to rush.
Marcus stood at the edge of his porch and watched her go. Ava appeared beside him, still half asleep from her nap, pressing her face into his arm. "Dad. " She said muffled. Yeah. Do you like Miss Emily?
He put his hand on the back of her head, felt the softness of her braids under his palm. Go inside and wash your face. She pulled back and looked up at him. That's not a no. She said.
Ava. I'm just saying. She went inside. He stood on the porch alone. The street was quiet.