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“Honey,” she said, her tone full of pity and her mouth tugged down in a frown. “You have too much on your plate. Don’t worry about helping us. Just take care of yourself first.”
I turned one way, then the other, checking to see whether someone else had joined us, because surely those words weren’t meant for me. When I realized it was just Kim and me, I tilted my head with a dry laugh. “I-I’m sorry? What do you mean?”
“Trying to recreate your entire project in one day and—”
My heart lurched and my stomach rolled at those words. I held a hand up. “What do you mean? Why would I recreate anything?”
She winced, and the color drained from her face, leaving only a pale, shocked expression. “Y-you don’t know, do you?”
“Don’t know what?” I snapped, my heart suddenly taking off at a gallop. What did she mean recreate the whole project?
I didn’t let her answer before I took off toward the parking lot next to the football field between the elementary school and the high school where all the projects were lined up side by side.
Several parents I passed gave me sympathetic little smiles. I ignored every expression and raced over to where I’d left the product of dozens of hours’ worth of work.
When I got there, I nearly fell to my knees. The whole thing was ruined.
The wind from last night’s storm must have moved the sandbags, because the course was almost completely uncovered. The wood had warped and expanded, soaking up water. In hopes of a more soft look, I hadn’t used acrylic paint, so the colors had smeared and dripped everywhere. All but the G on the Mini Golf sign was illegible. The hippo in a tutu was nothing more than a blurry gray and pink blob. The only part that wasn’t entirely damaged was the turf itself. Not that it would do me any good on its own.
I’d painted for hours upon hours, and Liam had spent days cutting out each animal and sign, making sure they were exactly what I’d envisioned.
Wednesday after Wednesday, we’d talked as we worked. We’d gotten more and more excited to show the boys what we’d accomplished. I’d even begun to believe that it could bring us back together. All of that was gone. And in its place was a sopping, dripping, disgusting mess.
It was ruined, broken, unfixable. What we’d spent six weeks building couldn’t be replaced in a single day. It was done for, and so was the last sliver of hope inside me.
My mind flashed back to that moment I sat in the kitchen with the boys, when Miles’s expression melted into disappointment as I told them that I couldn’t work on the project.
Andrew told me his mom said that you and Dad would never work together.
I wanted so badly to prove Adeline Phillips wrong. To prove myself wrong. To push through, earn the reward for my boys, and stand beside them like the proud, hard-working mom I was. I wanted to create a core memory for them. One where Liam and I stood side by side next to this dumb kids’ game, so that one day, they could look back and think wow, my parents would have done anything for me.
But that was all gone now.
I sucked in a shaky breath, my heart cracking a little more as I surveyed each destroyed piece.
My phone buzzed in my back pocket. Numb and unthinking, I pulled it out and slid my thumb across the screen.
“Hey, sis.” Calla’s voice was bright and cheery, a light in my dark headspace. “I need a haircut. Are you in today?”
“It’s ruined,” I whispered. Or I thought I whispered. Maybe I’d only said it in my head.
“Wait, what’s ruined? Are you okay?” Her tone instantly grew concerned, and there was a jingle in the background.
“The project. All six weeks. It’s gone. I thought we would make it.”
Jeez, I couldn’t even string a coherent thought together.
“Marigold…are you serious?” She sounded as crushed as I felt. Like it was a punch to the gut for her, the same as it was for me.
I nodded, even though she couldn’t see me.
“What…what can I do? Can we fix it? Send me pictures!” Through the phone, I could hear the start of her car.
I sniffled. “No need. I’m just going to go home.”
Calla protests were cut off when I ended the call. I put my phone on Do Not Disturb and stuck it back in my pocket. Wiping the single tear falling from my cheek, I strode back to my car, avoiding any sympathetic stares.
Maybe this was a sign from God. An indication that Liam and I weren’t meant to find our way back to each other. And maybe I’d been a fool for believing it was ever a possibility.
