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“My daughter...” Bob’s voice jolts me awake. I wait, but he says nothing further. A semitruck whooshes past.
“Gianna,” I finally say.
“She was fiery. Passionate. Like me, except the opposite politically. By the time she moved off to college, we weren’t speaking. I refused to help her pay for school.” He sucks in his breath. “I regret that.”
I say nothing. I can’t help but imagine Annaleigh and me in the future. No matter how hard we disagree, I would never let that happen.
“Three years went by. I get a call. She’s in a coma. Hit by a drunk driver. I drove all the way from Kentucky to Oregon. Barely stopped, went a hundred the whole way.” He clears his throat. “I was her medical power of attorney. Taking her off the machines was the hardest thing I ever did. But they said she was brain-dead. So I let her go.”
“I’m sorry,” I say, but so quietly, I’m not sure Bob hears.
“I figured it had to be someone’s fault. Besides the drunk driver. Some doctor. I went through her medical records, looking for who to blame. That’s when I found out how she paid for college.”
He’s quiet again. I let the silence stand.
“She sold her eggs to WekTech. There were nondisclosures and all that, so no one knew but her—and me. It didn’t take rocket science to figure out the Synth that got them was you. So when I heard you were pregnant, I sold my house in Kentucky and made an offer on the property next to you that the previous owner couldn’t refuse.”
I’m thankful we’re not looking at each other right now. I don’t want to look into his eyes and read what a loss like that does to a person.
You lost Josh, a voice reminds me.
But it’s not the same as losing a child.
“I’m not gonna lie to you, Julia. I was going to kidnap my granddaughter. I wanted to bring her home to her real family.”
“But you changed your mind.”
He sighs heavily. “You’re a good mom, Julia. I saw how well you took care of that baby. You’re...not what I thought. I love my granddaughter. And in the end, I realized hurting you would’ve been hurting her.” Bob pauses. “But while I was watching you and her, I saw more than I bargained for.”
“Josh,” I say.
He grunts.
We ride in silence the rest of the way. I keep waiting for him to say something else, but I’m grateful he doesn’t. Maybe Bob is thinking that since Josh is dead now, it’s water under the bridge. Or maybe he realizes that since I just lost Josh, talking about it would be like flaying me alive.
When he pulls into the motel parking lot, I can already see the woman we’re meeting, leaning against a car in a cat-ear headband.
“Thank you for everything,” I say, easing off the truck’s floor. “Be good to Captain for me.” Bob has promised to retrieve my dog, and I have an inkling that Captain will be delighted to stay with the source of his fancy food.
“Wait,” says Bob, twisting in his seat to look at me full-on. It’s almost a shock to see his face, after all these revelations in the dark that have forever changed how I look at him. “If you make it out of this mess—when you make it out—” He tightens his lips, like he’s shoring up some strong emotion.
“Annaleigh is all you have left of Gianna,” I say. I’m just reading what I see in his eyes. The same expression I’ve seen in the mirror since leaving Annaleigh in Chicago. All I have left of Josh.
Bob nods, his eyes glistening in the semi-dark. Silent, as our strange relationship of the past months has been, watching one another through windows.
I almost wonder if, in some way, Bob knows me better than Josh ever did. With Josh, there was always a confusion of words. Explanations, justifications, apologies. But Bob has learned who I am through what he’s seen. Through my actions.
I feel suddenly, deeply known, by the last person I ever expected.
Leaning forward, I grip his arm. I can feel how strong he is under the fabric of his sleeve. I think of the strength it takes to change. The strength it takes to let love change you.
I say, “I’ll remember that.”
THEN
“How was your day?” I ask, hurrying forward to greet Josh, who’s coming in with his laptop under his arm and a tense expression. The internet has been spotty here, so after battling it for two hours this morning, he finally drove to the nearest Starbucks, twenty miles north of Eauverte, so he could log in to work. “Feeling okay?” I brush a kiss across his cheek.
“Tired,” he says in that dead tone he’s had recently, like our troubles have crushed not only his energy but the desire to even try to summon it up.
