Page 97 of Holding Ground

She steps inside, and I watch her take in the room, cataloging everything—what’s remained the same, what has changed since she walked out of my life. She looks like someone who’s doing her best not to fall apart.

I look at Baylor, who’s quiet now. She stands there with a wide-eyed expression of intense focus, studying this strange woman she’s been told is her mother.

Kate doesn’t move any closer to Baylor but crouches a bit so she’s closer to Baylor’s height. “Hi, Baylor. I’m Kate.”

Baylor looks at me, almost as though she’s looking for permission, so I nod.

“Hi.” She pauses for a beat, then lifts the corners of her mouth a bit. “I made you pictures.”

Kate’s face does something I’m not prepared for. It breaks open the way the ice on the lake does when the weather changes. Her chin trembles, and she presses her lips together. “You did?”

Baylor nods. “They’re in the kitchen. I can show you.”

Kate looks at me, and when I don’t object, she looks back at our daughter. “I would love that.”

She follows Baylor into the kitchen—the kitchen she used to cook in—and I follow them.

Baylor approaches the pictures on the table with all the seriousness of a gallery owner, picking up the first one. “This is Daddy and me. He likes to take me in the boat, and sometimes we go fast.”

She tips a glance my way, and I give her a smile and a nod.

“It’s beautiful,” Kate says from where she stands beside the table.

“This one is Karisma. She’s the newt in my class. One day, she went missing, but Desi found her on the bookcase.”

“She’s very cute,” Kate says.

I lean back against the counter with my arms crossed, watching, trying to hold on to the anger I’ve been carrying since she showed up, but I can’t find it. In this moment, all I can concentrate on is my daughter showing this stranger, her mother, all the pictures she’s drawn, with so much pride.

In this moment, I know that however this turns out, I made the right decision to allow Kate to see her.

“This one is our house,” Baylor says, picking up the third picture. “This is where Daddy and I live, and this little one is where Emelia stays. Except she stayed in the big house for a bit because a tree fell on her house.”

“Who’s Emelia?”

Baylor tips a glance at me, and whatever she sees there, she must interpret as permission. “She and Daddy are friends. She’s really nice.”

Kate just nods as Baylor picks up the last of her pictures.

“This is everyone in our family. That’s Daddy and me, and Uncle Roy, and Uncle Ansel, and Uncle Hollis. Then that’s Aunt Sutton, and that one is you.”

Suddenly, the kitchen gets really quiet.

“That’s me?” From the wobble in her voice, it’s clear Kate is struggling to keep it together.

“Daddy told me what color your hair is, but I couldn’t do your face until I saw you. I can finish it now,” she says, gesturing to the faceless figure in the center of the group.

“I’d really like it if you finished it.”

Baylor nods in a casual way that belies the weight of the moment. “Okay. Your eyes are green.”

Kate nods. “They are.”

“Mine are blue like Daddy’s.”

“I know.”

Baylor studies Kate for a long moment, assessing I’m not sure what. Then, “Do you want to see my Barbies?”