We drove in silence for a bit, sunlight flickering through trees. At a stoplight, Audrey fidgeted with the hem of her dress.
“Mom?”
“Yes, sweetheart?”
“Do you miss Dad on days like this?”
I shook a deep breath. “I miss him every day, baby. But you make these days better.”
“Do you miss Dad on days like this?”
She looked relieved, and for a moment I remembered the toddler who’d once climbed into my lap, sticky with jam, certain I could fix anything.
We pulled up to Gina and Duncan’s house, all brick and hedges and those impossible blue hydrangeas Gina fussed over every year. The driveway was jammed with cars, Daniel’s cousins, aunts, and their kids.
“Deep breath, huh, Mom?” Audrey asked, eyes sparkling.
I laughed. “You read my mind.”
