"Sounds like she had ideas."
"Oh, she had plenty."
He chuckled.
"Once told me she wanted to be a veterinarian, a singer, and a motorcycle mechanic."
"All three?"
"At the same time."
Rachel laughed softly.
Jim looked at the photograph.
"She liked everything."
The smile faded.
"Then she got sick."
Rachel waited.
Jim continued.
"At first, we thought she was just tired. Then came the appointments. The tests. The treatments."
He swallowed.
"I kept telling myself I was going to fix it."
Rachel looked toward him.
Jim gave a humorless laugh.
"I could rebuild an engine with my eyes closed. Could fix nearly anything somebody brought into my shop."
He shook his head.
"But there wasn't a tool in the world that could fix what was happening to my little girl."
Rachel felt her eyes fill.
Jim continued.
"I got angry."
He looked toward the window.
"At the doctors. At the bills. At people telling me to stay hopeful."
He paused.
"At myself."
Rachel remained quiet.
He rubbed his face.
"That last Christmas, I was scared all the time."
He looked toward the photograph.
"She was so little."
His voice trembled.
"And she kept asking whether Santa would find her in the hospital."
Rachel swallowed.
"What did you tell her?"
"I told her of course he would."
He smiled faintly.
"Then I went out and bought every present I thought might make her happy."
He looked down.
"Too many, probably."
Rachel smiled through tears.
Jim continued.
"Books. Dolls. Stuffed animals. A little music box."
His smile vanished.
"She didn't need all that."
He touched the photograph.
"She wanted me."
For a moment, Rachel said nothing.
Then she asked gently, "What happened that night?"
Jim stared out the window.
The snow fell steadily.
He took a long breath.
"She called me over."
He swallowed.
"I'd been sitting beside her bed. I was crying, and I didn't want her to see."
His voice broke.
"So I told her I needed a minute."
Rachel listened.
"I stepped into the hallway."
He looked down.
"Told her I'd be right back."
A tear fell onto the photograph.
"Then the nurses came running."
He shook his head.
"They tried everything."
For a long time, he could not continue.
Then he whispered, "She died while I was outside."
Rachel felt her chest ache.
Jim rubbed his face.
"Nineteen years."
He looked at her.
"Nineteen years I've been thinking about that minute."
Rachel spoke softly.
"Jim, you didn't cause her death by stepping outside."
He nodded.
"I know."
She waited.
He continued.
"I know that in my head."
He touched his chest.
"Harder to make the rest of me believe it."
Rachel understood.