Three years earlier, she would have answered instantly.
No.
Never.
Your father loved us.
Your father was sick.
Your father did his best.
That was the version she had needed then.
Today there was more truth available.
And truth was rarely as gentle as the stories adults built for children.
“Yes.”
Mara finally said.
Lucy stared.
“At Daddy?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mara swallowed.
“Because he made choices for us without asking.”
Lucy looked down at the patch.
“Like the recording?”
“Like the recording.”
“Like telling Hammer not to tell us?”
“Yes.”
“Like going on the ride?”
Mara closed her eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
Lucy was quiet.
Then:
“Can you be mad at somebody who’s dead?”
Mara looked toward her daughter.
“Yes.”
Hammer spoke from behind them.
“Very easy.”
Mara turned sharply.
Hammer lifted both hands.
“What?”
Colt muttered:
“He’s an expert.”
Hammer ignored him.
Lucy asked:
“Are you mad at Daddy too?”
Hammer looked through the windshield.
“Sometimes.”
“Why?”
“Because he left me with a ridiculous promise.”
Lucy thought.
“But you said yes.”
“I did.”
“So that was your choice.”
Hammer looked at her.
The kid had him.
He nodded.
“Fair.”
Lucy returned her attention to the patch.
Then quietly:
“I’m mad too.”
Mara’s face softened.
“What are you mad about?”
“That he didn’t stay.”
Mara’s eyes filled instantly.
Lucy continued before her mother could interrupt.
“I know he couldn’t.”
“I know he was sick.”
“I’m still mad.”
Mara reached over and pulled her daughter against her.
“That’s allowed.”
Lucy’s face pressed into her mother’s blouse.
She spoke into the fabric.
“I miss him.”
“I know.”
“I barely remember him.”
That sentence struck Mara harder than anything on the recording.
She looked toward Hammer.
Maybe because he had more memories.
Maybe because she hated that he did.
Maybe because she needed him to.
Hammer understood without being asked.
“He whistled badly.”
Lucy pulled back.
“What?”
“Your dad.”
Hammer folded his arms.
“Couldn’t carry a tune if you put handles on it.”
Colt nodded.
“True.”
“He hated pickles.”
Mara corrected:
“He claimed he hated pickles.”
Hammer looked toward her.
“He stole mine.”
“Exactly.”
Lucy’s eyes moved between them.
Hammer continued.
“He always forgot where he put his sunglasses.”
Mara smiled.
“They were usually on his head.”
“He cheated at cards.”
“He did not.”
Colt finally looked over.
“He absolutely did.”
Mara laughed.
Lucy smiled.
The truck kept moving.
For the rest of the drive, the adults gave Owen back to his daughter in small pieces.