unforgettable.

Chapter 2

Lucas

“Daddy," Callie calls as she tugs my hand toward the refrigerated section of the grocery store, pointing up at the cups of pudding. “I like chocolate. You said I could have chocolate pudding for dinner."

My head shakes. “Callie girl, I said you could have chocolate pudding for dessert. Dinner isn't pudding."

“But I like pudding the bestest."

I suppose when I imagined parenthood, I saw myself more as my father had been, present yet not omnipresent. I had delusions of coming home from work to a clean home with dinner cooking in the oven and my wife greeting me with a cold beer or maybe a tumbler with two fingers of bourbon.

Okay.

I admit my illusions weren't quite that misogynistic. I can't help that I watched reruns of Happy Days or even Leave it to Beaver as a kid. My dad wasn't that 1950's, nor was my mom. My dad was hands-on and a good guy. He still is. He and my mom are not only great examples of parents but they're also fantastic grandparents to Callie.

The difference with illusions and reality is that now I'm all Callie has in the parent department. I'm Dad and Mom. I'm the fun one and the tough one. It would be great to let my daughter eat chocolate pudding for dinner, watch cartoons, and fall asleep on the living room couch. No, a fun dad would make it even better. Together we could fall asleep under a tent made from sheets in the middle of the living room.

I wanted that, but life decided to throw us a curveball.

Callie's mom is no longer with us, and I miss her every day.

I've tried it all to move on. I've tried grief counseling, single-parent classes, and getting involved in Callie's preschool. The latter was a disaster.

Do you know how many dads attend parent meetings alone?

Do you know how many moms feel it is their calling in life to keep that dad involved?

The answer to that would be too many, especially too many with wedding rings present on their left hand.

The truth is that I'm not looking for a wife to greet me at the door. I'm not looking to share parenting responsibilities of my precious daughter. I would simply like to feel that I'm more than a daddy once in a while. I'd like to remember what it was like to be a man in control.

Take my word for it, there is absolutely no control with a four-, almost five-year-old. The 1950s TV shows may give that misconception, but my precious little girl knows what she wants. I love that quality and want to encourage her. However, sometimes it would be nice if I too could get what I want, a grown woman with similar—complementing—desires.

The memories of Beth and having that type of relationship are fading, and I'm not certain I will ever get them back.

I corral Callie after throwing two four-packs of pudding in our cart and head toward the produce aisle.

While I'm not looking for anyone or even someone, there are times when a woman catches my eye. At this moment, it's the blonde inspecting fresh lettuce that I notice. She seems vaguely familiar, yet I can't seem to place her, when all of a sudden, Callie bolts from my side to the strawberries, plowing face-first into the blonde's side.

“Oh," she says as she reaches out and secures Callie, stopping her from tumbling to the floor.

“I'm sorry," Callie says shyly as she stares up at the woman.

“Are you all right?" the woman asks, surveying my rambunctious daughter.

“Yes," Callie says, “I was looking at the strawsberries."

“Strawberries," I correct. “And not looking where she was going." I give the lady a sheepish smile. “I apologize for the collision. It seems that these days we have two speeds, full throttle and sleep."

The blonde woman smiles and I try not to gasp. There's something about her that sparks life into my dead soul.

“No harm, no foul," she says. “I'm certainly not going to stand in the way of a child and healthy fruit." Her light-blue gaze leaves me and inspects my cart, taking an inventory of the pudding at the bottom of it.

“Well, it will be good to add something healthy," I say with a grin.

The blonde's head tilts. “I'm sorry, do we know one another?" She shakes her head. “I promise that wasn't a line. You just seem...familiar."

“I was thinking the same thing," I say honestly.

She extends her petite hand. “Hi, I'm Marji. Your daughter is delightful."

I take her hand. “I'm Luke and I have to agree...most of the time." In my mind I'm doing a strategical breakdown of women, especially pretty blondes who I might know. I'm mostly certain she's not one of the women from the preschool. As an architect I meet my fair share of women, but yet that doesn't feel right. There's no ring on her left hand, which would rule out couples who contract home designs from me, and I've only worked with a few single women. Of course, my mind goes to my late wife. “I'm sorry, perhaps you knew my wife, Beth McAroy?"

Her blue eyes grow wide. “Yes."

Just as quickly, I watch as the shadow of remorse surfaces. It is an emotion I am good at detecting.

“Oh, I was sorry to hear about the accident." She looks at Callie who is still lifting and inspecting plastic containers filled with strawberries and her volume lowers. “You're doing a great job with her." She shrugs. “I had just started working for Dr. Ami Kizer when...well, I'm sorry."

Dr. Kizer.

I hadn't thought about Dr. Kizer in years. She'd been the one who helped Beth and me get back on track. She'd been the one who encouraged us to be honest and explore our desires as well as our boundaries. I could look back on our time with Dr. Kizer with sadness for what I've lost, but instead, I choose to view it as one of the factors that made our marriage a success.

“I guess couples counseling doesn't work when you're alone," I say as Callie returns with two containers in hand, and I shake my head. “One."

“But, Daddy, this one has the hugest ones. We can dip them in the pudding. This one..." Her big green eyes stare upward as she lifts the other container. “...has baby ones and needs the daddy ones in the other one. I couldn't take one and not the other."

Marji grins. “I don't think you can argue with that logic."

With a sigh, I take the strawberry containers from Callie and add them to our cart “It was nice to see you again, Marji."

“Um, Luke, it's up to you, but just so you know, once you're one of Dr. Kizer's clients, she is always willing to see you again. You know...even to talk."

I nod. “I'll give that some thought."

With a smile that reaches to her blue eyes, she grins at both me and Callie before she turns and walks away.

“Who was that lady?" Callie asks. “She was nice."

“She was."

“And pretty. She looks like Elsa."

Her comparison of Marji to one of her favorite cartoon characters makes me smile. “I guess she does. Now, let's find our dinner and go home."

“We have strawsberries?"

“Yes, and we'll eat them after dinner."