Love You More - Lisa Gardner [35]
Sophie sits on the seat, both feet on the pedals. She appears both somber and fierce. She’s going to do this, it’s only a question of how many crashes until she gets it right.
Brian is talking to her. Murmuring some instructions I can’t hear, because it’s easier if I stand back, distance myself from what is about to happen. Mothers hold close, fathers let go. Maybe that’s the way of the world.
I try to remember again my first experience without training wheels. Did my father help me? Did my mother come out to witness the event? I can’t remember. I want to. Any kind of memory of my father providing words of advice, my parents paying attention.
But I come up blank. My mother is dead. And my father made it clear ten years ago that he never wanted to see me again.
He doesn’t know he has a granddaughter named Sophie. He doesn’t know his only child became a state police officer. His son died. His daughter, he threw away.
Brian has Sophie lined up. The bike is trembling a little. Her nervousness. Maybe his. They are both wired, intent. I remain on the sidelines, unable to speak.
Sophie starts to peddle. Beside her, Brian breaks into a jog, hands on the bike, assisting with balance as Sophie gains momentum. She’s going faster. Faster, faster.
I hold my breath, both hands clenched into fists. Thank God for the helmet. It’s all I can think. Thank God for the helmet and why didn’t I cocoon my entire child in bubble wrap before letting her mount up?
Brian lets go.
Sophie surges forward, pedaling strong. Three feet, four feet, six, eight. Then, at the last second she glances down, seems to realize that Brian is no longer beside her, that she really is on her own. In the next instant, the handlebars twist and down she goes. A startled cry, an impressive crash.
Brian is already there, on his knees beside her before I can take three steps. He untangles Sophie from her bike, gets her to standing, inspects each limb.
Sophie’s not crying. Instead, she turns to me, as I hustle down the bike path toward her.
“Did you see me?” my wild child squeals. “Mommy, did you see me?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” I hasten to assure her, finally arriving at the scene and inspecting my child for damage. She’s safe; I’ve lost twenty years off my life.
“Again!” my child demands.
Brian laughs as he straightens out her bike and helps her climb aboard. “You’re crazy,” he tells her, shaking his head.
Sophie simply beams.
By the end of the afternoon, she’s sailing around the park, training wheels nothing but a distant memory. Brian and I can no longer stroll behind her; she’s too fast for us. Instead, we climb up on a picnic table, where we can sit and watch her bike exuberant laps.
We’re holding hands again, snuggled shoulder to shoulder against the late afternoon chill. I place my head on his shoulder as Sophie goes racing by.
“Thank you,” I say.
“She’s a nut,” he answers.
“I don’t think I could’ve done that.”
“Hell, my heart’s still hammering in my chest.”
That surprises me enough to straighten and look at him. “She scared you?”
“Are you kidding? That first spill.” He shakes his head. “No one tells you how terrifying it is to be a parent. And we’re just beginning. She’s gonna want a trick bike next, you know. She’ll be leaping down stairs, standing on handlebars. I’m going to need that hair stuff for men, what’s it called, that gets the gray out?”
“Just for Men?”
“Yep. First thing when we get home, I’m ordering a case.”
I laugh. He puts his arm around my shoulders.
“She really is amazing,” he says, and all I can do is nod, because he’s exactly right. She’s Sophie and she’s the best thing that ever happened to either of us.
“I’m sorry about this weekend,” Brian says, one, two minutes later.
I nod against his shoulder, accepting his words without looking at him.
“I don’t know what I was thinking,” he continues. “Guess I got caught up in the moment. It won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay,” I say and I mean it. At this stage of the marriage, I still accept his apologies. At this stage of the