That’s what everything in here represents. Everything I lost, including myself.

I don’t know how many times I’ve taken this bag out to the fire pits behind the clubhouse intending to burn it, hoping that when only ash remained, it would somehow mean an end of the torment and regret that bombards me daily. But I could never do it. And the pain never ceased to crush my chest.

Even in this moment, I’m in no way ready to open it and show her everything, but I don’t think there will ever be a time when I will be. So why not now?

I unfold the blanket I brought and shake it out over the bed of the truck.

Ember comes to stand beside me and watches intently as I unzip the bag. The Bible comes out first. It’s black and engraved with the initials JMG on the bottom right hand corner of the cover.

“My mom gave me this. It was another reason why I stopped fighting her and Paul. This was my dad’s.”

She traces the gold letters with her finger. “What do these stand for?”

“John Matthew Gunn.” I slowly flip through the pages until I find the ones I’m looking for. “At first, I wasn’t sure it was his. It didn’t look like it had ever been opened. But then I saw this.” I show her the Book of Job and all of the scriptures highlighted in different colors. In the white margins are his thoughts written down in a sharp messy script. “My mom showed me some old letters he’d written her too. The handwriting matched.”

“Why do you think he highlighted only these parts?”

Giving a slight shrug, I reply, “I figured it was the only part he’d read, or the only part he could relate to.” The corner of my mouth lifts. “I must have read this thing a couple dozen times, and some of the ones he highlighted are still my favorites.”

As Ember leafs through the pages and studies some of the passages, I pull the other books out that are about what to expect when you’re expecting a baby. Some have post-it notes sticking out and most of the pages are dog-eared. Putting the Bible down, Ember eyes those too.

“You read all of these?”

My chest constricts. “Yeah, I wanted to know what I needed to do to be ready.”

The box is next and, as my fingers curl around it, my stomach bottoms out. “This was supposed to be the first gift of many,” I explain as I hand it to her. Ember hesitates to take it.

I nod and say, “Go ahead . . . open it.”

Her eyes shift down and through the clear plastic, she can see what’s inside.

Her hand shakes slightly as she opens the box and pulls out the doll. She handles it as if she’s terrified it might break. But it’s tough like her. It’s not going to break.

“That’s why I started callin’ you Doll. Why I wanted you gone that first day. I was tryin’ to forget. And you made it all fresh and new and every time I looked at you, I saw this.”

She turns the redheaded doll in her hands. I know she’s seeing the similarities. The hair, the blue-green eyes, the freckles on the doll’s cheeks, and even the blue, plaid shirt.

“I thought it was because . . .”

A pang of guilt spikes through me. I shake my head. “No, but I couldn’t tell you the truth at the time. So I let you believe that was the reason.”

While she reverently touches the doll, I take the tube out the bag. My fingers fumble as I work the lid off. It takes me a minute to pull the papers from the case and remove the elastic binding them. But when I do, I unroll the blueprints and lay them out on the bed of the truck for her to see. Then I bend down and get a few rocks to place at the corners. She tucks the doll in the crook of her arm, and she comes to stand partially in front of me.

Her fingers follow the lines on the paper, though she doesn’t actually touch it.

Her breath hitches. “It’s beautiful.”

Yeah. It was going to be beautiful.

After she scans it, I pull that paper away and let her see the back of the house. Her hand hovers over the back porch.

“I was going to put a porch swing right there. I thought if the baby had trouble sleepin’, I could bring her out here and rock her to sleep.”

I swallow the thickness blocking my throat. I pull away the next paper. A sketch is revealed, and a heavy weight presses down on my chest. My throat completely closes with emotion this time. It takes me a couple of seconds of me pushing it all down to be able to speak again.

“This is the nursery.”

Ember reaches out and studies the tree.

“The branches were book shelves. And the trunk had a door she could go through into a small little play room just for her.”

She traces the tree with her finger. “I designed this wall to have those letter blocks. You know the ones kids play with, the old-school wooden ones. They’d be shifted so maybe when she got older she could climb to the top and sit in this little nook here and read by the window.

“I was going to start a growth chart here, and then put the bed there. I wanted this arch to look like a half moon so if I used a dimmer light it would work like a night light in case she was scared of the dark.”

Doll sniffles and at the same time, I look at her in time to see a tear drop from her chin and land on the blueprint. I’ve been so lost in my design that I hadn’t realized how seeing this would affect her.

“Oh, God, I’m sorry.” She’s frantic as she sweeps the cotton of her shirt over and over the wet spot.

I still her hand. “Hey, it’s all right.”

“Mav, I’m sor—”

I turn her and cup her cheek. Tears are streaming down her face and filling her beautiful, teal eyes. She tries to look away from me, but I won’t let her. “Don’t. Don’t hide from me.”

I sweep her tears away. When I have to raise my shirt to get the new ones because they’re not stopping, I chuckle and she gives me an embarrassed, sad smile.

Hell . . . she’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen. I slowly take the doll and lay it on the tailgate. Lifting her chin, I kiss her watery lips. “I didn’t think I’d ever let another woman get this close to me again. Didn’t trust a soul to know what makes me weak. I don’t know everything about you, but I trust you with this.”

Her hands slide around my waist and she lays her head on my chest. “This doesn’t make you weak, Mav. This makes you a good man.” Almost imperceptibly, she murmurs, “I know what you mean though. I didn’t dare tell anyone about Will. Not until last night.” Her arms squeeze me tighter. “I trust you too.”

After everything I did to her, she shouldn’t, but my heart fucking soars at the knowledge that she does.

I smooth my hand over her hair. “Maybe all the shit in my life was meant to happen. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be standin’ here holdin’ you. And I can’t imagine doin’ anything but this right now.”

For a long time we stay as we are. The only sounds are of the insects and the birds around us.

“It’s peaceful here.”

“Yeah, it is.”

“What are you going to do with it?”

My eyes travel over the wreckage. “I don’t know. Maybe sell it. I’d have to hire a crew to come in and bulldoze it, clean it up, but then maybe one of our clients could finish buildin’ here.”

She shakes her head. “Don’t sell it.”

“No?”

“The foundation is still good, right? Some of it must be salvageable. You could rebuild it one day . . . when you’re ready.”

“It’ll take a lot of work, babe. More work than just startin’ over somewhere new. I’d have to tear it down and rebuild it.”

“Yeah, but you can’t sell your dream to someone else. That just seems wrong to me. Doesn’t it to you?”

My eyes scan the trees separating us from the Rio Grande. There’s enough land here to build a separate work shed and maybe put in a pool. Enough yard to put an enormous steel swing set and teeter-totter. Have a club family barbeque.

Warmth fills my chest. “You think it’s worth the extra work and time?”

“If it’s what you want and what’ll make you happy, then it doesn’t matter how much time it takes.”