I didn't flinch.

Rory took a deep breath and the shaking subsided. “And I'd still bring him back if I could,” he muttered.

“I know,” I replied.

Rory looked down at the floor, shook his head and turned around. He left without saying a word.

The next eight months went by quickly. It took some work, but my lawyer was able to get Bobby's truck out of the impound lot. Once I had it, I would visit his grave once a week. It didn't matter if it rained or if it snowed. It didn't matter if Will and Sasha or Julia told me I should rest instead. Every time I visited, I would talk to him. Give him progress updates on how the baby and I were doing. Sometimes I would just rattle on about silly things, the way you might catch up with someone over drinks.

I never talked to him about Stan or Rory.

Sometimes I would cry. Sometimes I would lie on the grass and hold my belly, imagining he was alive on the grass beside me, and not buried underneath.

I missed him.

And it was different than the first time he left. Then, I didn't have hope. Then, there was no body. Then, I used resentment as a shield.

But before I really lost Bobby, I allowed myself to believe we could have everything we dreamed of. I opened myself up fearlessly to him. It made our time together the best times of my life, but it also made losing him a pain harder than I thought I could bear. It was only the promise of this new life growing in me that helped me get through each day.

Summer Lightly was born on a chilly spring afternoon. I named her after the season I always looked forward to, because it was when I was able to spend the most time with her father. The season of midnight swims in the lake. Of cool popsicles on your tongue as sweat beaded down your forehead. Of boat rides and hitching a ride on Bobby's bike to get to the general store. Of cook outs, and fingers sticky with BBQ sauce. Of lying soaking wet, on the hot dock, and letting the sun bake us dry.

I didn't expect for her arrival to fill the hole in my heart. No one could ever fill it completely. But she made it less gaping, less cavernous. She gave me a reason to not just survive, but to live.

So after twelve months of Summer being on this earth, I knew I was ready to move on. Being close to Bobby gave me the strength to carry her. Reading his letters late at night allowed me to hear his whispers. But I made a two promises to Bobby. I called Will. And now I had to leave.

It was not something women did often then. Even now they don't.

Will and Sasha weren't thrilled when I told them my plans, though they understood it was Bobby's wish. My sister even less so. The world was dangerous. People were out there to prey on us. It was safe here. I should stay in one place.

But this was between Summer, Bobby and me. Bobby returned to me through our daughter, and I was going to keep his curious spirit alive through her. I was going to make sure our lives were filled with joy and wonder, one of his final wishes.

While I carried Summer, I felt close to Bobby by staying. But I knew that now I could only stay close to his presence by moving around. By watching the waves crash into the bluffs on the Pacific. By driving through the winding roads of the Northwest. By navigating my way in a world were the only language I shared with the locals were smiles and kindness.

So when I knew it was time, I filled up Bobby's truck with our most important possessions.

“Are you sure about this?” Sasha asked protectively.

“Leave her alone,” Will butted in. “We can't keep her here forever. Bobby will keep her safe,” he said, putting his arm around her shoulder. Summer had the best godparents. “But you better check in.” He pointed at me.

“Promise,” I smiled.

“Are you scared?” Sasha asked.

I thought about it for a moment and grinned. “Nope,” I answered. I was done being scared. Playing it safe. I had seen how dangerous that could be.

“Good,” she smiled back as her eyes reddened. “Oooh, I'm gonna miss you, you little chunky bunny,” she said. She picked up Summer and showered her with kisses. Summer looked so much like her father. She was tall for her age, like him. And she had those honey-colored eyes of his that made you instantly feel understood when you looked at them. She had his spirit. Which meant she was a handful. Already so sharp and rambunctious. She liked to play in the dirt and climb and I couldn't keep her still for a minute. She loved the water. She was her father's daughter.

“Alright. We should hit the road. The first leg of the drive is a long one.” I had a secret stop along the way. I was going to show Summer her dad's and my favorite place in the world.

“Okay,” Will replied solemnly. His jaw tightened as he held his emotions in check. “Anything you need. You understand?”

“I know. And that goes for you both as well.”

Our embraces lingered for a while. But I had to let go.

I packed Summer into the truck and took one last look at the world I knew. And then I slid into the driver's seat to see the world through Bobby's eyes. To stay close to him.

I always wondered why my childhood was so different from most other kids. There was even a short while where I resented my mother for her need to always move us from place to place. We never stayed anywhere longer than a few months until I was about thirteen. But the truth was, it was an amazing childhood. Nights camped out in the desert with so many stars you didn't need a lamp. Huts on the beach. Farms on snowy mountainsides. A summer living with conservationists on a safari. Weeks with strangers who became friends who sometimes spoke my language, but other times did not. Yet they all had stories to tell.

Now, as an adult, I understood the lessons she was teaching me. Things that no book or classroom could provide. But as open as my mother was, she never told me the full story of my father. No, he was not a secret. She showed me pictures, she explained that she had known him since she was a little girl. He fought in Korea. She even explained that he was shot and killed in a case of mistaken identity. Growing up, she reminded me that he would have wanted me to see the world like this. But whenever I tried to dig deeper, she would stop. I would see a melancholy creep into her eyes. It was so deep that the air around her seemed to shift. I loved my mother. And I didn't want to see her sad. So I stopped asking. I knew enough. I knew he would have been a great dad. I knew he was taken from this world unfairly. And I thought that was all I would ever know.

I flipped through the photos my mother handed to me. She had shared so much, but these, she had kept from me. One was of my godparents, Uncle Willy and Aunt Sasha, with my mother and father. They were standing just under a marquis. Dazzling letters spelled out the names of jazz greats over their heads. My dad had his arm wrapped around mom's shoulder. Mom was wearing a polka dot dress and dad was dressed like James Dean. Seeing my mother lying in bed now, shriveled and frail, I sometimes forgot how stunning she was. And my father, towering over her, looked so handsome and lively. My godparents and mom were smiling at the camera, but my dad was looking down at my mother. He looked like he thought she was the best thing in the world all wrapped in a polka dot dress. The smile on his face was not broad and staged for the cameras, but instead it was subtle and brimming with wonder. As if he couldn’t believe he had her wrapped under his arm.

I thought about all those times I didn't get to sit on his lap. That he didn't get to tuck me into bed and kiss me goodnight. Or ask me about a boy I was dating. Now I think I knew why my mother shielded me from the full story.