“You don’t sound too convinced.”

I shifted my weight and bit my lower lip as I debated talking to him. Finally, I gestured to the stairs behind me with my thumb. “Do you want to sit down?”

He smiled. “As a therapist or your stepfather?”

My mouth twitched into a grin. “Maybe both?”

He gestured to the stairs and waited for me to sit down before he joined me on the top step. “So what’s on your mind?”

My head was a jumble of thoughts. I had a million questions but didn’t know how to put them into words. I blurted out the first one that sprang to my lips. “Do you still love your first wife?” Then, mortified at the boldness of my question, I covered my mouth with both hands.

Thankfully, Dr. Griffin didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he seemed to grin for about half a second. He stretched out his legs, crossed his ankles, and we sat in silence for a few minutes. I started to wonder if I’d really asked the question.

“Heather died about five years ago,” he said at last.

“Heather?”

“My first wife.”

“Oh.” Whatever I’d expected to hear, that wasn’t it.

“It was sudden cardiac arrest,” he explained. “We had no idea it was coming. I didn’t know anything was wrong until Jessica called me at work to tell me Heather never picked her up from school.”

Five years. I quickly did the math. He’d taken some kind of break right before my second appointment with him, and I’d been reassigned to Dr. Brinkley. That had all been about five years ago. It was probably connected.

“I think about her every day,” he said, “and I miss her every day. And, yes, to answer your question, I still love her. Very much.”

I was confused. “But you love my mom, too, right?”

“Of course! She’s an extraordinary woman.”

“And this is all normal?”

Dr. Griffin was quiet again. It was a simple “yes” or “no” question. I didn’t understand why it required any thought.

He finally spoke. “Love isn’t a zero-sum game, Talia,” he said. “You don’t have a finite amount to give away.” He drew in his knees and rested his forearms on them. “You can love as many people as there are in your life. You love your friends, right?” I nodded, and he added, “And you love your mom.” He leaned over, pushing my shoulder with his. “I hope you love your mom, anyway.”

I smiled. “Yeah.”

“The people you care about leave imprints on your soul,” he continued. “So when you love someone, and I mean really love them, those feelings don’t just suddenly disappear. Ever.” He peered into my face. “Does that make sense?”

I didn’t respond right away. I was trying to process everything he was saying, but I felt like I was still missing a critical piece.

“But what…?” I let out a frustrated sigh. I was still having trouble phrasing simple questions. “How do you know when you love someone?” I managed to say.

Dr. Griffin’s expression was contemplative, and this time, I waited patiently for his response.

“Poets and artists over millennia have tried to answer that question,” he said. “I think the simplest explanation is you know it’s love when you care about someone when they’re at their best or their worst, and you still accept them as they are.”

“Hmm.” I digested his words, trying to think of a time Jake irritated me so much I couldn’t stand him. I just needed to come up with one instance, and that would’ve proved I didn’t love him. Maybe then we could just forget that kiss had ever happened, go back to being friends, and make all the weirdness go away.

Dr. Griffin glanced over his shoulder toward the master bedroom door and said, “This has been understandably difficult for your mom. But I’m glad she and Vince reconciled and were civil at the end, for her sake.” He sighed. “It would be terrible if there was still unresolved business between them.”

I stared at my stepfather, and my thoughts drifted from Jake back to my dad and the last words he’d said to me.

I love you.

He had tried to make up for what he’d done, and I had pushed him away. I hadn’t forgiven him. I behaved like an absolute brat. I wanted nothing to do with him. But he still accepted me as I was. He still loved me.

I focused on a spot on the carpet a few steps down and thought of happier times in the house, before my dad was always angry and yelling at my mom. I remembered a time I’d totally violated Mom’s no-food-upstairs policy and dropped a snack-sized bag of cookies. The crumbs went everywhere, and I was so scared she’d get mad. But when my dad caught me trying to pick up all the crumbs by hand, he laughed and busted out the vacuum to help me clean up my mess. Mom never knew about it.

The memory made my eyes water.

There had been good times with him. I must’ve blocked them out so I could deal with the divorce, but now it was too late.

“My dad loved me,” I said in a voice barely louder than a whisper. “It was the last thing he said to me.” My stomach knotted, and my lungs grew heavy in my chest. I could only manage shallow breaths. “But I was still so mad at him, I didn’t say it back.”

Dr. Griffin put his arm around me and let me sob into his shoulder. And for the second time that day, I was glad he was there.

Chapter Twenty-Three

The sound of rain pelting my window woke me from a restless sleep the next morning, and its accompanying cold weather made me want to crawl back under the covers and never get out of bed. My clock said it wasn’t even seven o’clock yet, but even after my big cryfest, I was wide awake. I allowed a few minutes of futilely willing myself to sleep before I climbed out of bed and pulled on some fuzzy socks and a pullover hoodie before heading downstairs.

Mom and Dr. Griffin were in the kitchen speaking in hushed tones over cups of coffee. He was dressed in slacks and a button-down shirt, and I got all mixed up about what day it was until I remembered he kept Saturday hours one weekend of every month. Mom looked relaxed in jeans and a cashmere sweater, more composed than I’d seen her since before the news of my dad’s accident. If I hadn’t known better, I never would have guessed she was crying just the night before.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she said when she looked up. “You’re up early.”

“The rain woke me up.” I peered out the window above the kitchen sink. Water was sheeting down the glass.

Dr. Griffin stood and headed toward the sink. He offered a comforting smile, and I returned it with one of my own as I stepped out of his way.

“You okay?” he said as he rinsed out his mug.

I nodded. “Thanks.”

“Be careful out there,” Mom said as they said their good-byes. “It looks terrible.”

I looked out the window again and tried to remember if the weather was this bad the morning my dad died. It happened just a few days ago, but it seemed so much longer.

“He’ll be fine,” my mom said after the door leading to the garage closed. I glanced over my shoulder at her, and she added, “In case you’re worried about Rob.”

I grabbed a croissant from a pink pastry box on the counter and joined her at the breakfast bar.

“He told me you guys talked last night,” she said as I slid onto the stool beside her. I nodded, and she reached over to squeeze my hand. “I’m glad.”

“Me, too,” I said.

She never asked what we discussed, but I wasn’t surprised. I had a feeling Dr. Griffin told her everything she needed to know.

“I’ve been thinking,” she said. “We’ve never really talked about what happened that night.”

That night. I hung my head. The night I’d so successfully purged from memory until my dad waltzed back into our lives a few weeks ago. But now he was gone, this time forever. And my emotions were a jumbled mess.

I wondered if this was what Dr. Griffin meant by saying people process grief in their own ways. Then I wondered if I’d ever be able to resolve whatever feelings I still had for and about my dad, especially since I’d never have a chance to talk to him again.