Family Wanted. Renee Andrews
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matter. But you wanted to ask me something? About Savannah?”
Titus instinctively glanced toward the barn and saw his daughter leaning over the fence rail to timidly touch Brownie’s nose. He got a grip on his infatuation with Isabella and refocused on the reason he’d asked her to talk. “I’m having a difficult time deciding what I can do to help her. I can’t tell you how many articles and blogs I’ve read about telling her that her mom was dead, but none of them seemed right. So I kept putting it off until she finally asked me why I was so sad.” He frowned. “I botched that one.”
She leaned forward, reached a hand across the table and placed it on top of his. “Titus, I thought it was perfect that you waited. And her question gave you the opportunity not only to answer her, but to also see how Nan’s death affected you.”
For some reason, it felt odd hearing Isabella say Nan’s name, but the touch of her hand comforted him to his very soul. He looked at her petite fingers and at the contrast of her creamy skin to his tan. Pale pink polish covered each nail and reminded him of another thing he’d forgotten.
“Savannah asked me to buy her fingernail polish,” he said. “Probably three weeks ago.”
“I have plenty of polish. I’ll bring some tomorrow, and I’ll paint her nails in the morning when I fix her hair.”
“That’d be great,” he said, still captured by the feel of her skin against his. Her thoughtfulness was never ending, as was her compassion for Savannah. And he believed she truly understood what Savannah was going through now, maybe even more than Titus. So he decided to ask her about what was bothering him most.
“The guy from the hospital who called last week to tell me about Nan...” he started. “He said that he found my name and number in some things she’d left behind, and that he would be boxing those up and mailing them to me soon. Of course, he thought I was her brother because apparently she’d given the hospital the impression that she was single.” He didn’t want to spend any time analyzing that with Isabella. “But maybe there are some keepsakes in there that she’d want her daughter—our daughter—to have.”
“Are you wondering whether you should give them to Savannah now or wait until she’s older?”
Titus shook his head. “No. I’m wondering if I want to even see what she left behind. I started to tell him not to bother mailing it.”
“Because...” she prompted.
“She left us, Isabella. Walked out, leaving nothing but a note. I hate it that she got sick, that she died without us even knowing that she was in the hospital. But for some reason, she didn’t want us to know. She didn’t want to see me again, even when she knew that she was dying.” He blew out a steady stream of air, closed his eyes and then opened them. “Don’t you think that going through those things will only pour salt in the wound? And I can’t imagine it doing anything but hurting Savannah.”
Isabella gently squeezed his hand. “Maybe there were things she wanted to tell you,” she offered. “Or things she wanted to tell Savannah.”
“She had three years to tell us anything she wanted.” He shook his head. “I’ll be honest. I don’t want to go through her possessions. I’m done with the pain, done with the hurt. And I’m tired of seeing Savannah hurting because of Nan.” He glanced at her hand, still resting on top of his. “So I wanted to ask someone who could look at this objectively, in particular a female, since I’m guessing you’d know more of what I should do for Savannah. Should I open that box when it comes?”
Isabella’s throat pulsed as she swallowed. “I don’t think I’m the one to answer that.”
“But I’m asking you, and I want your answer.”
“My answer is—” she let the word hang as she apparently considered the right thing to say “—that I think you should pray about it.”
Definitely not the answer he wanted. Titus pulled his hand from hers and stood. “That’s the thing. I’m done with that, too.”
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