How the heck am I supposed to respond to that?
After a few minutes of silence, he takes a drink of his soda and continues.
“She looks just like her mom.”
“Really? I think she looks a lot like you.”
Chris looks up, seeming stunned. “You do?”
I nod and take a drink. “It’s the eyes. Lincoln has them too—big, brown, and full of so much life.”
“It wasn’t always like that…full of life,” he adds. “I wish I could take away the pain I caused them, give them back their childhoods, but I can’t. For the longest time, that thought only made things worse. I would dwell on the past and bury the pain with a bottle of Jack. I’m tired of doing that,” he breathes, looking down at his food. “I’m tired of burying the pain. I’m tired of hating my life and the decisions I’ve made. But I’m afraid it’s too late to make amends. The scars are too deep.”
Reaching out, I rest my hand on top of his. Chris looks at my hand and then at me. Tears swim in his eyes, and I wonder when was the last time anyone showed him some affection.
“I’m a firm believer in forgiveness.”
Chris squeezes my hand. “You think they’ll be able to forgive me?”
“I don’t know. They’ll never forget about the past, but I’d like to think that someday they’ll be able to forgive you.”
He takes a breath and looks at Chloe. She’s watching us and talking to Deacon.
“I’m not so sure,” he says.
“Asking for forgiveness is sometimes much harder than forgiving. But the thing is… You can’t receive forgiveness if you don’t ask for it. And when you ask for it, you need to be sincere. You can’t ask for it and then fall into the same dark hole you always fall into. You need to be sure you’re ready to follow up your words with actions.”
“You’re a smart girl,” Chris says, pushing his plate away.
I notice he only took a couple of bites. “Something wrong with your sandwich?”
He swallows and shakes his head, his face going a little pale. “No. I’m just not feeling the best.”
Making a fist, he presses it to the center of his chest, and all of my senses go on high alert.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” he says, with a deep furrow to his brow. “It’s probably just indigestion from all the damn cookies I ate.”
“You had one.”
Chris gives me a look. “Seven. Every time I felt a pull toward the beer cooler, I went to the food table instead.”
“Well, that’s one way to avoid alcohol.”
Chris laughs, but it quickly turns into a moan. Sweat dots his forehead, and the hair on the back of my neck stands up.
“It’s not indigestion,” he manages.
My head whips to the right. Chloe must’ve seen what’s going on, because she’s already running toward us with Deacon close behind her.
“Call 911,” I tell them. “I’m going to find Lincoln.”
Deacon has pulled his phone out and is already making the call.
“I just saw him,” Chloe shouts, reaching for her father. “He’s by the front door.”
I run across the room. The bustle of the crowd must’ve gotten Lincoln’s attention because I find him walking toward me.