“What was your dark moment of the day?” I asked.
“Your frown.” She exhaled as her eyes locked with mine. “I should get going. But thank you for controlling my drunkenness.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, with a thickness in my throat. “I’m sorry for making you fall earlier.”
She pressed her fingers to her lips. “It’s okay. I already forgave you.”
She headed back toward her house, much more sober, but still moving on her tiptoes. I made sure she made it inside the house before I headed to bed. When we both got to our bedrooms, we took a few moments to stand by our windows and stare at each other.
“You felt it, too, didn’t you?” she whispered across to me, speaking of our kiss.
I didn’t reply, but yeah.
I felt it.
12
Elizabeth
That night after Tristan and I left our windowsills, I lay down in my bed, still a little tipsy, and I imagined him and his wife. I imagined what she’d been like. I wondered if she’d smelled like roses or lilies, I wondered if she’d been a cook or a baker, I wondered how much he loved her. I imagined her with him, and for a moment I even pretended that I heard her whisper she loved him against his thick beard. I felt his fingers pulling her closer, the gentle touch to her spine as she curved into his body, the way she called out his name.
Tristan…
My hand glided against my neck, and I pretended it was her neck he was touching. He warmed her up without saying a word; he loved her quietly with his hands. His fingers trailed down her neck and she moaned as he reached the curves of her breasts. Tristan… My breaths picked up as I felt him taste her skin, his tongue gliding from his mouth and slowly licking her nipple before he placed it between his lips and sucked, nibbled, massaged. She was surrendering herself to him. Tristan…
My hands moved lower across my skin as Tristan filled my mind. He lowered her panties as I lowered mine. His hand glided between her pulsing thighs as I slowly slid a finger inside myself. I gasped, almost surprised by the feeling Tristan brought to me, my thumb massaging my clit as I kept imagining.
But she was gone now.
It was only him and me.
His rough beard brushed against my stomach before his tongue danced around my belly button. I moaned slightly, feeling another finger slip into me. His fingers moved faster, fell deeper, and pushed harder as he worked me up to a sweat. I whispered his name as he owned mine, and when I felt his tongue taste me, I was seconds away from losing myself to him. My hips thrust against his tongue, my lips begged for more, and he gave me more, faster, deeper, harder. Caringly, gently, forcefully. Oh my God, Tristan…
My mouth parted and I pumped my fingers faster, feeling myself hanging from the cliff of forever and moments away from falling into the depths of never. He fed my imagination, he rocked my insides, he begged for me to come apart against his lips, and I did. I collapsed with his touch inside me and released with a feeling of bliss, unable to remember the last time I’d been able to feel alive.
I’m good.
I’m good.
I’m so fucking good.
And then I opened my eyes and saw the darkness of my bedroom.
My hand slid from between my thighs. My panties moved back up my legs, and the feeling of bliss dissipated.
I’m not good.
I looked over at Steven’s side of the bed, and a level of disgust filled me inside. For a moment, I swore I saw him lying beside me, staring my way with confusion. I blinked once and reached out to touch him, but he was gone.
Because he’d never really been there.
What did I just do? How could I do such a thing? What is the matter with me?
Pulling myself up from the sheets, I headed to the bathroom and turned on the shower. I stepped inside with my bra and panties still on, and I fell to the ground as the water washed over me. I begged the water droplets to drag my guilt down the drain, to make the disappointment I’d been feeling leave my body. But it didn’t.
The shower rained over me, mixing with my own tears, and I stayed there until the water ran cold. I shivered in the tub and closed my eyes.
I’d never felt so alone.
13
Elizabeth
Despite Tanner’s protests, I chose to keep having Tristan come to care for the lawn. Every Saturday he would come over, cut the grass, and head into town to work with Mr. Henson. Sometimes he worked in the mornings, other times, late into the night. We hadn’t spoken since my drunken night, but I thought that was all right. Emma always played with Zeus in the front yard as I sat on the porch, reading a romance novel. Even when your heart was hurting, there was something so hopeful about reading a book filled with love. The pages were somewhat of a reminder that maybe one day I would be okay again. Maybe one day I would be all right.
Each week, I tried to give Tristan money, but he declined it. Each week, I invited him to stay for a meal, and each week he said no.
One Saturday, he arrived right as Emma was in the middle of an emotional breakdown, and he stood at a distance, trying his best not to interrupt.
“No! Mama, we have to go back! Daddy doesn’t know where we are!” Emma cried.
“I’m sure he does, baby. I think we just have to wait a little while. Give Daddy time.”
“No! He never takes this long! There’s no feathers! We have to go back!” she hollered as I tried to pull her into a hug, but she yanked away from me and hurried into the house.
I sighed, and when I looked up at Tristan, I saw his scowl. I shrugged my shoulders. “Kids.” I smiled. He kept his grimacing look.
He turned to walk back toward his house.
“Where are you going?”
“Home.”
“What? Why?”
“I’m not going to sit out here and listen to your damn kid whine all morning.”
Mean Tristan was back in full force. “God. Sometimes I start to make believe that you’re a decent person, but then you just go ahead and remind me of how much of a jerk you are.”
He didn’t reply, but disappeared once more into his darkened home.
“Mama!” The next morning I was awakened to a hyper Emma bouncing up and down on my bed. “Mama! It’s Daddy! He came!” she screamed, pulling me up to a sitting position.
“What?” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. “Emma, we sleep in on Sundays, remember?”
“But, Mama! He showed up!” she exclaimed.
I sat up straighter when I heard a lawnmower outside. Tossing on a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, I followed my excited girl to the front of the house. When we stepped outside, a small gasp left my lips as I stared at the porch, which was covered with white feathers.
“See, Mama! He found us!”
My hands covered my mouth as I stared at the white feathers that were starting to float around the space from the bursts of wind.
“Don’t cry, Mama. Daddy’s here. You said he would find us and he did,” Emma explained.
I smiled. “Of course, honey. Mama’s just happy, that’s all.”
Emma started picking up the feathers and smiled. “Picture?” she asked. I hurried inside to get Steven’s old Polaroid camera to take the usual picture of Emma holding the feather for her ‘Daddy and Me’ box. When I came back, Emma was sitting on the porch with her bright smile and dozens of feathers surrounding her.
“Okay, say cheese!”
“Cheeeeeseeee!” she screamed.
The picture printed out, and Emma ran inside to add it to her collection.
My eyes looked out at Tristan, who was cutting the grass as if he had no clue what was happening. Walking over to him, I shut off the lawnmower. “Thank you,” I said.
“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”
“Tristan…thank you.”
He rolled his eyes. “Can you just let me be?”
He went to turn it back on, but I placed my hand over his. His hands were warm—rough, but warm. �
��Thank you.”
When our eyes locked, I felt his touch grow even warmer. He smiled a true smile. A smile I hadn’t known his lips were capable of creating. “It’s no big deal. I found the freakin’ feathers in Mr. Henson’s shop. It didn’t take much work.” He paused. “She’s good,” he said, gesturing toward the house, speaking of Emma. “She’s a good kid. Annoying as all get out, but she’s good.”
“Stay for breakfast?” I asked.
He shook his head.
“Stop by for lunch.”
He declined.
“Dinner?”
He bit his bottom lip. He glanced down at the ground, debating my request. When our eyes met again, I almost fell over from the single word he spoke. “Okay.”
The neighbors all gossiped about what it meant, me having Tristan work on my lawn, but I was slowly starting to care less and less what others thought of me.
I sat on the porch, surrounded by the feathers as he finished the lawn work. Emma played fetch with Zeus.
And every now and then, Tristan remembered how to smile.
We sat down at the dinner table, Emma yapping away about a dead bug she found on the porch that Zeus ate. She was being extra loud and extra messy with her spaghetti. I sat at the head of the table, and Tristan sat at the other end. Every now and then I would catch him staring my way, but most of the time he was smiling out of the corner of his mouth at Emma.
“And Zeus went CHOMP! Like it was the best thing ever! Now he has bug guts in his teeth!”
“Did you eat the bugs too?” Tristan asked.
“Ew! No! That’s gross!”
“I hear they are a great source of protein.”
“I don’t care, Tick! That’s gross!” She made a gagging face, making us all laugh. “Ooo ah! Oo ah ah!” she said, transitioning into her gorilla speech. For weeks now, she’d been exploring her gorilla roots after watching Tarzan. I wasn’t sure how to explain it to Tristan, but within seconds I understood that I wouldn’t have to.
“Oo?” Tristan responded. “Ah? Ahhh! Ahhh!” He smirked.
I wondered if he knew he made my heart skip a few beats that day.
“All right, Jane of the jungle, I think it’s time for you to go pick out some pajamas for tonight. It’s getting past your bedtime.”
“But!” she started to complain.
“No buts.” I smirked, nodding her out of the room.
“Okay, but can I watch Hotel Transylvania in my room?”
“Only if you promise to fall asleep.”
“Promise!” She hurried off, and as she left, Tristan stood up from his chair. I stood with him.
He nodded once. “Thanks for dinner.”
“You’re welcome. You don’t have to go. I have wine…”
He hesitated.
“There’s beer, too.”
That pulled him in. I kept myself from telling him that the only reason I’d bought beer was in hopes that one night he would stay for dinner. After I put Emma to bed, Tristan and I took our drinks outside and sat on the front porch with Zeus sleeping beside us. Every now and then one of the feathers would get picked up by a gust of wind and blow past us. He didn’t talk a lot, but I was growing used to that fact. Being quiet with him was kind of nice.
“I was thinking of ways I can pay you back for helping me with my lawn work.”
“I don’t need your money.”
“I know, but…well, I can help you with your house. With the interior,” I offered. I went on to tell him that I’d gone to school for interior design, and that it only made sense for me to help him out. His house always seemed so dark, and I loved the idea of adding a bit more life to it.
“No.”
“Just think about it,” I said.
“No.”
“Are you always so hardheaded?”
“No.” He paused and smiled a bit. “Yes.”
“Can I ask you a question?” I wondered out loud. He turned my way and nodded.
“Why do you give food to that homeless man?”
He narrowed his eyes and placed his thumb between his teeth. “One day when I was running barefoot, I stopped near that bridge and fell apart. Memories were attacking me and I remember just becoming short of breath. An overwhelming panic attack. The man walked over to me, and um, he patted me on the back and stayed with me until I caught my breath. He asked if I was okay, and I said yes. Then he told me that I shouldn’t worry too much about falling apart because the dark days only stayed dark until the sun came up. And then as I started to walk away, he offered me his shoes. I didn’t take them of course but…he had nothing. He lived under a damn bridge with a tattered blanket and a pair of broken down shoes. But he still offered them to my feet.”
“Wow.”
“Yeah. Most people probably see a dirty druggie under that bridge, you know? A problem to society. But I saw someone who was willing to give his all to help a stranger stand.”
“I just… That’s so beautiful.”
“He’s a beautiful man. It turned out he fought in a war and when he came back, he suffered from PTSD, and his loved ones couldn’t understand why he changed so much. He got a job, but lost it due to his panic attacks. He lost everything because he volunteered to fight for all of us. It’s bullshit, you know? You’re a hero until you take off your uniform. After that, you’re just damaged goods to society.”
My heart was breaking.
I’d walked by the man under the bridge millions of times, and never stopped to find out his story. I’d thought the things Tristan mentioned about the man—how he was a drug addict, how he was something I preferred to look away from.
It was amazing how our minds crafted stories for strangers who probably needed love more than our close-minded judgments.
It was so easy to judge from the outside looking in, and I couldn’t help but think that Emma was learning from me. I needed to be careful of how I treated others in passing, because my daughter was always studying my every move.
I bit my lip. “Can I ask you another question?”
“I don’t know. Is this going to become a regular thing? Because I hate questions.”
“This will be the last one for tonight, I swear. What is it you listen to? With those headphones?”
“Nothing,” he replied.
“Nothing?”
“The batteries died months ago and I haven’t found the nerve to change them yet.”
“But what were you listening to?”
His thumb landed between his teeth and he bit it gently. “Jamie and Charlie. A few years ago, they recorded themselves singing, and I just held onto the tape.”
“Why haven’t you changed the batteries yet?”
His voice lowered. “I think hearing them again will kill me. And I’m already pretty much dead.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Not your fault.”
“I know, but still, I am sorry. But I can’t help but think…if I had a chance to hear Steven’s voice one more time, I would take it.”
“Tell me about him,” he whispered, which surprised me. He didn’t seem the type to care, but any opportunity I could find to talk about Steven, I took. I didn’t want to forget him any time soon.
That night we stayed on that porch remembering. He told me all about Jamie and her silly humor, and I invited him into my heart to meet my Steven. There were stretches that passed where we didn’t speak, and that seemed perfect too. Tristan was broken in all the same places I was shattered, yet even more so because he lost his wife and son. No parent should ever have to lose their child; it seemed like such a hideous kind of hell.
“So, I have to ask. The wand on your pointer finger…what book is that?”
“Harry Potter,” he answered matter-of-factly.
“Oh. I’ve never read those books.”
“You’ve never read Harry Potter?” Tristan asked me, his eyes wide with concern.
I chuckled. “I’m sorry, is that some kind of issue?”
He lo
oked at me as bewildered as possible, and he was definitely silently judging me. “No, it’s just, you always have a book in your hand, and it’s insane that you’ve never read Harry Potter. It was Charlie’s favorite. I believe there are two things that exist in the world that everyone should read because they teach you pretty much everything you need to know about life: the Bible and Harry Potter.”
“Really? Those are the only two things?”
“Yup. That’s it. That’s all you need. And well, I haven’t read the Bible, but it’s on my to-do list.” He snickered. “That’s probably part of the reason I’m currently failing at life.”
Every time he laughed, a part of me came back to life.
“I’ve read the Bible, but not Harry Potter, so maybe we can give each other the Cliffs Notes versions.”
“You’ve read the Bible?”
“Yes.”
“The whole way through?”
“Yes.” Holding my hair up in a ponytail, I turned so he could see the three cross tattoos behind my left ear. “When I was younger, my mom used to date and ditch a lot of guys. At one point, I really thought she was going to settle down with this one guy named Jason. I loved him—he always brought me candy and stuff. He was a really religious guy, and Mama told me that if she and I read the Bible, then maybe he would love us and would be my new dad. He even moved in with us for a little while. So for weeks I sat in my bedroom reading the Bible and one day I came running into the living room shouting, ‘Jason! Jason! I did it, I read the Bible!’
“I was shaking with excitement because I wanted that, you know? I wanted a chance to have another dad, even though mine was the best. In my mind, if I had a new dad, then maybe my mama would be my mama again instead of someone I hardly knew anymore.”
“What happened with Jason?”
I frowned. “When I got to the living room, I saw him loading his suitcases into the back of his Honda. Mama said he wasn’t the one and had to leave. I remember getting so mad at her—screaming, crying, wondering why she would do that. Why she would mess it up. But that’s what Mama does. She screws things up.”
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