by S Doyle
Which, if I were honest with myself, I didn’t know if I was. By the time I came to live with George, I was angry, sullen, and, as Ash had pointed out, not very nice. At least to her. I was driven beyond the point of having any idea of what I wanted in life, other than having enough money that no one could control my future again.
Princeton was a means to an end. I hadn’t once considered the idea of enjoying college as an experience in and of itself. Prison had probably helped more with that. It taught me, at the very least, patience and endurance. About living in the moment. However, the last thing I wanted to tell Ash was that I might be a better father than she imagined, because I’d done time in jail.
“An hour or two. Just to talk. I promise.”
“An hour. That’s it. I need to be home for Danny.”
Later that day
Ashleigh
I watched him bite into the mini cupcake and groan with satisfaction. We were sitting on our bench. The sun was shining. I’d picked out what I knew would be his favorite flavor. Double chocolate, with chocolate chips. The sound he made had me squirming a bit. Not because I was remembering the sound of Marc groaning when he did other things he found enjoyable.
Because I wasn’t remembering that at all. Especially not after last night.
“What made you start saying all that stuff last night?” I asked him.
He looked at me, and raised his eyebrows as if to suggest it was obvious. It wasn’t.
“No, I’m serious. You could barely look at me when I was at George’s place, and now, you’re sexting me.”
“I was still processing at George’s,” he said. “Everything. You know that takes me time. You weren’t gone. You weren’t missing. You were dead, Ash. There’s supposed to be no coming back from that. When George first told me the news…I lost it. I mean, pretty literally lost it.”
He was looking down at his hands, stretching his fingers out, and I could see there were a few that weren’t completely straight. Like he’d hit a hard object at full force and broken a couple fingers.
“That’s my point, Marc. There is no coming back from what I did. From what I cost you.”
“No, that’s my point. I sent you texts about sex last night. I haven’t thought about sex in well over a year. Until you came back from the dead. Until I saw you again. There are all these pieces inside me that feel like they’re coming back to life as quickly as you did. You think I’m going to be resentful, I’m not. I’m not mad, Ash. I’m reborn.”
I reached out and took his hand with the two crooked fingers. I traced the lines of them, the curve. These hands had taken my virginity. These hands held mine when we’d gotten on a plane to Las Vegas in an attempt to save me. These were the hands that had worked so hard, for so long, for me.
“I need you like air,” he said softly. “I always have, and you have always known it.”
The words touched something inside me. A long-ago memory when I’d been so confident in what he felt for me, but would never admit. When I was sure of my place in his life.
“You still don’t trust me,” he sighed, taking my silence as some kind of confirmation. “When the fuck did you start listening to what I said and not what I did?”
I smiled, having had the same thought. “See, that’s not being nice to me. Cursing at me like that.”
“I’ll try harder.”
“I need to go. Danny is waiting for me.”
He nodded. “Can I ask why Daniel?”
“You’re going to think it’s lame.,” I huffed out a laugh. “I knew I couldn’t name him Marc Jr. or anything obvious like that. Please don’t tell George this, but his name is so old-fashioned, I couldn’t name Danny that, either. When he was born and the nurse splayed him out on my chest, of course I thought of you. And it just came to me. One of your heroes.”
He seemed to think about it for a few seconds. “Did you name our son after Dan Marino?”
“I was in Florida. It seemed to fit. Even though I never understood how you could have a favorite quarterback you never saw play.”
He tilted back his head and laughed. “That’s awesome. My son is named after Dan Marino.”
“Well, now, he’s just Danny Campbell.”
“I like that name. I like it a lot. When can I see him again?”
“Next Monday?” I offered. That was the easiest, but Marc was shaking his head.
“Too long. If we’re going to bond, or whatever it’s called, then he has to see me around more. Let me come over tomorrow night for dinner. I’ll bring it. You don’t have to cook or anything. I’ll even feed him his vegetables.”
“You’ve got no shot.”
He smirked. “Try me.”
11
Later that night
Marc
It was just after ten and I told myself it was too late to text. I was lying in bed thinking about Ash, thinking about Danny being a star football player someday, thinking about if I wanted to get serious about investigation work, or if I wanted to take Benfield up on his offer for a more career-minded job. If I could even do that remotely from Florida.
Because Ash had a business here, a home here, and I hadn’t once heard an uneasy breath from her, so her asthma seemed to be under control here. I should have asked her about it. If it had been a problem during pregnancy. Who had been there to coach her in her breathing?
Finally, I thought, fuck it. I had questions, so I would ask them. She was there, alive, around the corner from me, and even that separation suddenly felt like too much. If she was asleep, she wouldn’t answer, but if she was awake, I was fairly certain she wouldn’t ignore me.
Me: It occurred to me I haven’t heard you wheezing at all. Does that mean your asthma is better under control here?
It was probably not healthy, the level of anticipation I felt waiting to see if she would return my text. When I saw the dots, I made this sound of unexpected relief.
Ash: Yes. I found a new doctor who recommended a daily prescription. He said I wasn’t being treated with the most current medicine. One more way Arthur failed me.
Me: Do you need to see his grave? Do you need that for closure?”
Ash: No. George is my father. He’s my family.
I couldn’t help but ask the obvious question.
Me: What am I?
There was a delay in her response. Which made sense because it wasn’t an easy answer. It never had been between us.
Ash: You’re Marc.
I chuckled, and decided to let her off the hook with that. We were still working on what we would be to each other.
Me: I liked it better when we were talking about sex.
Ash: You really took me off guard.
Me: Good. Name something about me that you missed.
Ash: Everything. I missed all of you, Marc. But I think most was the expression you get on your face when you’re determined about something. It always gave me a feeling everything was going to be okay. Name something you missed.
I smiled at the question because it meant she was engaging me. Not just answering my questions, but now asking them, too. When I thought about what I missed about her, it was hard to define it. It was her life force. It was her love. It was the assurance in the world that I wasn’t ,and would never be, alone. The way I was the day the cops had taken me away from my mother and put me with CPS.
Me: I missed the way you sound when you come. It’s not some girly sigh, but instead, it’s this deep breathy groan.
Ash: Stop!
Me. No!
Ash: I can’t do this with you.
Me: You did it with me all the time. In person, over the phone. I still owe you payback for that time you faked it.
Ash: You got soooo mad :)
I smiled again. Not because she’d sent me a stupid smiley face, but because now she was engaging me with those memories, too.
Me: I owe you an orgasm. No matter what happens between us, THAT has to happen so I can even the score.
Ash: What
if I just make myself come thinking about you? I would say that counts.
Me: Nope. It has to be me. In person. Your only choice is what part of me you want. My fingers, my tongue or my dick. It’s been a long time, but if memory serves, you really like my dick.
Ash: Your ego is totally out of control.
Me: Then there was always the matter of your ass. I wanted it, but you needed to read up on it first. You never told me what you learned.
Ash: I learned talking to you about this only encourages you to be more outrageous. Goodnight, Marc.
Me: Night, Ash.
I plugged the phone into the charger, settled into bed, and wondered how long it would be until she gave me the orgasm I was due.
The next evening
Ashleigh
I watched as Marc put the now only slightly warm vegetable tots on Danny’s highchair tray.
“There’s no way he falls for this,” I said, trying not to gloat. “He can spot broccoli a mile away. I don’t care if it’s in the form of a tater tot.”
“Bet?” Marc challenged me, even as Danny assessed the new food product on his tray.
“What are we betting?” Because I had a suspicion I knew where he was going with this.
“A kiss?”
That’s exactly where I thought he was going. “Marc,” I sighed.
“One kiss. It’s not going to kill you. What do you want? And you better think fast, because it looks like he’s about to reach for one. I’ll give you a night off from texting.”
“No,” I said, quickly. Probably too quickly. “My car needs the battery replaced.”
“Done,” Marc said, holding out his hand. I shook it warily, feeling as if I’d caved in some fundamental way. Like I was letting him all the way in, which in the history of Ash and Marc, was both wonderful and painful.
We watched Danny pick up the broccoli disguised as a tot. Sniff it and finally put it in his mouth. Which didn’t mean anything if he ultimately spit it out.
He was my son. I knew my boy. He did not like his vegetables. He would taste the broccoli, spit it out, then I would get my battery replaced for only the cost of it.
Also, I wouldn’t have to kiss Marc. I wouldn’t have to remember what it felt like to be consumed by him. That was probably a very good thing.
Then again, maybe that wasn’t even possible anymore. I was a mother. There was so much more to me now than the girl who had been so hopelessly in love with the boy next door.
Still, I didn’t want to take a chance.
Spit it out, baby. Come on, you can do it!
Only he wasn’t doing it. Instead, he was reaching for another one and shoving it into his mouth. Marc made a fist pump and I reached for one of the tots on the baking sheet, ready to call foul.
I plopped it into my mouth. It was crispy on the outside and gooey on the inside, and, while there might have been broccoli in them, there was also a large portion of cheese.
“These are cheating! They don’t taste anything like broccoli.”
Marc smiled, rubbing his hands together evilly. “That’s the point. But the label says one full serving size of vegetables. Suck it, Ash. You lose.”
“Fine, but we’re not kissing in front of Danny. I don’t want to give him any funny ideas.”
“Stupid ideas like mommies and daddies kiss?”
“We’re not mommy and daddy to him. We’re mommy and this man from her past who keeps trying to butt into her life with sexting and cheesy broccoli tater tots.”
Marc got up in my space until I was forced to look up at him.
“And you like it,” he said softly. “You like that I’m forcing my way back in and there’s nothing you can do about it. You forget how well I know you. You forget what we learned the first time we were together in Florida. That you need me on top of you, pushing into you, fucking you instead of you fucking me. You need me to do all the work, and, right now, you’re waiting for when I’m going to take my kiss. Because you know it will be on my terms, not yours.”
I knew my face was red. I could feel my heart beating against my chest. I hated that he was absolutely right, and, that, when it came to him, I was so damn weak.
I’d been betting on motherhood, my bakery, that I’d made it out of a truly scary, life-threatening situation all on my own, to act as a defense against my weakness when it came to Marc.
Now, I feared it wasn’t going to be enough.
Danny shouted, which got both of our attentions. Apparently, he’d finished his tater tots and wanted more. I plucked a few more from the baking sheet and dropped them on his tray.
“You betrayed me for tater tots,” I whispered to him. He just smiled at me and continued to stuff his mouth.
A few days later
Marc
“There’re a few things we need to talk about,” I called out to her. I’d finished replacing the battery in her car, and, for that, she’d offered me a beer.
Sitting on her porch, waiting for her while she shuffled around inside to get herself a glass of wine, along with my beer, I rocked in the chair knowing I was wearing a shit-eating grin.
Tonight, I’d read my son a story after dinner. It was a book about trains, on which he made me point to every train on every page, and only when he was ready, did he decide to turn the page. My son was a stubborn and insistent individual. He’d sat on my lap; I’d sniffed his soft baby hair and worried anew if I was worthy of him.
After he fell asleep, I did the very manly duty of helping Ash with her car. That bought me more time to just chill together with her. It felt very normal, and, after the past few years, I fucking loved that.
Ash came out the front door and handed me the beer, then took the rocking chair next to me and sipped her wine.
“Like what?” she asked, having heard me from inside the house.
“Like practical things. Like money.”
“Do you need money? Now that I think about it, I haven’t even asked how you’re affording rent on your house. This neighborhood isn’t super fancy, but it’s a nice community.”
“No. After I got out of…after, I took a job working construction that paid well. I was living with George, so I was able to bank most of it. Then, I started working with a private investigator. First in North Carolina and now here. I’ve been doing odd jobs for him.”
“Private investigation? Really?”
I shrugged. “I had one mission. To take down Sanderson for your murder. I needed to learn the skills to do that.”
She nodded. “That makes sense. It’s the thing that always drove you. You equated money with power, and you wanted power, so you learned how to be an investor. You decided in prison you were going to need a trade, so you learned carpentry. You wanted to catch a bad guy, so you learned how to investigate people. One wonders what you might do if you decided you wanted to go to outer space.”
“I don’t have any desire to do that,” I told her. But the praise felt good. It always had, coming from her.
“So, what do you want to do?”
Easy answer. I looked over at her. “You.”
She rolled her eyes. “Real answer please.”
“That is a good question. Dean Benfield offered me a job. He’s willing to overlook my conviction.”
“Of course he is, because he knows you didn’t do anything wrong!”
Praise first, now defending me. Almost like it was before. Except not like it was before, because before, I took it for granted. So much for granted, I didn’t even realize it until she was gone.
“Anyway, it’s like you said. I didn’t love finance, I just wanted money. I like the investigation stuff, but I don’t know if it’s enough.”
“Enough for what?”
“To support you and Danny,” I said, then quickly raised my hand to stop her from cutting me off. “Yes, I know you’re supporting yourself. Yes, I know you might not give me the privilege to do it in the future, but it’s important to me that I could. That if we do find our way back t
o us, that I can. Which reminds me, I need to sell my truck.”
“Why?”
“When Landen died, most of his assets went to pay off the clients he’d cheated, but what was left he’d bequeathed to George. George and I took the money and bought cars as a fuck-you to your father, but it’s your money. Your inheritance. You should have it.”
She shook her head. “Don’t want it. A car and a truck are the least of what you and George deserve. Arthur Landen cost you fifteen months of your life. I wouldn’t take that money for anything. Keep your truck. If you are worried about me financially, don’t be.”
“You earn that much money making cupcakes?”
She laughed. “Ah, no. I make a decent income, enough to pay Candy, too. No, my savings are everything I took when I left.”
“How much did you take? It wasn’t like you had that much time to plan everything.”
I knew from what she’d told me, that from the time she’d learned she was pregnant, to when she fell off the earth, had only been a week.
She winced. “That’s not exactly true. I told you about San Diego. How Arthur had me tracked down. Thinking back on it, that’s probably why I changed my plans at the last minute. I was trying to see how much of a leash I had. How far I could go before he pulled on it. That’s when I learned how little freedom I actually had.”
“Why didn’t you tell me all of this back then?”
She shrugged. “Because it seemed crazy. Like some other person’s life. Like I wasn’t just the daughter of a rich father, but there was something more sinister happening. So, I started to plan. Figure out what I could do, in case the worst happened. It wasn’t even like I thought I would ever need it, but having an escape route became critical to me. That meant money. In Switzerland, I bought everything for every one of those rich debutantes and made them reimburse me in cash. Shoes, clothes, jewelry. All of it.”