Ghost in His Eyes

by Carrie Aarons

  I’d had to put up with his dartboard coming in, and the big wooden desk that he loved to keep piles of papers on when he worked from here and not the office.

  But moving in together had also opened up another part of me I hadn’t realized I was hiding away. After my father and Joel died, I packed up any and all mementos of them, trying to hide the pictures and items that hurt to look at.

  As Carson was going through the basement and storage spaces, he discovered the boxes I’d packed away. And convinced me to take them out again.

  So there he was, the shining face of my twin brother, sitting happily on our hall table. Each time we left the house or entered it, Joel was there waiting for us. It was both comforting and heartwarming.

  “He would have loved his niece or nephew. Taught them to swat at seagulls and cut through paths in the woods that didn’t even exist.” Carson’s hands wind around my waist, and bittersweet tears clog my throat.

  “Yeah, he would have. But … I think he knows. Somewhere up there, he’s looking down on us and laughing.”

  “I think he is, too. Now how about we go find out what this little bump is, and we can make him laugh even harder?”

  I nod, Joel's face was so good to see. I'd locked his memory away for so long, that it felt nice to remember and talk about him now.

  The car ride to my doctor's office was filled with anxiety. With each visit, my anxiety heightened. I wanted everything to be okay, I wanted to do everything I could to deliver a healthy baby. I wanted to meet him or her so badly that it ached in my bones.

  "Relax. Everything is fine, and worrying only stresses you." Carson rubs my leg as he maneuvers my Jeep into the parking lot of the office.

  We check in, and shortly after the nurse takes us back. She takes my blood pressure, does some measurements of my belly, asks some questions about how I've been feeling, and then takes way too many vials of blood as they do when you're growing a tiny human.

  And then finally, my ob-gyn comes into the room.

  "Hi you two! How you feeling, mama?" She pats my naked belly and sits down, typing into the sonogram machine.

  Dr. Helena Chase has been a godsend to my nervous tendencies. At every freak out, she would take my phone calls. When I cried that one visit about not being ready, and having no family, she listened.

  "I'm okay, just ready to see whether bump is a he or she."

  Carson smiles and squeezes my hand. "We are very ready."

  "All right, proud parents, let's see if we can't get this little one to show us the goods."

  She squirts some cold jelly onto my skin and turns the black and white screen on, the image blank while it's not on my stomach.

  "And here we are."

  Our baby’s heart beat fills the room, and like I do every time I hear it, I burst into tears. I swear, before I was pregnant, I wasn't really a crier. Even with all of the tragedy in my life, I'd never cried much. But now, with my raging hormones, I sobbed at almost anything. Even gum commercials.

  Looking up at Carson, I can see how much he loves this baby. He's been so supportive, never voicing one doubt, though I know he has had them. He's been unfailing in his cheerfulness and effort to ease every one of my worries.

  "Look right there ... it's a girl!" Dr. Chase points to the screen.

  But I can't hear anything beyond that. My eyes blink, trying to erase the tears blinding me. I listen to her heartbeat, this strong girl inside me, and I fall even more in love if that is possible.

  "We are having a little girl. Our little girl." Carson kisses my temple and pushes his cheek against mine so that we can look at the screen together.

  I'd been so worried about having a girl. After all, I grew up around boys. I'd never had a mother, and I didn't know the first thing about behaving like a normal woman. Like the ones everyone referred to as the perfect woman.

  But looking at her, hearing her strong heart ... all of those worries vanished.

  I was going to love her so fiercely, that it didn't matter what skills I lacked. I'd protect her for the rest of her life.

  34

  Carson

  We had told my parents about the baby in grand fashion, worthy of its own news story on one of the local channels.

  At first, Blake hadn’t been too keen on the idea, she was more low key and I knew she was a bit sad that her dad and brother weren't here to take part in this. But slowly, I had convinced her, letting her get excited about telling people.

  She was officially eight weeks at Christmas, and we had decided that was safe enough to tell them.

  We wrapped a little onesie with I Love My Grandparents written on it, and wrapped it up in red and green paper. On Christmas morning, after we had opened presents with Rhett at her house, we'd driven to Rodanthe and spent the day with them.

  I'd told them to open their present, that it was from both of us.

  I swear, if I could bottle the look on my mom's face when she'd realized what it meant, I could spread it to the world and no one would ever be sad again.

  She had cried and screamed with happiness, kissing both of our cheeks and babbling on about baby names and clothes.

  Dad had sat in his favorite chair and glowed with pride; I knew he could not wait to be a grandpa.

  I knew that because I was at the office with him now, and he'd just told me.

  "A girl, huh? I'm going to spoil her rotten." He rubs his hands together.

  My stomach does that drop again, and I nod. "I bet you are."

  I look back at the stack of papers on my desk, and sign off on some orders I needed to. People say you shouldn't work on the weekend, but they don't know anything about owning your own business.

  "Out with it kid, what's wrong?"

  I should have known, after all, I am my father's son. He and I cope exactly the same, and of course he would know that I'm not feeling the best I can about this.

  "I'm just ... nervous. What if I don't know what to do? What if I screw the kid up, you know? I can't tell Blake this. And I have no idea what little girls like. Shit."

  Laying my head in my hands, I feel better and worse for letting that all out in the open.

  And my head snaps up seconds later when I hear my father's boisterous laugh.

  "Oh, Carson, let me let you in on a little secret ... none of us know what the hell we are doing when it comes to raising a child. Even mothers. Jesus, do you know how many times I almost dropped you when your mother wasn't around? But guess what? You turned out fine! Parenting isn't about being perfect, it's about loving your child and making the best decision you can in that moment. They won't always be the right decisions, but that's life. You get a million chances to correct the mistakes. I promise, you will be fine."

  His words comfort me marginally, but I still feel guilty.

  “But a girl, Dad? I have to learn about boy bands and how to … I don’t know, what’s that called? French braid?” I threw my hands up.

  My dad made a snorting noise. “Now that’s just sexist. Your mother loves baseball, doesn’t she? And I’m pretty sure the mother of your future child is the best surfer I ever knew. And don’t pretend like you didn’t like the Backstreet Boys when you were little. I still have the posters to prove it.”

  This makes me feel a little better. Because before now, I was just thinking in generalities. Of course each person exists with their own set of personality traits and interests. All girls don’t like pink and baby dolls. All boys don’t like sports and superheroes. I was being a jackass, when what I was really afraid of was my own fear. My own insecurities about becoming a dad.

  “I think the lightbulb just went on. And I think you need to go home and talk to your girlfriend about it.” Dad tipped his head at me, and I was already standing out of my chair.

  Ten minutes later, and my truck is coming to a stop outside of Blake’s house. Well, my house now. It was taking me a little while to adjust, to see it as the place that I would live and make a home now. But with her here, and the tidal
wave of baby items coming through the door, it was getting easier.

  “Babe?” I yelled out as I walked in the door, not hearing her or Rhett.

  “Up in the nursery!” Her voice is music to my ears, and as I crest the first set of stairs, I’m slammed in the knees by a very excited Labrador.

  I ruffled Rhett’s ears as I made my way into the room we’d designated as the nursery. The fumes of paint hit my nose, and my body freezes as my eyes lock in on my pregnant girlfriend. I’ve always been wildly attracted to Blake; she’s always been the only woman in the room for me. But I never imagined how fucking turned on I’d be at seeing my girl when she was pregnant.

  Her skin glowed, she was more radiant than I’d ever seen her. Her curves were accentuated, and my new favorite activity was weighing her growing breasts in my hands. God, just thinking about her naked, rounded body made me swell in my pants.

  Blake was beautiful, standing barefoot in the nursery, one hand on her belly and the other stroking a paintbrush on the wall.

  “Do you like this pink better, or this pink better?” Blake doesn’t turn around, but instead considers the swatches of paint she’s just brushed onto the wall.

  To me, they look exactly the same, but what do I know? I’m going to give her whatever she wants in this room. Along with the rest of our lives.

  “I want whatever you want, babe.” I come up behind her and wrap my arms around her bump, hoping to feel the baby move. She’s always dancing just before I can get my hands on her, like she’s playing hard to get. I’m already madly in love.

  “Wow, you’re going to be a such a sucker for this little girl if you keep talking like that. She’ll have you wrapped right around her finger.”

  A wide smile is all I glimpse before Blake turns and plants her lips on mine. It’s quick, just a peck, like we’d be doing it forever. And it makes me want to tell her all of the things that have been swimming around in my brain.

  “But what if I’m not a good father?” I whisper it, because it makes me feel weak.

  “Carson Cole!” Blake turns fully, scolding me with her expression. “That’s not even a possibility.”

  I take her hands in mine. “Isn’t it? Come on, it’s not like I’ve been the greatest at confronting my issues or taking responsibility.”

  I think of how long it took me to come back to her, to fight for us.

  Blake shakes her head and places a hand on my cheek. “We’re in this together, baby. I’m petrified of being a mother, hell I didn’t even grow up with one. But I can … I can feel her inside me. And I know, I just know, we will be great at this. We can do this. We have so much love for each other, there is no way we won’t love this baby. Think about everything we’ve been through. This is it. Our happy little miracle after the storm.”

  In all of my worries, I was being selfish again. I hadn’t even thought about how being a mother to a little girl was affecting Blake. And of course, per usual, she was right.

  “How do you always know the perfect thing to say to get me out of my own head?” I leaned my forehead in to touch hers.

  “Because I know you almost as well as I know myself. That’s what happens when you meet your soul mate at seven years old.”

  Our eyes lock and hold, and something magical is happening in this room, we both feel it. Blake is right, this baby is our miracle. And I’m not going to pepper it with worry and anxiety.

  For the first time in a long time, I’m just going to let life take me where it wants to, and to enjoy floating on the waves of unpredictable bliss.

  35

  Blake

  Christmas has always been my favorite holiday. And that might be super cliché, but I don’t really care.

  The decorations, the spirit, the merriment, the chocolate. I love that I get to pick out the perfect present for each person in my life, and wrap them up in beautiful bows and paper. I love that there is just this magical feeling around this time of year, like anything could happen. Hell, most of the world believes that a bearded man in a suit flies around in a sleigh led by reindeer and comes down your chimney.

  If there were any other time of the year more susceptible to magic, I’m not sure what it is.

  “Jingle Bell Rock” blares out of the record player as Dad dances around the tree, handing lights to a reluctant Joel. Every year, Dad and I force Joel to go to an actual tree farm and cut down a Christmas tree. The smell of the balsam, and the twinkle of the multi-colored lights, in a real tree just can’t be beat.

  “I better get an extra special present for this.” My brother grumbles and I laugh, because he puts up this act every year.

  Even though he protests, Dad and I know he really does love the magic of drinking hot chocolate by the fire and listening to Christmas carols.

  “Are you about done making those popcorn strings over there?” Dad looks at my work.

  “I may have ate more than I strung, but yes I’m almost ready with them.”

  The shine of the holiday is dulled a little by the fact that we’re one person down. I never usually stress about being the only woman in this household, but around times like this, when I see every other family sitting four around their table, I get jealous. Typically, I never wonder where my mother is or why she left. But at Christmas, there is a tiny ache that springs open in my heart, crowding the feelings of hurt and abandonment inside the cracks.

  I guess that’s why they said that Christmas, or the holiday season, was also the most depressing time. I understood that, what with my lack of motherly love. But I tried not to dwell on it. I had a father and a brother who loved me, and my love was as normal as it could possibly be. I didn’t need someone who didn’t want to be here weighing on my brain.

  “Supposed to snow tomorrow.” Joel shrugged his shoulders as if he didn’t care, but I knew he was trying to count on it.

  It rarely ever snowed here, but especially not on Christmas. The fact that the weather report was calling for some white flurries just as St. Nick was going to make his debut, had the whole town in an excited panic.

  “I doubt it will, but one can dream.” I looked out the window, the darkness only illuminated by the moon floating on the waves.

  These were the traditions. Decorating the tree on Christmas Eve, setting our presents under it. Watching a movie, usually one of the Harry Potter films, and drinking hot chocolate as the fire crackled. Then it was off to bed, and seeing who could stay asleep the longest before waking Dad from his slumber on Christmas morning.

  Even as fourteen-year-olds, Joel and I were always going to be little kids on Christmas morning.

  Two hours later, we are all sleepy on our third cups of hot chocolate, and the fire is dwindling.

  “Alright, kiddos, time for bed. You better listen for the reindeer hooves on the roof.”

  Dad sets the cookies and milk out, like we haven’t known for years that he’s the one who eats them.

  “Pop, you told us Santa wasn’t real when we were nine.” Joel rolls his eyes.

  “He isn’t?!” Dad feigns shock, putting a hand to his chest.

  Yeah, it was quite all right that we didn’t have a mom. Because my dad had always been enough parent for the both of us.

  I won’t say that I fall asleep with visions of sugar plums in my head, but Christmas is definitely one of the best nights of sleep I have all year.

  The air smells different as I wake up. Living at the beach, being a child of the sand, the air around me typically smells the same. Salty, fresh and with a hint of sunscreen. Even in the winter, the smell doesn’t vary.

  “Holy shit!” I hear a shout from down the hall, and I know my brother is awake.

  “You can’t curse on Christmas!” I yell back.

  “Look out your damn window!” His feet thump on the floor, and suddenly he’s in my room, pulling up the blinds.

  White light shocks my retinas, and I know instinctively that this isn’t what the light usually looks like when it comes through my window in the morning
. Running over to press my nose to the glass just like my brother is, my knees actually go weak.

  Outside of my window, covering all of that beautiful sand, is white, fluffy snow.

  “It’s a Christmas miracle!” I shriek, which is kind of girly, but come on. What kid doesn’t have the dream of waking up to a blizzard on Christmas morning, especially one who lives in North Carolina?

  And just like that, presents and the morning traditions are forgotten. Joel and I clamber to wake our father up, and then we storm downstairs, into the storage closet that holds any and all winter gear.

  I pull on old snow pants, ones that haven’t seen the light of day in probably four years. Joel digs out hats and gloves for us all, and then we head to the outdoor garage.

  “I call the boogie board!” Running ahead of Joel and Dad, I’m a woman on a mission.

  I grab the smaller body board and run out without checking if either of them is behind me. Because this is the best gift Christmas or the fat guy in the red suit could have ever brought.

  Wading out of the garage, I’m hit almost up to my thighs in the cold, wet snow. More drifts down from the sky, but the sun streams beautifully over everything, giving it the perfect Christmas feel.

  “Last one to the dunes is a rotten egg!” Dad yells, a surfboard dragging behind him.

  We all run, the three of us laughing and kicking up snow as we raced for the hills that led to the sea. I could see them, just there, the dunes that marked so many days of our lives.

  Joel reached them first, throwing his smaller surfboard down and running for it, slamming down on his stomach as it propelled forward and he disappeared over the other side.

  When I made it to the top of the hill, Dad just stood beside me. “Can you believe this?”

  He looped an arm around my neck, and we stood together watching as the big, endless ocean swallowed up the snow on the shore. I breathed in the scent of the snow, that cold winter smell that refreshes the lungs but burns at the same time.