Landslide

by Jenn Cooksey

  When the palm of Santa’s hand makes contact with his face as he shakes his head before setting Lola down, my eyes fall to stare at my feet and I heave a sigh. She did it again. Asked Santa for something he can’t even hope to give her. I look up again and scan the crowd for my dad, easily finding him with a sour look on his face as he takes one of Lola’s hands and leads her towards us. He looks up and for a split second, he stills, recognizing Erica standing next to me. I glance at her out of the corner of my eyes and realize she’s turned white.

  “You gonna be able to handle this? You look like you’re about to hurl.”

  She runs a shaky hand over her forehead and nods. “Yeah, no, I’m alright. I just…um, I got a little dizzy. It happened in the drug store too. And I feel sorta feverish,” she tells me and loosens her scarf.

  I take one of my gloves off and put the backs of my fingers to her forehead. I don’t know why though; I can never tell that way. So, I try to not think about it and just put my lips where my fingers were. “You don’t feel warm.”

  I pull back just in time to catch Erica’s eyes flutter open again as she exhales the breath she was holding. “Okay, good. I probably just need to eat. I only had juice and half a muffin in the hospital.”

  Out of the corner of my eyes, I see Lola take off like a rocket towards me. I look at Erica again and narrow my eyes, suspicion searching for any kind of foothold in her now unconcerned expression. “Uh-huh…”

  Erica might not be feeling pukey right now, but I sure as shit am…

  48

  “Don’t Know Much”

  —Erica—

  “Daddy!” Lola shouts, launching herself into Cole’s open arms. And I just stand here, watching him kneel down to catch her and then swing her around in a circle as he stands up again.

  I look away, absorbing myself in watching other kids climb all over Santa and feeling like I’m made of both stone and paper maché, with tears threatening and me being cemented to the spot, leaving me no choice but to stand here and dissolve. I can’t give in to a single tear though, because if one falls, an ocean will follow.

  I knew Cole would be an incredible father. I knew it like I knew without question that I want to have his baby. As irrational as it is, crushing disappointment was mine when the second test came back negative. And I knew it would. Without a doubt I knew there was no possible way right now for a test to give me the answer I want. I still hoped it would though. And I sobbed when it didn’t. It doesn’t make any sense, but it felt like something had been taken from me; as if I had been pregnant and was receiving news that I’d lost the baby. I felt grief, if only momentary. Then I latched onto the one sliver of hope. The possibility.

  I wanted him to share my hope. I needed him to. But where I was hopeful, he was…angry. I didn’t know how to handle his reaction. I thought he would’ve been over the moon in understanding there was a chance; it’s what he’d all but said he desperately wanted. Now he doesn’t. He said the decision had been made. It made me question whether or not I should be wanting to bring a life into the world, especially if he would choose to not be around as much as what I can’t keep myself from picturing in my head. That picture became even more vivid when utterly enthralled, I watched him and Lola build that snowman together. I want him to be the father of my children, no one else, and I want him to be the same kind of father he is to Lola. And I suppose I can understand how a baby would complicate things in a situation that already has complications and difficulties in abundance, although I have yet to be able to focus on any of them in light of this possible turn of events.

  Fact of the matter is though, the only certain life in this that needs to be taken into consideration is Lola, so the bottom line is, if I’m going to even come close to getting what I want now, I need to be open to her. I understand that and have even been trying to embrace it, incredibly hard as it was to do in hearing about her young life thus far. However, I did not feel prepared to meet her quite so soon. Preliminary fact-gathering to help me ease into accepting her in the first place is one thing, but right this instant facing down a child who still represents an atrocity to me is another.

  And what if she looks like Holden? Past being able to see that she’s blonde like he was, I couldn’t distinguish features from where I was watching earlier, but what if she has his eyes? Or his smile? His dimples? I know Cole was able to do it and he’s even forgiven Holden, but how am I going to be able to look in her eyes and not see him and feel every nauseating detail of what he did to Cole and me? Not only that, but along with panic and unbound fear, somewhere in between Cole admitting he was feeling hostile about possibly fathering my child and when he dropped to one knee with the brightest of smiles on his face as he caught and hugged a child who doesn’t even share his DNA, a niggling bit of jealousy has sprung up. With that acknowledgment, I felt like all I could do when Cole asked me if I was going to be able to handle meeting her, was lie. Because I did want to puke. I did also feel like that in the drug store, but, still, knowing she was barreling towards me and there was nothing I could do about it made me feel like throwing up that half a bran muffin.

  Then, I met her…

  “Did you see me?! You were AWOL for the story, Daddy, but did you see me with Santa?! I got a candy cane! Did you see?! Did you?!”

  She doesn’t even pause for breath, and she doesn’t let Cole answer her either. She’s just a bundle of excitement. An innocent and fresh-faced bundle of excitement. I try to take a breath at the same time I try taking in as much detail as I can stomach. I start at her feet and work my way up. Immediately I get hung up on her footwear though. Doc Marten boots. Black. The pink socks peeking out the top of her boots are ruffled in white eyelet, presenting a rather contradictory image. I notice her snow jacket. It’s pink and gray camouflage with a downy-white fur-lined hood. And it matches the sequined camo ribbons tied into bows in her hair…hair that falls below her shoulders and is curled by nature in bouncing ringlets, and that despite its wildness and untamed appearance, it shines halo-bright and looks like it’s probably softer than silk. I have a guess about that being the reason one of her bows has fallen almost out on one side and I make a mental note to share a trick with Cole for getting them to stay put.

  I get to her face and hold my breath. Round, chubby cheeks alive and pink from excitement, sweet bow-tie lips kissed with color, and dancing brown eyes the shade of melted chocolate…inexplicably the same as her father’s—just not the one who’s dead. She doesn’t look anything like him outside of having similar hair color. I feel my head cock to the side in consideration as I take a subtle step forward without really thinking about doing it. My eyes go back and forth from Lola’s face to Cole’s and I realize something startling; if she were standing between the two and I didn’t already know Holden was, I’d say Cole is her birth father. I step back again and nod to myself.

  Yep. She can certainly pass for his daughter, no doubt. I soak in the image of Lola in Cole’s arms as she excitedly questions him, and finally, I find a single word to describe her. Cherubic. Definitely. She’s a cherub in a military princess’s clothing.

  “Yes, I saw you,” Cole tells her, setting her down and meeting his dad’s eyes as he walks up, “I was watching the whole time.”

  “Erica.”

  An awkward smile forms on my face and Cole rolls his eyes at his father. I don’t know how the man is able to do it every damned time, but I swear to God, Mason Hastings has a way of saying a person’s name that makes them feel ashamed for even having one at all.

  “Really? Over seven years, Dad. You think you would’ve had time to come up with something else to say since the last time you saw her.”

  It’s not terribly funny, although I’ve never been witness to Cole speaking so freely to his dad like this and I have to bite my lip so I don’t laugh at how he’s using me and loads of sarcasm to chastise his overly stiff as ever father.

  “Humph. What can I say? I like to stick to the classics.”


  “Guess what, Grampa?! Daddy didn’t miss me with Santa like you said he would so you don’t have to kick his behind anymore! He said he watched the whole time!” Mr. Hastings’s eyes pin Cole with a look I can’t explain. And Cole returns it. “Can I have my candy cane now?”

  “Sure, you can, pumpkin,” Cole tells her and takes the striped treat from her hand and begins opening it for her, “I want you to mee—”

  “You’re pretty,” Lola says to me, interrupting Cole. He holds his breath and I try to smile. “Your hair is kinda stringy though.”

  Cole winces, although my smile breaks free. Being complimented on your looks by an adult, you’re never really sure it’s genuine, and you almost always know it’s not when you’re perfectly aware that you’re essentially a hot mess from being in an accident and having stitches in your head making it impossible to wash your hair. Being complimented by a child though…they speak the unvarnished truth.

  “I know. It’s sorta gross, huh?”

  Lola shrugs. “Why do you have that bracelet on?” My eyes follow hers to my wrist and the plastic hospital ID bracelet around my left wrist that I simply forgot to remove. Before I can answer, she’s talking again. “Did you have surgery? I had surgery. I even have two bracelets!”

  “Wow…that’s pretty, um, neat.” What do you say to a six-year-old who obviously felt so safe and secure about having an invasive surgery that she talks about as if it were nothing aside from extolling the souvenirs she received? Neat is all I got… “But, no, I didn’t have surgery. I hit my head on some rocks and had some snow from the mountain I was standing next to fall on me, that’s all.”

  Her eyes grow round. “You survived an avalanche?!”

  I look at Cole, not sure how she went from what could maybe qualify as a tiny landslide to a full-blown avalanche, and hoping to convey to him that I wasn’t trying to be melodramatic or sensational by telling Lola what actually happened. He simply looks at me like he did when I got caught in the whole trading sexual favors for a mechanic thing with his friends. Basically, he’s telling me that I walked into it and he’s amused by the fact that it took less than sixty seconds for the girl to trip me up.

  “Uh…um, no. It wasn’t as dangerous or scary as an avalanche.”

  “But snow came off the mountain and fell on you…”

  I nod, slowly—hesitantly. “Mmhm.”

  She rolls her eyes in an over-exaggerated manner. “That’s an avalanche.” I open my mouth to try my hand at correcting her again, however, she moves on, and I start sensing a pattern. “Do you have any scars?”

  Again I go to answer and am interrupted, this time though by Cole issuing an unmistakable parental warning. “Lola…”

  She ignores him. “My daddy and my Uncle Payton have lots. Do you have any?”

  My gaze flicks to Cole’s long enough to catch him flare his nostrils in annoyance. “Um, I have a couple.” And I’m sure I’ll have a looker of a scar when my stitches come out.

  “I have one too. It’s cool! My underpants cover it though.” Lola gives Cole a sidelong glance out of the corner of her eyes and quickly asks, “Wanna see it?”

  “Lorelai Noelle!” Cole’s stern rebuke has even me straightening my spine. Lola’s eyes fall to the snow, exhibiting how rarely this happens, but when it does, she listens. Now that he has her attention though, he kneels down so that he’s eye level with her, holding her still with both his hands on her waist and softening his tone, instantly transforming back into the gentle and doting father he most certainly is. “We’ve talked about this. I know you’re proud of yourself, and I am too…I’m very proud of you…but you can’t go around showing everyone that particular badge of courage, pumpkin.”

  “But, she has an innie like I do, Daddy.”

  I have to bite my lip again and swallow a giggle at Cole’s rather over annunciated prosaic response. “I know she does.” Only partially irritated now, he throws me a quick glare. “But, Lola, we’re in public. And you’re forgetting about stranger danger…you don’t even know her name—”

  “Yes, I do, Daddy. It’s Erica. That’s what Grampa said. And she’s not a stranger. You said Grampa saw her seven years ago. That’s more years than me even.”

  Holy crap. The child listens to everything. And you wouldn’t even know it! I make a mental note to start watching what I say…

  Outwitted by facts and a six-year-old’s well-argued logic, Cole blows out a resigned breath, shaking his head and meeting his dad’s amused expression. “Be that as it may, munchkin, you’re not dropping your pants in public. Period.”

  “But, Da—”

  “Lola, you want Alec to see your private bits?” he asks and arches his eyebrow at her, knowing full-well he just won.

  Or, not…

  Lola shrugs. “It would be fair, Daddy. Alec showed me his.”

  Cole’s face turns blazing red and he about blows his top. “HE WHAT?!”

  Knowing he’s not looking for an answer and recognizing that without a doubt, Lola is about to give him one, I interject. “So, Lola, you saw Santa Claus! Did you tell him what you want for Christmas?”

  With some trepidation, Lola removes her eyes from Cole’s heated face and she nods a couple of times, her hair bow inching a little further down. I notice a look pass between Cole and his dad again. It makes me curious.

  “Well, what did you ask for?”

  Cole starts choking and his dad’s eyes get huge. I think it may be the only time in my twenty-five years of life that I’ve ever seen Mr. Hastings react to anything like this—you know, with a visible shred of humanity.

  Lola, however…well, Lola lets out an affronted gasp. “I can’t tell you!”

  My eyes shift back and forth between Cole and his dad again. Neither give me any inkling as to what the big deal is, although, they’re both relieved.

  “Um, why not?”

  Lola puts her hands on her hips and bends a look on me, like I’m completely daft for even having to ask. “Because, it’s a secret. That’s why we whisper it to Santa. It’s like making a birthday wish and telling everyone what it was after you blow the candles out. It won’t come true if you do that.”

  Cole’s dad clears his throat. “Speaking of… Son, I’m gonna go look into that thing we talked about while we’re here.”

  Cole nods, an almost defeated expression on his face. Then he suddenly calls out to his father. “Dad, wait!” Mr. Hastings turns around and inclines his head towards Lola. “Lola, pumpkin, self-censor a minute, please.”

  My eyebrows shoot up when surprisingly, Lola immediately does exactly as Cole tells her to by not only covering her ears, but also squeezing her eyes shut tight.

  Before Cole can say anything though, his dad raises his hand in a pacifying manner, drops his voice to a whisper, and quite seriously says, “I know. Nothing over four or under two, no scales, and avoid feathers if possible. Got it.”

  Cole nods again and taps Lola on the shoulder; it’s her cue to stop being a perfectly behaved little girl. “I like your purse,” she says to me out of the blue, “Are you rich?”

  “Lola! What is wrong with you today? We don’t ask people things like that.”

  “I was just asking! Her purse costed lots so she has to be.”

  Cole and I both look at my purse. I instantly get it and Cole is lost. “Why? Why does her purse mean she’s rich? And how do you know how much it cost?”

  “I saw one just like it at a really fancy store in Florida. The one Grampa bought Miss Amelia for Christmas is smaller and it costed one thousand, two hundred dollars, Daddy. Grampa says he paid for the name. Its name is Louis though and I don’t think that sounds like it should cost so much money. Is your purse named something?”

  Cole’s eyes are bulging out of their sockets and then he scowls at my purse before inspecting my face. “You did not spend over a grand on that, right? Tell me she’s full—Lola, self-censor,” he waits until Lola rolls her eyes before closing them and covering her ears aga
in, “She’s full of shit, right? My dad wouldn’t spend that much money on a freaking purse. Right?”

  I raise both my eyebrows and chew my lip, not knowing how to break it to him. “If he bought her a real one, then yes. He totally did.”

  “Is yours real? Have you been walking around with a thousand fucking dollars slung over your shoulder?!”

  “Oh, God, no. I got roped into going to a knock-off purse party a couple years ago. Eighty bucks was pushing it for me. Although…gotta admit, I’d take a real one in a heartbeat if I actually had the money.”

  He taps Lola’s shoulder while shaking his head and looking at me in a wholly unbelievable, you-are-completely-out-of-your-damned-mind, I-don’t-think-I-even-know-who-you-are-anymore kind of way. And this coming from the man who probably spent close to a hundred bucks on Doc Martens for someone who will no doubt grow out of them in under six months. That is, unless Cole’s dad bought them.

  “Who bought Lola’s boots?”

  He frowns. “I did.” When I arch an eyebrow at him and he gets my meaning, he starts protesting… “Now, wait a minute. That’s totally different. They’re good, quality boots. She’ll be out of them before next season, true, but they’re useful and serve an everyday purpose.”

  “As does a well-made purse crafted with quality material. That no one can ever grow out of.”

  “It’s not the same. It’s not.”

  “Yes, it really is.”