Pocketful of Sand

by M. Leighton

  “Lucy didn’t say much other than that she was pulling me out of school. She said Ryan could homeschool me since we were there together all day. I hadn’t been there that long, so I had no friends that I could go to, I couldn’t reach my parents. I was just stuck. I kept thinking to myself that as soon as I had the baby, I’d run away. I knew I couldn’t make it until after that. At the time, I didn’t even want the baby. I thought maybe they’d keep it and let me go. Not even look for me. And if they wouldn’t, I was going to kill myself. I even had it planned out, just in case. But that was before I met Emmy.”

  Even in the midst of such painful, humiliating memories, I feel a peace come over me just speaking her name. Emmy saved my life. “The minute I saw her, I knew I could never leave her. That I could never live without her. Somehow, she became my whole world the moment she drew breath. She became my reason for living, for surviving. But they knew that. Lucy and Ryan, they both knew. They knew all they had to do was threaten me with her–threaten to take her away, threaten to hurt her, threaten to have me declared an unfit mother–and I’d do whatever they wanted. And so they got their way. They got a sex toy when they were bored with their underground parties and I kept my mouth shut as long as they left Emmy alone. They knew I’d do anything for her. I’d die for her. I’d be a slave for her. I’d give up everything I am for her. She was the only reason I stayed and they knew it. They knew I wouldn’t risk not being able to care for her. Or losing her to Ryan, if he ever chose to try to take her. I was just a kid, all alone with a child of my own. A kid with nothing.”

  I gulp, my mouth dry as a bone. My heart races at a sickening pace as I prepare myself for the rest of the story. For the worst part. For the part that scares me the most.

  Finally, I glance up at Cole. I wonder if he can see the blood and the tissue as someone tears into my chest with a butcher knife, ripping tendon from muscle, flesh from bone. Because that’s what it feels like is happening. Every time I think about it, I’m shredded, all the way to my soul.

  Cole shakes his head. “No. Don’t tell me…”

  I say nothing. Then, as though he senses what comes next, he lunges from the chair and walks to the fireplace. He spreads his arms wide and palms the mantle, leaning against it so that his head hangs down between them. I hear his breathing in the quiet. It’s heavy, labored. Angry.

  So I finish. I’ve come too far to stop now. “Not much changed for four long years. During the day, Emmy was all mine. I cared for her, clung to her, protected her. I fed her, bathed her, put her to bed. But the nights…the nights belonged to Ryan and Lucy. I got numb to it eventually. I lived for the days. I’d get a few hours sleep after they left me and then I’d spend every second I could with Emmy. But the nights… I drifted through them like a zombie. But I had Emmy. That’s all that mattered. She was clothed and well-fed, she had toys and parks and playgrounds, and as long as she was okay, I was okay. Until the one day that she wasn’t.”

  I feel the tears now, hot and urgent, burning. My heart pounds against my sternum, demanding release. Like the memories themselves are alive within me. An alien clawing toward the freedom of open air.

  “I was only asleep for a few minutes. Emmy had been sick and I’d been up with her for two nights straight. She was watching cartoons when I drifted off on the couch. When I woke, she was gone. I went all through the house looking for her. I even checked in the backyard, thinking she might’ve gone out to play on her swingset. But she wasn’t there. And neither was Ryan.” My words are coming faster, my breath more frantic. My voice hardly sounds like my own. It sounds shrill and shaky. “I don’t even remember climbing the stairs. I only remember praying that she was okay, that he didn’t have her. That’s when I heard her scream. It sounded exactly like the one you just heard.”

  I close my eyes. I have to force myself to calm down, to remember that she’s safe. That we are hidden away where no one can find us. Not even Ryan.

  “He had taken off her pants and her panties and w-was holding her down, t-t-trying–”

  “Stop!” Cole snaps. “Please stop.” His voice is tortured, as tortured as I feel.

  I drop my face into my hands and I let the sobs come. Deep, gut-wrenching, painful. They come from a part of my soul that I haven’t visited since it happened. I can’t. For Emmy’s sake, I can’t. The anger overwhelms me. The fear incapacitates me. But Emmy needs me, so I have to be better than that. I have to be stronger.

  “When Lucy saw what I did to Ryan’s face, when she heard what he was doing when I found him, she took me to town the next day, gave me five hundred thousand dollars and told me to disappear. She didn’t like that Ryan wanted me so much. Wanted Emmy. It wasn’t fun anymore. At least not for her. But that was fine with me. Anything to get away. And so we did. Emmy and I disappeared. That was two years ago.”

  Cole turns to me, a mixture of rage and heartbreak on his face. I see it clearly despite the tears flooding my eyes. As always, he watches me for a bit first, but then, he walks to stand before me. Slowly, he kneels, taking my hands in his. He stares down at them as though they might speak to him at any moment. Purposefully, he brings each finger to his lips, kissing them one by one. When he’s finished, he lifts his eyes to mine.

  “Eden, I…” he begins. His voice is low. Gruff.

  He doesn’t finish his sentence. Instead, he pulls me onto the floor in front of him and draws me into his arms. He holds me this way–both of us on our knees, my cheek pressed to his chest, his lips pressed to my head–for so long that I know the rhythm of his heart better than my own. Mine starts to follow it, matching the pace, beat for beat.

  We breathe together, beat together, hurt together, closer now than we were even when his body was buried deep inside mine. Right now, we are the same. We are two broken people, finding strength in each other’s remaining pieces. We’ve both lost so much, paid so dearly for what we have left, for what we were allowed to keep. Maybe, just maybe, it’s enough to make a whole. Our pieces. Together.

  It’s minutes, hours, days later when Cole speaks again. “Is that why she doesn’t talk?”

  I nod against him. “Selective mutism. She hasn’t talked to anyone except me since the day I pulled Ryan off her.” My voice is a whisper in the quiet, like the patter of rain in the halls of a mausoleum.

  “And the nightmares?”

  “They’re getting less and less. She pulls out of them more quickly, too. She’s still sucking her thumb, though. Something she only started doing again after Ryan. The doctors say that with time and safety and normalcy, she’ll heal.”

  There’s another long pause. I hear the steady thump of Cole’s heart, the even wisp of his breathing. And then I hear his eerily cold, “If I ever lay eyes on him, I’ll rip his throat out.”

  I squeeze my eyes shut against the notion of seeing Ryan again. “He can never find us. Never. I can’t risk Emmy. I can’t risk him trying to take her away.”

  “I would never let that happen. He’d have to kill me first.”

  His tone is ferocious, but it doesn’t scare me. It makes me feel as safe as the strong arms that haven’t let me go since I told him.

  “Momma?” comes a sleepy voice.

  Cole freezes, like we’re two young lovers caught making out under the bleachers by the principal. “Shit,” he hisses softly into my hair.

  I disentangle myself from Cole’s arms and turn toward Emmy. I don’t want to jerk away guiltily, like we were doing something wrong. We are simply kneeling on the floor, hugging. No harm, no foul. My daughter has just never seen good, healthy affection between a man and a woman before. She might be surprised or confused. I’m just glad we weren’t doing anything else.

  Nice, Eden. Nice. Good, solid parenting.

  “Come here, baby,” I tell her, holding my arms open. She rubs her eyes sleepily as she trots across the living room and launches herself into them. She’s up a little earlier than usual, probably because of her nightmare.

  I can feel her c
raning her neck around me to look at Cole, who has backed away a few feet. He has an innate feel for not making her uncomfortable, an intuitiveness that must come from having been a father once upon a time.

  “Are you hungry, monkey?” I ask, stroking Emmy’s silky hair.

  I feel her nod.

  Just then, I hear a click and the lamps come back on. “The power’s back on!” I tell Emmy. “Are you a magician?” I ask, tickling my fingers up her side. She flinches and I hear a tiny giggle, but she’s still draped over my shoulder. Probably watching the mesmerizing man behind me. “Cole came to fix us breakfast. How about we get your belly full and then go make a snowman out in the yard. Sound good?” Emmy pushes away from me, her bright eyes shining happily into mine. She nods again.

  She looks past me to Cole. She doesn’t have to say a word to convey her thoughts perfectly. Her expression and body language say it all. Her eyebrows are raised, her eyes are wide and she’s practically vibrating with excitement.

  I glance over my shoulder at Cole, who is now sitting on the edge of the chair. “I think that means hurry,” I loud whisper.

  He stands, a smile playing with the edges of his gorgeous lips. “Who likes French toast?” Emmy raises her hand enthusiastically. “Can you show me where your bread is?” he asks. He’s not pushing her to talk, which is good, but he’s engaging her in a casual manner, which is also good.

  Maybe Cole will just be good. For both of us. Only time will tell. And time is something we have plenty of.

  TWENTY

  Cole

  I EXPERIENCE A collision of emotion when Emmy steps cautiously out of her mother’s arms and walks toward me. At first, every feeling is the soft kind, the kind that decent people feel toward a child. But when she puts her thumb in her mouth, knowing what causes her to do it brings on a fresh stab of rage. It cuts through my sternum and goes straight into my heart like a sharp spear. In this moment, if I could find him, I would gladly rip apart the man who did this to her. I’d tear him limb from filthy, disgusting limb.

  But then another shift happens. When Emmy reaches me, she curls her tiny fingers around mine and pulls me with her toward the kitchen. Rage is immediately forgotten, replaced by the soothing comfort that this little girl brings to the battered parts of my soul. Looking down at her, it’s almost like having Charity back. At least a little bit. And I can’t help thinking that maybe I can do right by Emmy, that I can somehow make up for what happened with my own daughter by saving someone else’s. But it will never undo what I did. It will never bring back the life I stole.

  I’m aware of Eden’s soft gaze on us as we walk together into the kitchen. It’s a warm feeling, as though her happiness and security shine out from her like rays of heat from the sun. I glance back over my shoulder when Emmy steps in front of me and points up to a cabinet. Eden’s smiling, like I expected she might be, but even from here I can see the tears in her eyes. It makes me realize that I never want to see any pain or sadness in them. Never again. Only contentment. Or desire. Or love.

  Turning back to the task at hand, I open the cabinet and pull out the bread before squatting down in front of Emmy. She takes a step back, but just one. I figure that’s probably something like progress.

  “Do you wanna help? Be my mini sous chef?”

  She looks shyly from me to her mother and back again. She doesn’t answer; she just takes off running toward Eden. She tugs on Eden’s hand until she bends so that Emmy can whisper in her ear, and then she races back to me.

  “When Emmy and I cook together, we always listen to music,” Eden explains as she flips on the television and finds a music station.

  “Then let’s get to it,” I say to Emmy, slapping my hands together and then holding them open. “Can I put you up here so you can help me better?” I ask.

  At first Emmy just looks at me, her little lips pursed around her thumb. Music begins playing softly in the background as she watches me. I’m just about to make an excuse to let her off the hook when she slips her thumb out of her mouth and spreads her arms.

  Something burns in my chest when I reach for her, cupping her gently beneath her arms and hefting her up onto the countertop. She’s light as a feather. So small and delicate. Fragile. How could anyone even think of hurting her?

  I push the thoughts away. They don’t belong here with us. Not today.

  Emmy doesn’t smile until she looks back at her mom. And when she does, her grin is enough to melt the coldest of hearts. I guess as long as she can see her, she feels safe.

  I glance back at Eden again. She’s dancing for her daughter, head bouncing, eyes closed. When she opens them and finds me watching her, she blushes ten shades of red. After a few seconds she starts laughing, though, and then I hear an answering giggle closer to me.

  Emmy’s eyes are lit up as she watches her mother. It hurts to see it, but more in a good way this time. It makes me incredibly sad, but not the hopeless kind of sad I’ve felt for so long. More like the feeling that I wish my own daughter could be here, enjoying a breakfast like this. But this little girl needs it as much as mine did. And at least I can be here for her.

  TWENTY-ONE

  Eden

  I FEEL LIKE acting silly. I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever. My parents were never the fun kind. Their work was always more important than me. Giving me attention was never a priority.

  Then, when they sent me to Lucy’s, I got all kinds of attention, only it was attention that no girl ever dreams of having. I promised when I had Emmy that she’d never know the kind of childhood that I had. She’d have all my love and attention, and she’d never doubt how precious she is to me. I promised myself that we’d laugh and act silly and enjoy every day. I swore to myself that she’d have a million good memories of her childhood to compete with her horrible ones. And today will be one of those good memories for her. Since Ryan, she hasn’t let a man touch her, even in the most casual way, not even the doctors.

  Until now.

  Until Cole.

  She seems to sense something in him. Brokenness? Gentleness? Sadness? Safety? I don’t know, but it puts her at ease with him in a way she hasn’t shown anyone in two years.

  But today, Emmy’s happy. Her smile is music to my soul like the song playing behind me is music to my ears. And Cole…watching him interact with her, seeing the expression on his face when he looks at her…this day couldn’t be more perfect. And it’s only just begun.

  It started with talk of the worst time of my life. Maybe it will end with laughter from the best.

  “Come on, Emmy. Dance like you do in your car seat,” I call across the room to my daughter. I raise my arms and pump them to the beat like I’ve seen her do so often.

  Emmy shakes her head, her eyes flickering quickly to me then to Cole and back to me again.

  Cole notices. “You mean like this?” he asks, shaking his hips and shoulders. Even though he’s goofing off for Emmy’s sake, I can see that he has rhythm, and for some reason that is a huge turn-on for me. It makes me think of his rhythm in other activities, thoughts of which have no business being in my head when my child is near. But still, all in all, I just feel warm and happy. And…hopeful.

  Grinning over at Cole, Emmy raises her hands, just a little, and thumps them to the beat. “Go, Emmy! Go, Emmy!” Cole cheers when she starts to wiggle her shoulders. Her face is lit up like the fourth of July and I’ve never seen a more wonderful sight. Even as gorgeous as the man at her side is, seeing her make this small bit of progress is breathtakingly beautiful.

  From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.

  He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.

  “Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy. She watches with wide eyes as he does exactl
y that. I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away. She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time. It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.

  As she whisks the milk and egg mixture, Cole turns to me. When his eyes fix on mine again, they make me feel breathless. He’s impossibly handsome anyway, but when he’s like this–so relaxed and playful, taking such care with my daughter–I think to myself that there can’t be a more attractive man on the planet. There just can’t.

  “Come on, mom,” Cole says, holding out his hand to me. “Help us make dancin’ French toast.”

  So I do. And it’s the best French toast I’ve ever had.

  ⌘⌘⌘⌘

  We decide to make the snowman in Cole’s small yard. It didn’t take much to convince Emmy of the benefits of it, especially once Cole told her that he had carrots at his house and that the snowman would be devastated if he had no nose. She practically dragged me all the way to his place after that. The snowman must not be noselessly devastated!

  Now, we’re sitting in his kitchen, looking out at the snowman in his back yard while he makes us hot chocolate to cap off the grilled cheese and soup we just ate. Emmy is watching cartoons on his enormous TV, playing with her toes through her socks, eyes glued to the screen.

  “So, why did you really want the snowman in your yard?” I ask. That question has been bugging me all day. Cole seemed very determined to bring us here, to have the snowman here.

  His eyes flicker to Emmy and then back to me. As always, even after such a brief reprieve from them, I’m struck by the bright blue intensity of his gaze. I think I can literally feel it when he looks at me. No kidding.

  “Is it so terrible that I wanted you here? That I wanted to see you playing in my yard, sitting at my table, watching your daughter from my kitchen?”