by M. Leighton
I take a deep breath and rub my hand over my face, forcing myself to sit back and let go of the paper. “It was always strongest at the beach. Making those sandcastles. Until today.” I close my eyes. My chest feels tight just thinking about this. About losing Charity.
Eden’s voice is whisper quiet. “What do you mean?”
I don’t look at her. I can’t. “I didn’t hear her today. Didn’t see her. I wanted to. I did everything right. Just like I always do. The flowers. The castle. The pocketful of sand. But she wasn’t there. In my mind, she just wasn’t there.”
“Why? What happened?”
I roll my head on the cushion and look at Eden. Her features are as beautiful as ever in the flickering firelight. I’m glad she’s kept it going. I don’t know why, but I am. It seems to be…symbolic somehow.
I study her. As always, her eyes tell the tale. There’s trepidation in them. Dread. “You happened. Emmy happened.”
“Cole, I–”
I interrupt because I need to get this out. Now that the guilt is eating me alive. “I wasn’t looking for anybody, Eden. I wasn’t trying to move on or get over her, to find something more in life. I was content in my misery.” I pause. “I had no intention of pursuing you, even though I felt like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer when I saw you on the beach that day. But still, I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Only I couldn’t stay away.”
“Cole, I never–”
“I know, I know. I didn’t either. But I did. You did. We did. And now…today, all I could think about was you. How I didn’t want to leave you this morning. How anxious I was to see you again at dinner. To see you with Emmy. To see her smile and maybe hear her voice. Just once. And because I took you with me, there was no room for my daughter.”
I sound bitter. Resentful. I don’t mean to. It just came out that way. I should apologize. But I feel like that would be an even bigger betrayal to Charity.
I’m filled with dread as I wait for Eden to respond. I wouldn’t be surprised if she told me to leave.
“Cole, did you consider that maybe you’re just finding some healthy middle ground?”
I turn to look at her. She doesn’t appear mad or hurt. She just seems…calm. She sounds calm, too. Calm and practical.
“How can forgetting my dead daughter ever be healthy?”
“You’re not forgetting her. You’re sitting here talking about her. You went to the beach today to honor her memory. That’s not forgetting her. But Cole, I doubt it’s a healthy coping mechanism to imagine seeing and hearing her. Don’t you think that maybe this is the healthy way to grieve? To think of her, talk about her. Visit places she loved.”
I study Eden. Why am I angry right now? Is it because I feel like she’s trying to replace my daughter with her own? Or is it because she and Emmy are disrupting the delicate balance I had between living and grieving? Or am I just mad at myself?
Eden reaches for my hand, laces her fingers through mine. I jerk slightly, my first instinct to pull away because of what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling. But she won’t let me. She just tightens her grip. Like she’s tightened her grip on me.
“She wouldn’t blame you for being happy, you know.”
And there it is.
The guilt.
This is what’s eating at me–guilt. The guilt of finding someone, of moving on when I had no intention of moving on. Of letting anything other than Charity be the focus of my life.
I pull away and stand, pacing to the other end of the living room. “You wouldn’t understand,” I tell her coldly. That’s how I feel–cold.
“I’ve never been through what you’ve been through, Cole, no, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand. She was your child. She would want you to be happy. She would never want you to sacrifice your life to somehow memorialize her. Accidents happen. Even if she were here, she wouldn’t blame you.”
“You don’t know that.” I don’t face her. I can’t.
“Yes, I do. She was a child. Children are forgiving and resilient. More than anything she would want you to be happy. And to stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control.”
“But I deserve the blame. It’s my punishment.”
“Cole, you can’t carry the weight of an accident. That’s insane!”
“Is it?” I spit, whirling toward her. “Is it? I killed her dammit! Is it insane to carry the blame when my daughter died in a drunk driving accident with me? Because of me? Is it insane to carry the blame when she trusted me with her life and I threw it away because of a party? No, that’s not insane, Eden. That’s justice.”
My chest is heaving, my pulse pounding in my ears. I didn’t realize how loud, how harsh my voice was getting until the quiet set in. Now the quiet is like death, cold and empty.
“Y-you were driving drunk in the accident that killed her?”
Shame. God, the shame…the remorse…the pain…it’s overwhelming. I turn and lean my forehead against the wall, resisting the urge to pound my fist against it. But Emmy…Emmy is sleeping. She doesn’t need to be here for this. To witness this–the dissolution of Cole.
“The last time we came up here three years ago, Brooke wanted to come a day early. It was the weekend before Charity’s seventh birthday and she wanted to have a surprise party for her. We fought because I wanted to stop by a friend’s party first. I ended up agreeing to get Charity here by eight just to shut her up. But I went by my friend’s house first anyway. Stayed long enough to have a few drinks. And to be running late.” I close my eyes. I can still see my little girl, smiling up at me from the passenger seat. Innocent, trusting. Alive.
“I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober either. It started raining about halfway here. I remember Charity telling me that this time, she was going to bring back enough sand in her pockets to give some to all her friends at home. Of all the things she loved about our trips, building sandcastles on the beach with her daddy was her favorite.”
I don’t have to look back at Eden to know she’s crying. I hear her shaky breaths, I hear her quiet sobs. Only a parent would understand the pain that this kind of story means. Even if they’ve never experienced it, they’ve feared it. Dreamed about it. Prayed that it never happens to them.
“I was speeding when I saw the truck coming around the corner. He was barely over the line, but I swerved anyway. I was still going too fast when my right tire hit the gravel on the side of the road. I lost control. I couldn’t correct the skid. There was a steep bank and we started to roll. The car flipped four times before we hit the tree. Charity’s side was impacted the most. She was crushed.” I’m shivering. I feel like my teeth are chattering and my insides are trying to jump through my skin. “They said sh-she died instantly.”
TWENTY-FIVE
Eden
“OH, GOD!” I mutter brokenly. I don’t even know what to say. “Oh God, oh God, oh God.” I cover my mouth with my hands. When I look back up at Cole, leaning against the wall, defeated in his devastation, I’m drawn to him. Like I always am. I’m drawn to his pain, to his fury, to his intensity. I get up and cross the room, stopping inches from him. I can feel the heat radiating from him, warming away the chill that’s come over me.
“Cole, I’m so sorry.” I lay my hand on his broad back.
“Don’t,” he murmurs miserably. “Please don’t.”
“You can’t punish yourself forever. It was a tragedy, yes. An awful tragedy. But it was still an accident. You would never have hurt her on purpose. Never.”
“I’d give anything to be able to tell her that.”
“If she were here, she would already know that. Cole, you can’t give up on life because she’s gone. How does that honor her? To live a sad existence mourning her is just adding another tragedy to the pile. Can’t you just continue to love her? Can’t you find love and happiness and bring her with you?”
Cole turns to face me, his expression ravaged, and he tells me something I never wanted to hear. “No. I could nev
er do that. I told you I was broken. I told you I didn’t have much to give. You just didn’t believe me.”
“What are you saying?”
His expression doesn’t change as he reaches up to cup my cheek. His touch is so light it’s almost ethereal. Like a cool breeze or the brush of a cloud. “I could fall in love with you, Eden. I might have already. But it won’t ever matter. The judge loved my team. Barely gave me a slap on the wrist. For killing my daughter. But I deserved to be punished. And this is my penance. That will never change.”
My heart is hitting my ribs like a battering ram. Did he just tell me he loves me? Or that he might love me? And then tell me that we are doomed in the very next breath?
“Won’t you at least try?”
“I have been. I’ve been falling in love. I’ve been happy, more and more the longer I’ve known you. And I’ve lost her. I’ve failed her again. And I can’t live with that.”
“So what does this mean for us?” Do I really want him to spell it out? Do I really want to hear him say the words?
“I’m saying that this can’t go on. At least not like it has been. I can’t be with you, Eden. Not like you’d want. Not like you deserve. What I’ve given you, it’s all I have to give. There is no more.”
I feel sick. Physically ill, like someone took a hot poker and jumbled up my guts. Can I be with him knowing that there is no future? Knowing that there isn’t a tomorrow? That we will never be more than we are right now?
I don’t know.
But can I let him go? Can I walk away? Let him go, right this minute? Move on and never look back?
I don’t know that I can do that either. I don’t know any of the answers. I only know that when he leans into me, when he brushes his lips over my forehead and pulls me into his arms, I feel like there’s more. I feel like this can be more. If I only give him time.
I tilt my head and press my lips to his chin and then to his mouth. Hard. I hold him to me like I don’t want to let go. Because I don’t. I can’t. Not yet. We just need time.
I hear his breathing pick up. I feel his hands grip my arms. It’s my only warning. That and the pause. His stillness. His way of telling me that if I’m going to stop him, do it now.
Only I don’t. I don’t stop him because I don’t want to. Instead, I reach under his shirt and I press my palms to his warm skin. And then we’re on fire. We are two flames, raging out of control. Licking, burning, engulfing.
I don’t know how we get undressed, but suddenly his hot, smooth skin is all I can feel. Against every inch of my body. Sliding, grinding, pressing.
And then the couch meets my thighs. And he’s spinning me around. And he’s bending me forward. And his hands are in my hair. And his mouth is at my shoulder. And his hips are pressed to mine.
And then he’s inside me.
Forceful. Possessive. Undeniable.
He takes. I give.
He asks. I answer.
Finally, I am glass. Splintering. Separating. Reflecting.
A hundred colors. A thousand lights. A million emotions. Flying. Colliding. Swirling.
This is when I know without a doubt that I’m in love with Cole Danzer.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
I’m lying limp against Cole’s side. I didn’t ask him to stay. He didn’t tell me he was leaving. He just picked me up when I couldn’t stand anymore and carried me over here to the rug. Our rug.
I trace the letters that dance gracefully up his ribs on his left side. Always. I’ve admired his tattoos many times, but since I’ve been close enough to ask him about them, I’m always too absorbed with his presence, with his touch to ask. But now I have to know. Even though I’m almost afraid to ask about them, I’ve come too far to stop now. If I’m to find a way to keep him, I need to know everything. I can’t fix it if I don’t know about it.
“What does this mean?” I ask quietly, the first word spoken between us since he told me there was nothing else he could give me. I still disagree. I just have to make him see it.
“It’s for Charity. She’ll always be closest to my heart.”
I gulp. Another reiteration of how he will never let me any closer? I don’t know, but I have to make him understand that Emmy and I will never replace his daughter. I would never want for us to. But surely he can love us all. Surely.
“You don’t need words on your skin for her to be close to you. She’s your child. You’ll never be without her. Not really. She’s a part of you. Just like Emmy is a part of me. Nothing and no one could ever change that.”
But that doesn’t mean I don’t have room to love someone else, too, I add silently, wishing he could read my mind.
I swallow my sigh when he makes no comment. “What about the other side?” I ask, referring to the script I’ve seen there. Never. “What does it mean?”
“Never means a lot of things,” he says enigmatically. Another hint at what we will never have? What he can never give?
“What does it mean to you?”
“Never forget. Never again. There are a lot of nevers in my life.”
I feel tears sting my eyes. “Am I a never now?”
“I think you always were.”
TWENTY-SIX
Eden
THANKSGIVING WENT BY in Miller’s Pond practically unnoticed. Emmy and I just had turkey pot pies at the house. But Christmas… Christmas is another matter altogether. I know the instant I open the door at Bailey’s that this is a town that loves Christmas.
“Ho ho ho, ya hoser!” Jordan greets merrily from behind the counter. She’s wearing a risqué Santa costume that includes a Santa hat, a cleavage-flaunting red top trimmed in white fur, and skin-tight black leather pants. Her wide black belt has a buckle as big as Emmy’s head and it’s encrusted with flashy faux diamonds. She’s very…eye-catching. And very Jordan.
“Hi, Jordan,” I call as Emmy and I head for the long bar. I told her we’d get a grilled cheese for lunch and then do our shopping.
The only two empty stools are between a guy named Cody that I’ve seen here before and an old wino that I’m not sure ever leaves. I put Emmy beside Cody and then I slide onto the stool beside the wino. He’s swaying slightly, evidently already obliterated at quarter til twelve on a weekday. The best thing I can say about him is that at least he doesn’t stink. Granted, he might actually bathe in alcohol, as strongly as he smells of it, but that’s better than body odor.
He gives me a bleary smile and then returns his attention to the flat screen mounted on the wall that separates the bar from the kitchen behind it. Cody smiles and nods at me when I turn to help Emmy out of her jacket.
“Ladies.”
I smile in return. Emmy leans toward me, slipping her thumb into her mouth. She at least smiles around it, though, when Jordan comes slinking down to take our order. She smells like alcohol, too, but at least she’s more functional than the old man beside me.
“You two ready for Christmas?” she asks, leaning a curvy hip against the counter.
“We’re running behind, but we’ll catch up this week,” I explain, thinking that I probably really do need to get up to Ashbrook to get some decorations and buy a few things for Emmy.
“If you need someone to watch the little princess while you do your shopping, just say the word. I’m great with kids.” She winks at Emmy. Emmy turns her face into my side.
“I bet you’d make a great mom,” Cody says from beside Emmy. His soft blue eyes are fixed appreciatively on Jordan. I’ve noticed him watching her before. I’ve heard him say kind and complimentary things before, too. Jordan always waves him off, though. Like she’s doing now. It makes me wonder if she’s overlooking something good that’s right in front of her eyes.
“You must be as drunk as she is, Cody,” Jason says as he appears down the bar at the cash register. He opens the till and removes some receipts from under the cash slots. Jordan blanches under her makeup. I’ve noticed she’s reacting less and less flippantly to her brother’s cruel teasing. It makes m
e worry about her. She’s had enough abuse from the people in this town, apparently, and the last thing she needs is more from her brother.
“I’m sober enough to see her brother for the asshole he is,” Cody rebuts with a grin.
“Don’t make me come down there, man,” Jason replies amicably.
Cody looks over at me. “He’s all bark and not a damn bit of bite.”
“I heard that,” Jason sing-songs over his shoulder as he disappears again into his office.
“He just doesn’t see that all his sister needs is the love of a good man and she’d be right as rain.” Cody winks at me and I grin, too. Oh yeah. He’s definitely got a thing for Jordan.
Jordan’s smile is less bright when she clears her throat and tries to get back to business. “What are we eating, girls?”
I order lunch for Emmy and myself, and before Jordan leaves, Cody stands and tosses some bills onto the bar.
“Thanks for lunch, Jordan. Catch you later.”
“Bye, Cody,” she says, swiping up the cash and palming his plate. “See you later.”
“Count on it,” he says, smiling widely at her as he pushes through the door.
Jordan puts his dirty plate in a gray bus-pan and then tallies up his bill at the cash register, pocketing the change he left for tip. After she puts our lunch order ticket on the spinning wheel in the corner of the kitchen window, she comes back to clean up the bar where Cody sat.