by M. Leighton
My heart doesn’t start beating again until he closes and locks the door behind him.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Cole
I’M ON THE beach before daylight. I couldn’t sleep after I left Eden’s. I didn’t want to be in the house when Brooke got up. So I came here. This is the one place that’s brought me whatever comfort I’ve been able to find for the last three years.
Until Sunday.
I push back the snow until I see sand. I start this castle like I’ve started them all–building up the ground, laying the foundation. I bring up the mental image of Charity, picturing her face with so much clarity my chest hurts. I see every tiny detail–every freckle on her nose, every gold speck in her green eyes. I listen for her laugh.
Only it never comes.
I work a pile of sand into a tall turreted structure, right in the center of the mound and I wait for my daughter to arrive. I watch and I listen, glancing around the empty beach over and over again, but still there’s no Charity.
I sit back on my haunches, the snow no longer cold to my numb knees and hands, and I close my eyes, trying harder to see and hear my daughter. I mentally flip through a hundred different memories, losing myself in them. But the moment I open my eyes, she’s gone.
With a primal growl that the wind carries away, I destroy the castle tower with one brutal swipe of my hands, guilt and pain spewing from my gut like a volcanic eruption, burning in my chest, laying waste to everything it touches.
“Charity!” I yell, glancing up and down the beach in the last-ditch hope that I’ll see her, that I can make this right again.
But I don’t. I don’t see my little girl when my eyes are open. I don’t hear her voice when I’m not listening inside my head.
I flatten the cold, wet sand and I try again, smoothing the ground, building the mound, shaping the base of the tower again. I think harder of Charity, of my little girl, and I wait. And I wait. But still, she’s nowhere to be found.
Again.
I destroy the structure for the second time before I get to my feet and spin away from the ruins. I head for the hard-packed sand near the surf and I take off at a run parallel to the shoreline. As fast as I can, until my lungs burn and my legs ache, I run. Until I can no longer see or hear or think, I run. And when I can go no farther, I stop and hit my knees, closing my stinging eyes.
That’s when I see her. That’s when I hear her. That’s the only time I can see or hear her now–when I shut out the world around me and exist only inside my head. With her.
She’s holding out her arms for me to pick her up, which I do. She lays her head on my shoulder, something she used to do all the time when she was tired.
“Are you sleepy, baby?” I ask her in my mind.
“Yeah,” she murmurs heavily. “I think it’s time to take my pocketful of sand home, Daddy.”
“Don’t you want to build a castle today?”
“No, I think I’ve built enough.”
My heart slams to a stop. “But that’s your favorite.”
“But the other little girl needs you to build one with her.”
Oh, Jesus God! What is she saying?
I feel like what’s left of my world is collapsing, falling in on top of me. Drowning out sight and sound and air. I can’t breathe.
I can’t lose my daughter again. I can’t let her go again.
“I’ll always be with you, Daddy. You don’t have to look for me anymore. And you don’t have to be sorry. I promise.”
One cold tear slips from the corner of my eye to inch its way down my cheek. “But you’re the most important thing in the world to me, baby.”
“I know, Daddy.”
“Do you? Do you really know that?”
She lifts her head and fixes me with her sweet green eyes. “I do. You told me that all the time, remember?”
And I did. When I was with my daughter, I was really with her. She had my heart, my attention, my love. Always. I can only hope she knew how much I loved her. How much I’ll always love her.
“Yeah. I remember.”
“I didn’t forget.”
“I didn’t forget either.” I won’t. I can’t.
“But you’re sad when you remember. And you don’t have to be. I don’t want you to be.”
“I can’t help it, honey.”
“Yes, you can. You have to try.”
“But that’s not fair to you.”
“You’ve stayed with me long enough. I’m happy, Daddy. Now you just have to be.”
“I don’t want to be happy without you. It’s…” It’s not right, I was going to say. Because it’s not.
“You won’t be happy without me. You’ll be happy with me, too. You don’t have to be alone to be with me.”
With a smile that lights up her whole face, she winds her arms around my neck and lays her head back on my shoulder.
And then she’s gone.
TWENTY-EIGHT
Eden
AS PAINFUL AS the days are, I can tolerate them better than the nights. The nights are the worst. In the quiet, after Emmy has gone to bed, the loneliness sets in. The ache I feel for Cole is as visceral as it is emotional. For three nights, I tossed and turned, reliving every moment we spent together. Every smile we shared, every touch we exchanged. And the pain of loss seems only to be getting worse.
It doesn’t help that every night I’ve heard a soft knock at the front door. It’s always later, after Emmy has been asleep for a while. It melts my heart that he considers her in this small way. He never knocks loudly or more than once. It’s as though he’s giving me every chance to forgive him. Yet I don’t.
I can’t. At least not enough to let him back into my life. Emmy doesn’t need the kind of heartache a man like that could bring. I’d have seen that sooner if I’d known he was married.
But today is another day. And I’m hoping with it will come some peace. Finally some peace.
“Do you like it here, Emmy?” I ask as she sits sprawled in front of her bookcase, deciding which book she wants to read to me later this evening.
“Uh-huh,” she mumbles with a nod. She’s distracted.
“Would you be happy if we stayed here?”
I don’t know what I want her to say. Either answer will hurt, but a “no” might make it easier on me in the long run. I can look back and know that leaving was what I did for my daughter’s happiness and wellbeing, that getting away from Cole wasn’t an act of cowardice, but a byproduct of doing what’s best for my child.
“Yeah. Would you?” She turns to look at me, her eyes finding mine. She’s definitely not distracted now.
“I’m happy when you’re happy.”
“You always say that, but you’re happy when Mr. Danzer’s around, too.” Her lips spread into a mischievous grin that brings out her dimples. “I can tell.”
“You can? And just how do you think you can tell, Smartypants?”
“You look at him funny.”
“Funny how?”
She giggles. “I don’t know. Like you want him to hold your hand.”
“I do?”
She nods, still smiling.
“Well, we weren’t talking about me, now were we?”
She turns back to her search. I’m content to let the subject drop. Maybe it’s not the right time to ask.
“Why did he stop coming over?”
She doesn’t turn back around when she asks, which I’m grateful for. I don’t want to have to worry about my expression.
“Some of his family came to town. He’s busy with them.”
“Will he come back when they leave?”
“I don’t know,” I hedge, hating to lie to my daughter. Although I can’t be absolutely positively certain that he won’t. So it’s not really a lie.
“Do you want him to?”
“Yes.” My answer is reflexive. I want him to more than anything. But he can’t. And I can’t let him. That’s all that matters.
“When are you ta
king me to see Santa?” she asks, giving me a way out of this suddenly uncomfortable subject.
“How about tonight? Jordan said he’d be at Bailey’s all week.”
Within seconds, Emmy is up on her feet, dancing her way over to where I sit in the chair. She throws her body against mine, winding her arms around my neck and squeezing as hard as she can. “You’re the best momma in the world!”
“Only because you’re the best daughter in the world,” I reply, pressing my face into her shampoo-scented hair.
Emmy pulls back enough to look at me, her nose less than two inches from mine. “I’m glad I’m not the only one that makes you happy anymore. That made me worry.”
That made her worry?
She’s so mature for her age sometimes that it makes me worry.
“You don’t ever need to worry about me, babydoll. Ever.”
She nods and smiles, but I can tell my words don’t affect her at all. Whatever the reason she’s been so focused on my happiness lately is still plaguing her. I can see it in the sad way she watches me.
“I love you, Emmaline,” I whisper, rubbing my nose against hers.
“Love you, too, Momma.” She hops off my lap as quickly as she hopped on. “When can we leave?”
“How about right after supper? I’ll call Jordan just to make sure he’ll be there.”
She bounces and twirls away, singing something about seeing Santa Claus and getting all her wishes this year. Hopefully at least one of us will get all her wishes this year. I’m pretty sure mine are too far gone.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
Emmy wanted to stand in line by herself, just her and the other kids. She isn’t sucking her thumb, but of course she hasn’t said a word to anyone either.
She’s had her list made out to Santa for a week. She brought it with her so that she won’t have to tell him if she doesn’t feel like talking, which we both know she most likely won’t. That was her idea, not mine. She’s so self-aware sometimes, like she knows what’s better for her, how she’s feeling and progressing, than I do.
“She sure is a pretty little girl,” Jason says from my left. He hasn’t been more than arm’s length away since we got here. “And talkative, too.” He elbows me and laughs at his own joke. Before my bristling can make its way to my tongue and lash out in the form of a cutting remark, he recovers. Somewhat. “I’m just kidding. I shouldn’t have said that. She’s just so quiet.”
And you’re just such an asshole, I add silently. I don’t know why I’m surprised that his teasing is mean. That seems to be the way he is with everyone except me. And I can imagine why I’m exempt. Something about the mystery that lies within my panties, I’m sure.
“She talks when she’s comfortable,” I explain mildly, not even glancing up at him. I’m afraid I won’t be able to fight the urge to slap his smug face.
“I’ll just have to come around more often so she can get comfortable with me then. Since Cole’s not coming around anymore,” he adds, slipping his arm around my waist and squeezing.
I grit my teeth and say nothing. I don’t know how he knows what’s going on between Cole and me, or if he’s just taking wild shots in the dark. But it doesn’t matter. It’s none of his business and I refuse to respond.
“I thought you were pretty fond of your arms,” comes an achingly familiar voice from behind us. Jason and I both turn at the same time to find Cole standing less than a foot away. His electric blue eyes are trained on Jason, his expression as cold as his tone.
“Didn’t see a ‘taken’ sign on her, Cole,” he says, unaffected.
“I didn’t see a ‘touch this’ sign on her either,” Cole replies steadily.
“She can speak for herself. If she doesn’t want me around, all she has to do is say so.”
“If you’d take the hint, she wouldn’t have to,” Cole growls.
“I think you’re overstepping your bounds a little here, brother,” Jason says, taking a step toward Cole.
Cole doesn’t budge, and I can see why. He’s so tall and he tops Jason by at least three inches. Probably outweighs him, too, by at least thirty pounds of sheer muscle.
I eat him up as I look at him. Just seeing him is like a cool compress to a fevered brow. In the back of my mind, I wonder if I’ll compare every man for the rest of my life to this one. To this one handsome, amazing man who walked away with my heart. And then crushed it with his lies.
I feel sadness creep into my chest and tug at my chin. I make my excuses and turn away before either man can see it tremble. “It’s almost Emmy’s turn,” I mutter by way of explanation.
I hurry away, not looking back. No matter how much I want to.
I haven’t seen Cole since the night he snuck into my room and poured out his heart beside my bed. Although I’ll never forget that night, his words and the emotion I could feel pouring off him, it doesn’t change anything. He’s married. So I dare not look back at him. It makes it a thousand times harder to hold onto my resolve when I can see his gorgeous face, when I can read his beautiful eyes.
I stand near the front of the line and I focus on my daughter. She looks so grown up, standing in line holding her list between her tiny hands. Outwardly, she looks like a normal, healthy little girl. Eyes can’t see the scars she bears. I just hope one day they’ll be so faded that she won’t know they’re there either.
Jordan makes me jump when she appears at my side and throws an arm over my shoulders, but thankfully she’s the only person who approaches me. I don’t look back toward either man. By the time Emmy takes her turn on Santa’s lap and we turn to leave afterward, both of them have disappeared.
I know before we even push through the doors that tonight will be particularly rough for me.
⌘⌘⌘⌘
A frown knits my brow when we pull into the driveway and I see a black SUV parked there. My first thought is of Brooke and dread pools in my stomach like acid. I get Emmy out, intending to ignore Brooke Danzer as we pass, but I notice that the vehicle is empty.
That’s odd, I note.
I wonder briefly if she got confused and thought she was at the house Cole’s working on. But if that’s the case, where is she? Did she just walk over there?
I unlock the door to our cottage and push it open to let Emmy inside. I step back out to the end of the porch and glance across the street to see if there are lights on. There aren’t. I move to follow my daughter inside. Before I can continue to wonder about what the hell Brooke is doing, I hear a voice that makes my blood run cold.
“Hey there, darlin’. It’s been a long time.”
My heart jumps up into my throat when I see Ryan. He’s squatting down at the edge of the living room, holding Emmy between his knees. Her face is pale as a ghost and her eyes are big and terrified.
“Momma,” she whispers in fright.
My throat closes. Oh God, that sound! To hear the fear in her little voice. The tremble. The plea.
“I’m right here, baby. Why don’t you come sit with me on the couch?”
She starts to move, but Ryan stops her. That’s when her eyes start to water. She’s a smart girl. She knows this isn’t good.
“Not so fast, little one. Let’s talk for a few minutes. I haven’t seen you in two years. You’ve grown. You’re such a beautiful girl now,” he says, stroking her hair, letting his hand linger a little too long on her back and butt as he continues his touch down her body to then drop away.
“Ryan, let Emmy go to her room. You and I can talk out here.”
I don’t want to attack him and risk hurting Emmy. And I don’t want to say anything that might scare her even further. I’m doing my best to keep my tone and my expression as calm as possible, despite the panic that I can feel clawing at my insides. Panic and rage. The only thing that’s keeping me sane right now is the knowledge that whatever I do and say could worsen Emmy’s condition. She’s been hurt enough. I don’t want her to have to live with the vision of her mother killing a man right in front of her.
Or maybe watch her mother die if that man gets the better of her.
That’s why I have to stay calm. For Emmy. For my sweet, precious daughter.
“She looks just like you,” he says, leaning around so he can see Emmy’s face. She stands perfectly still, her eyes fixed on mine. I smile at her, hoping to soothe her.
“Yes, she does. Emmy, you go play in your room. Shut the door and don’t come out until I come get you, okay?”
Please God, make him let her go. Please make him let her go.
I glance from Emmy to Ryan. I hold his darkly familiar gaze. “Uncle Ryan and I are going to talk for a while. All alone.” I emphasize the last, hoping he knows what that means. If I have to pretend to go along with another rape to get my daughter out of this room, I will. I’d do anything, say anything, withstand anything to keep her safe and unharmed.
Ryan watches me, his eyes narrowing on me then scanning me from head to toe. The slow trip they make back up my body, stopping between my legs and at my chest, makes my skin crawl. It doesn’t matter that he’s handsome, that he could have practically any woman he wants. He’s nothing but a sick degenerate on the inside. A man who rapes children. There is no worse predator in my opinion, no more grotesque offense.
Finally, one side of his mouth pulls up into a leer. “Yes, why don’t you run along, little Emmy? Momma and I have a lot to talk about. We’ve got some catching up to do.”
When he stands, he rubs his crotch. My stomach turns.
My eyes fall to Emmy. “Don’t come out, baby. No matter what you hear, don’t come out until I come and get you.”
She nods and my body goes nearly limp with relief when she runs down the hall and slams the door to her room. I hear the knob rattle as she twists the lock and I think to myself, Good girl.
Now I just have to figure out what to do about Ryan.
“How did you find us?” I ask, moving the short distance to the couch.
“Did you really think Lucy would just let you disappear? You know she’s the type to keep her thumb on everyone and everything. Control. She has to have it.”