by Leanne Davis
The last day, we both groan with dismay as we reluctantly pack. “I don’t want to leave this place,” he mutters, nuzzling my neck. I am standing, ready to exit the door with our packed bags between us.
“I know. It’s been so much fun. More than relaxing.”
“I don’t want to face real life.”
I nod my agreement as we finally pry ourselves away to get in the car and leave. I glance back one last time before the dense trees cut off my view of the ocean. The gateway to a world of magic and hope I never knew I lacked. I feel sure it will follow me, us, home.
Nerves ripple through me. I wonder how this will translate. Coming here, I wasn’t sure if we liked each other, or simply took common sanctuary from our mutual pain. Turns out, we like each other a whole bunch. The sexual connection extends to personality compatibility as well as witty conversation and banter.
But will that be the case when we return to real life? We’ll be dealing with our jobs, his family, our mutual friends and the tattered remnants of Ireena’s memory between us. Not to mention Dayshia. I have no problem with the little girl of my best friend who is the spitting image of her. But I can’t ignore the weight of reality and tired issues start filling in the space between us as we hit the main highway. We slowly return to the place where what we left is waiting for us.
The wedding encounter was a surprise and how we got back together a shock, as was our impromptu vacation. Who knew the connection it would create in us? Or the unparalleled joy it would foster in me? Now I sincerely wish it all comes home with us.
We grow quieter as we enter the Gorge and follow the road along the Columbia River. A body of fresh water I always considered huge, but after seeing the Pacific Ocean is relatively small and comfortable to me.
“Will you be extra busy to make up for the days you took off?”
“Yes. I have several clients with new logos and press kits due. Including those for your restaurant.” I tilt my head with my eyebrows raised. He flashes a small smile at me but it seems smaller, more measured than it would have been a hundred miles ago.
“Devon should be back from his honeymoon. He’s moving during the next few days. Mom handled the café and Dad took care of Dayshia this week.” Damion called home every day. I listened quietly to the updates from his parents and the sweet words he spoke to his daughter. They were brief and spoken in a baby voice that kind of melted my heart. I wanted to wrap my arms around that big, sexy guy talking to his little girl. But I remained quiet and respectful of their time. I never made my presence known to his family. I didn’t rub in what we were doing or why.
I knew all that. Why the warning in his tone?
“That your way of telling me you’ll be busy?”
“Yes. Just mentioning it.”
Suddenly the atmosphere is tension-filled. Like he’s on the defensive. Which is crazy. Only an hour ago, we were both smiling with shining, dopey eyes and goofy grins at each other. Why does he seem suddenly defensive?
We’re pulling into my driveway but all the fun, little glances and flirty smiles and sparkling eyes are woefully absent. His mouth is pulled tight and set in a straight line. “I’ll have to spend extra time with Dayshia to make up for how long I was gone.”
“I get that.” Couldn’t we both share that responsibility? I used to babysit her after all. So, why would Damion suggest I couldn’t understand why he needed more time with the daughter he hadn’t seen in a week? Already, something is different. He puts his vehicle into park and shoots out the door before I can say anything. I sigh, rolling my shoulders. The strangling arms of tension are starting to creep into my neck area. Something is off and nothing should be.
He pulls my stuff out of the trunk and carries it, indicating for me to go first. Polite and chivalrous as he was on vacation. But the carefree ease of his gaze, smile, and even the way he holds his body is completely gone. He’s different. The more subdued, quiet, intense Damion that I usually see. The one I’ve mostly experienced around him. For the first hour of our trip together, I was surprised and delighted. He was none of those things. I realize now that was the big surprise. This is his true reality.
Damion can’t share real life with me. With us. Perhaps with anyone.
He sets my stuff in the hallway inside the front door when I unlock it. Rising to his full height, he jams his hands awkwardly into his coat pockets and pokes his elbows out. “I’ll call you? In a few days… given all the things we both have to catch up on…”
He’s unsure. His tone, demeanor and gaze bounce around like a ping-pong ball.
“Yeah. Call me.”
“I will.” He leans forward to kiss my cheek and I fist my hand. I have to hold inside the harsh squeeze on my heart and blink back the tears that fill my eyes. He’s gone. I don’t get it. Nothing happened except a drive down a road. On one end, he’s Mr. Right, so wonderful and present and engaged. On the other end, he’s awkward and visibly annoyed. Not so wonderful, present or engaged. At least, that’s my impression now.
I turn and follow him to the door as he walks out without a backwards glance or a wave or hesitation or regret.
What? After a week of sex and relaxation, a reprieve from being a single dad, now he’s good? What the hell? I don’t know what to think or feel. This morning, I was filled with glee, joy and all but singing from the damn rooftops. Tonight, I feel compelled to shut my front door and dramatically lean against it, hugging my arms around my waist and dropping to the floor in a fetal position to cry.
But no. I straighten up and do the opposite. I walk towards my suitcase, ignoring the cold brick that occupies the place where my heart used to be. I head towards my bedroom to unpack. Then I can sit down and tackle all the waiting emails while observing the looming deadlines. I have an entire business I must sustain. I silently scream at Damion. Sure, I don’t have a child. I get that. But I do have bills and a business and no one around to help me. Ever. No backup. My former backup? Is now dead. His deceased wife. Fuck. I guess, I wanted to believe the fairy tale of living next to the ocean with him a little too much. I even dared to think maybe we both had each other now?
I try to ignore the knots in my gut as I return to real life.
Perhaps my life was never destined to take a vacation.
Chapter 10
DAMION
Regret inundates me as I leave Kaeja’s house. I don’t know what came over me. As soon as we hit the highway and got closer to home, the burden of my daily life became clearer to me. Ireena. Dayshia. All of my responsibilities swirled inside me and the light, easy, connected feelings that so intimately blossomed and brought us together snapped in two. I can’t say why. Or how. I certainly didn’t plan it. But my brain started spinning and involuntarily tuning back to what awaited me at home. I knew how much there was to do but mostly, it was about Dayshia. I was Dad again. The only role that mattered. I wasn’t very good at balancing my tasks as a single dad with all other duties in my life. Our vacation was amazing and far more necessary and nourishing than perhaps I truly deserved. Now? All I can think about is my to-do list. My parents filled in for me over the past week, so I really have to get straight back into the game. I have to be present. Our vacation is over.
Guilt. How easily it fills me. When I’m with Kaeja, I never know what I should do or say to her and the guilt creeps in because I’m failing her.
Failing Dayshia. Failing Kaeja. Failing my parents. Not too long ago, I failed Devon. And in the end, I failed Ireena. I know it wasn’t my fault, but everything about her death makes me feel like a failure. I can’t fail anymore. I can’t handle all the guilt that results from it. And I especially can’t fail Dayshia.
I pull into my parents’ driveway and the entire week fades away as this feels so normal. I’m right back to it. I quickly exit my car, suddenly way beyond anxious to hold Dayshia in my arms. Safe. I want to be comforted as well as comforting. I am aching now to see her. I rush to the front door and my mom opens it before I get there. I give
her a quick hug before I scoop up Dayshia.
She eyes me suspiciously at first, lacking a huge grin or any greetings or hellos that a parent might wish and expect after their first prolonged absence. She’ll be fussy and difficult tonight. That’s just Dayshia. I grin as she squirms and lets out a primitive squawk. Her talking isn’t of age yet, and she grunts and screams a lot more often than other two-year-olds.
“I missed you, baby girl.”
She doesn’t return the sentiment and prefers the toy blocks that capture her attention and sit in front of her. She goes right back to them. I ruffle her hair, which Mom pulled into a single ponytail.
“How was she?”
“Mostly good. Some tantrums and minor difficulties. Mostly due to the changes; you know how she doesn’t like her routine being disturbed.”
I nod, picturing their week, although they already provided me with a daily report. Mom packed all of Dayshia’s stuff and placed it by the door, which is just her personality. “Did you go nuts this week because of it?”
“It was fun. Vigorous. Exhausting. But it also reminded me I should be retired so I could enjoy my entire family.”
“Where’s Dad?”
“Mowing the lawn. He should be around the front by now.”
“Well, I’ll let you guys enjoy some peace and quiet. Gotta get Dayshia home and settled and give her some dinner. Thanks, Mom. The break was pretty wonderful.”
She hesitates and nods. I know she wants to hear all the details. She definitely wants to ask about Kaeja, but I’m not ready to discuss or even contemplate it. Finally, I reply when she’s holding the front door for me. I lift Dayshia and hoist her stuff over my shoulder. “Kaeja and I had the greatest time. I don’t know how that translates at home, however.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“Not yet. We still have to figure it out. I need to get settled without having Devon around, and start taking care of Dayshia alone. It’s good. It’s about time, but it will take some adjustment.”
“Yes, but you are allowed to have a life too, Damion. And she is…”
“Nothing like Ireena, and you actually like her. I know. But it has to be my decision, Mom.”
Shamed by his statement, she grows flustered. I touch her hand. “I’m sorry. I know you tried. I know what a trial Ireena and I were at first. I really do. But this time I need to do things right. I have to see what that looks like, especially now that Dayshia is involved.”
She bites her lip and nods. Quiet. “Okay, son. I want to see you happy. Not just surviving. It’s been a long haul the last few years. I hope you could share some things with Kaeja.”
“It’s too soon to say.”
I don’t know why that is. But it’s true. I set Dayshia in her car seat and strap her in. Kissing her forehead and cheek just because. She finally gives me a small smile. My heart lands right at her feet. I rub her arm. “Ah, baby. I missed you.”
She doesn’t answer but sticks two fingers into her mouth. It’s something she does often and we can’t break her of it. Well, at least newbie-me can’t.
“Damion…” I turn when my dad’s deep, serious voice draws my attention. I straighten up, shutting the car door. “Hey, Dad.”
My dad is half African-American and half Thai descent. The tattoos from his youth are pretty incongruous to his and my mom’s conservatively traditional life. That was how they raised us. He went to college, became an engineer and took care of us. He has one indulgence. He paints beautiful scenery pictures and sells them online and makes a damn fortune off them, to be honest.
He’s also quiet and calming, someone we can rely on no matter what. We talked last night and I know he won’t repeat the conversation about how the trip was. I always know that. I tilt my head because he has something to say to me.
“It might not be my business but I noticed some things.”
“What?” He doesn’t waste words. I know that too.
“Dayshia… she’s a lot like what my family used to say I was like as a kid.”
I smile, kiddingly. “That bad, huh?”
He shakes his head without smiling. “No. I was hard. They didn’t understand some things.”
He’s still not smiling. Even more serious than I’ve ever seen him. “Dad?” I ask, my voice reflecting my concern.
“I can’t say for sure, but I recall what my mom and sister used to say about me. I think… she might be like me. Maybe, you should find out.” He shrugs. “It never mattered to me what I am. But others need some kind of an understanding. Dayshia’s so simple for me to figure out, but I know others consider her hard to understand sometimes…”
My stomach twists. “You think she’s like you?”
Dad never mentions this. He doesn’t think it matters. To him, the information he was told about himself is something to ignore and look past. He says it doesn’t help him. It only helps others to understand him. Only my mom fully knows about it and she explained it to Devon and me over the years. But for us, Dad was just Dad. Awesome. Solid as the earth under our feet. Loyal and reliable as the morning sun. There were no worries about what he “had.”
But in my daughter?
“Dad…?”
“I don’t know anything. But she likes things a certain way. She gets easily overwhelmed and she can’t stop herself once she goes off. I get that. The world overwhelms her and she controls it by repeating certain actions that others might not understand. I just think… maybe… well, everyone always said it helped to know about me. I thought you’d want to know what I observed.”
No one observes life, people, or personalities like my dad. The difference from others is the lack of emotional reactions to what he notices. He literally notices everything. He could tell you how almost everyone he knew acted, behaved, laughed, sounded, how they said things, their patterns in speech, how they interacted and how loud their voices rose, even how much they spoke using their hands. No tells about any person are missed by my dad. He doesn’t comment unless he is specifically asked, however. He just notices everything.
My dad is Asperger, as he likes to call it. He said that Asperger’s is now on the autism spectrum, but he liked the distinction that it used to have. It was something I’ve known about since I was ten. Nothing scary about the word, diagnosis or description to me. It didn’t change my dad at all to me or the way I saw and loved him. Just as he loved me. The love was inside him for my mom and us, and his mother and any other family members or friends. He just didn’t express it as others might do, and if he did, it was often learned behavior. My mom liked using lots of words, so he spoke more often with her. He wasn’t particularly affectionate, but it wasn’t out of coldness or disinterest. That was just him. He learned to show it to us and Mom because she told him we needed it.
But Dayshia?
I stare at my dad. I’m stunned. Words can’t form in my brain. My heart slams into my torso. It sounds so big and scary now, way different from the calmness I felt knowing my dad was autistic.
But is my daughter?
Is Dayshia? There are so many unknowns. All of it would be my responsibility. On me to figure out. To handle. To… do what?
But if Dad saw things… perhaps they were things we might not see?
And there were other considerations…
“Just think about it,” Dad says gently. He sets a hand on my shoulder and squeezes. “I’m here if you need to talk.”
“Did you tell Mom?”
“Yes. She thought I should tell you what I thought and saw.”
“Did she agree with you?”
“After I told her.”
I’m numb. Paralyzed. Scared.
But I just nod. “I’ll…” What? What will I do with this juicy morsel of news?
“Just consider it and discuss the possibility with her pediatrician.” He nods. “It doesn’t change her. It’s just her.”
I nod. Dad is way too blasé. He doesn’t get what a blow this is to me. The raw fear rippling thro
ugh my spine. The urge to grab my head and shout to the universe, “What next? Why me? Why us?” She’s just a little girl. My little girl. I can’t contemplate the gravity of this. Suddenly, panic rips through me. No. This isn’t a thing. This isn’t something that affects my daughter. No. “I have to go.”
Dad nods. He doesn’t press me. He won’t. I know that. But I can’t be around him right now, I’m too freaked out. Pissed off, really.
Scared.
Then I tuck it away. Fuck. Not right now. She’s too young. I have too much to deal with. She’s fine. She’s a little slow in her development and social engagement. Not uncommon at this age. Not at all.
“Daysie… Daze… Darling… come on, honey. Come out… please?” I beg my daughter to come out from under the table where she’s crouched. I can’t quite reach her unless I crawl under there with her. When I do, her wailing gets louder and her screeches go higher. She’s having a fit, inside a zone. I can’t get through to her. I can’t get her to stop. I can barely stand it. The incessant screaming is way more than crying. It’s more than screaming too. It’s a shrill shrieking sound that she repeats over and over again. It defies description. It is not of this world. I swear, my daughter’s tantrum, (Lord, that’s too mild of a word!) is unique in the natural world. Her shrill shrieks almost exceed the perception of the human ear. And the stamina with which she manages to sustain it during these episodes is something I’ve never experienced.
She stares at me, her long-lashed, gingerbread-colored eyes are huge drops in her smooth, clear face. The deep shade of her brown skin highlights her gaze, and she appears pensive and soulful to almost everyone. They comment about her eyes to me. But now the color glimmers in the flood of tears she releases. Endless. Big, goose-egged-sized drops roll down her smooth, little cheeks. She is screaming uncontrollably. Mouth wide open. Eyes big as saucers and then squinting shut as her chests rises way too high up and then down to exert the blast of power that comes from her mouth.