by Abby Brooks
Him.
He smiles and stares down at his empty plate, leaning on his elbows and steepling his fingers under his chin. “What would you say if I told you there was a carnival in town?”
I raise my eyebrows in excitement and look at Georgia, waiting for her healthy dose of enthusiasm.
Her little brows purse in confusion. “What's the carnival?”
“Oh, little Bug.” Jackson shakes his head and sits back. The fact that you even have to ask that question proves what a terrible father I am.”
Georgia crawls out of her chair and into his lap. “No you’re not. You’re my bestest daddy ever.”
We get ready quickly, throwing on jeans and t-shirts. I pull my hair back in a ponytail and do the same for Georgia. She beams at me and thanks me and my heart swells with love for this tiny little creature.
This tiny little creature who is not mine.
I'm falling in love with her just as much as I'm falling in love with her dad. And I'm starting to think there's no way I can come out of this without a heart that’s been crushed to pieces never to be put back together again.
But those are thoughts for another day. Another time. Right now, we need to focus on having a little fun.
And if there's one thing Bliss knows how to do, it's have a little fun. Our fall carnival is no rinky-dink little matter. There are games and food and so many rides you almost have to come back the next day to get to them all. There are petting zoos and shows and people dressed in costumes posing for pictures with kids.
The moment we walk through the gates, Georgia spies a real live pony being led in a circle by a man too bored to notice the joy in the eyes of the little girl on the creature’s back. Georgia’s eyes go wide and she clasps her hands in front of her chest, bouncing up and down in excitement.
“Daddy, Daddy, Daddy! Can I ride the pony? Please can I ride the pony?” She can barely drag her eyes off the animal long enough to grab his hand.
“It wouldn't be a day at the carnival if there weren’t at least fifteen pony rides.”
“Fifteen? You're kidding right?” She turns to me and rolls her eyes. “He's kidding,” she explains, as if she had all the wisdom in the world.
Jackson looks appalled. “I am absolutely not kidding, young lady. If you want fifteen pony rides, then my goodness you are going to get fifteen pony rides.” He makes an apologetic face at me, but I don’t mind waiting. Not one bit. I’ll entertain myself with a little people watching. And by people watching, I mean admiring Jackson when he doesn’t think I’m looking.
She adjusts her grip on his hand and pulls him towards the pony. Her ponytail bounces, gleaming in the sun, as she looks back over her shoulder at her father. She's got his eyes. And his temperament. Everything else comes from a stranger. There's a tug at my heart as I find myself wishing Georgia was mine. And that Jackson was mine. And that I was theirs. What would it be like if we truly were the family we pretend to be? How would it feel if his child was my child?
I’m haunted by images of Jackson with his hands on his ex-wife’s swollen belly, smiling at the first time he felt Georgia kick. Or leaning down to whisper to his unborn child. I imagine him treating his wife like the most precious thing, taking care of her and doting on her as the pregnancy progressed. Deep down, I'm jealous of his ex-wife. I want that experience with him and there’s pain in the realization that no matter what happens to us from this point forward, he’s given that part of himself to someone else.
Georgia doesn't ride the pony fifteen times. She gets bored around eight her eighth ride, but I swear, Jackson would have waited for her—smiling like the proudest of fathers, happy in her happiness—for as many times as she wanted. Once she’s done, he spends the rest of the day throwing money around like he can print more if he needed it. We've had so much junk food I don't think I'll need to eat again for a week. Funnel cakes and corn dogs and French fries lathered in ketchup.
While Georgia rides the swings, Jackson pulls me behind a tree and kisses me deeply. “I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he says before lowering his lips to mine again. “You’re so damn beautiful, I can’t stop looking at you.”
“Good.” I press my forehead to his, grateful for this moment of intimacy in and amongst the chaos of the carnival. “I don’t want you to stop looking at me. I want you to see everything there is in me to see.”
Jackson pulls back just enough to study my face, his eyes intent on mine, a little knowing smile pulling up on the corners of his lips. “Oh, I do, Sunshine. I see all of you. All the bits and pieces that make up who you are.” He pauses and I swear he wants to say something else, but at that moment, the music accompanying the swings slows and then stops and Jackson pulls me out from behind the tree in time to find Georgia hopping off the ride, scanning the crowd for us.
She scampers up to us, takes each of our hands, and hauls us off to the next thing that catches her attention. I turn to Jackson, expecting to find him smiling down at his daughter, and instead find him smiling at me.
“Can’t look away,” he whispers.
I blush and drop my eyes, filled from head to toe with love and happiness.
It's been one hell of a good day.
As if that very thought is a taunt to fate, Cain comes swaggering into view. He's got his arm around some girl in a pair of too-short shorts and a halter top that stops just below her rib cage. He sees me and smirks, lifting his chin as if the mere sight of me is a challenge he accepts. Leaning in close and running his hands up under the girl’s shirt, he whispers something to her that makes her face clench tight. She stares at me, angry, as if I'm to blame for whatever it was he just said.
My pace slows and Georgia gives my hand a pull. “Come on, Ashley,” she says in her most encouraging voice.
Concerned, Jackson looks to me and then follows my gaze off to Cain. His eyes darken and his face goes hard. The tiny muscle in his jaw pulses and he glances at Georgia, his thoughts as clear to me as if he'd spoken them aloud. He doesn’t trust himself to keep his cool around Cain and he doesn’t want his daughter caught up in this mess.
Cain struts right up to us, winks at me, pokes Jackson in the chest. “Are you enjoying your day with my girlfriend?” He sneers around swollen lips, tries to see through a black eye still mostly swollen shut.
Jackson sighs. Closes his eyes. Gathers himself before he speaks. He opens his mouth while Georgia clings to his leg, afraid of the bad man in front of her.
I step forward, shocking them all by speaking first.
“I am not your girlfriend,” I say, managing to keep my voice strong even though my insides have turned to jelly. “You have no right to me. None.” I lift my chin. “And I would like you to leave. I want nothing to do with you.”
I look that bastard right in the eye and let him see exactly what I'm made of. Ashley Thompson is not weak. Ashley Thompson is not worthless. I am worth more than harsh words and neglect. I am worth more than my ability to fit into a short skirt and clean up someone else’s mess.
Cain smirks. Looks from me, to Jackson, to Georgia. A snide smile slides across his lips, made all the more disgusting by the swelling and bruising left behind by Jackson's fist. Thankfully, he doesn't say anything. Not one more word. He backs up a few steps, bobbing his head as he stares me down. And then he spins on his heel and walks away, grabbing his girl by the arm and disappearing into the crowd.
Chapter Twelve
November bleeds away and Thanksgiving arrives in a cloud of stress and anxiety on Ashley’s part. Her parents stopped having Thanksgiving dinner years ago and don't even bother to call her. She brushes it off like it’s no big thing, but I can see how much it hurts. The last five Thanksgivings she’s spent alone with Cain, eating Chinese takeout that she hates. He would spend the day playing his video games and ignoring her until he wanted something, when he’d bitch at her for not taking better care of him.
All I can say is that asshole is lucky I didn’t hit him harder than I did.
/> So, even though I would rather spend a quiet day at home with just the three of us, we have Thanksgiving dinner at my aunt and uncle's so Ashley can have a taste of that family gathering she’s been craving. All my cousins are there with their growing families. There are so many little people darting around women with swollen bellies, you can’t turn a corner without running into a kid or someone who’s about to have one.
The minute Georgia sees her cousins, she runs up the stairs and into the house and we don’t see her again until dinner. She feels like she belongs here and that does funny things to my heart. My cousins laugh at old family jokes and tell stories from the last several years. It reminds me of how I used to feel when I was seventeen, in awe of these people and their love for each other. At once curious to know how they do it and certain that it’s all part of some elaborate show.
They’re kind to Ashley. And she, of course, is kind in return. As the day progresses, I can see exactly how easy it would be to fall into a life with her. With them. We could all be one big family of Moores, spending weekends together like this, our children growing up side by side. Learning to be good and kind and strong in the face of adversity. Learning that family trumps all things and that when they’re in need, they have people to turn to.
Except I don't belong to this branch of the family. My clan of Moores is broken and scattered and worthless. We are nothing to each other. My parents are dead and my brothers are gone and that’s all there is to our story.
An ache settles into my heart as Diane and Ashley clear the table with the help of my cousin Lilah. I try to help, but they shoo me away and I go sit in the living room with my Uncle Frank and his sons. I want this for Georgia. These things I don’t even have a name for but make me feel like I’m part of something bigger than myself. I tried to create it in New York and failed miserably. I watch them, try to put a finger on all the reasons they succeed where I failed.
November becomes December. Christmas comes and goes. Ashley takes a hundred different pictures of Georgia opening her gifts and just as many pictures of us all together. I made her promise not to get me anything because I know she’s been saving money for an apartment. In fact, she’s had more than enough money to move out on her own for some time now. She hasn’t brought it up and I’m fine with that. I hope she never does. I like living with her. She's good to my daughter. She's good to me. We're good together.
The New Year comes and goes, we exchange a kiss at midnight and I almost tell her I love her. The words keep finding their way to the tip of my tongue and time and time again, I swallow them down. I’m sure she knows. I’ll tell her one day. When the time is right. Those aren’t the kind of words you throw around lightly.
Lately, all I can think about is providing a life for her. For us. I want to give her more than she’s ever had. I want to whisk her away from this little town and her job as a waitress, where she cringes each time her ex-boyfriend walks through the front door of my bar, desperate to prove he still has an effect on her. He’s always got some slut under his arm and they always drink too much. Inevitably, he makes a pass at Ashley or says something so vile that she’s left breathless in frustration.
Cain Holt never deserved her. Not once. Not ever. The fact that he still has access to her, the fact that he can still get to her and twist his little manipulative knives in her heart, it kills me. It makes me feel like I’m not doing my job because somewhere along the way, I fell in love with Ashley Thompson and that means it’s my duty to keep her safe and secure. I don’t call her my girlfriend and she doesn’t call me her boyfriend because those words are weak and flimsy. We are more than that.
So much more.
Every time I think about Cain, about wanting to take care of Ashley, the very next thought is New York. We could move back. The three of us. We’d never have to worry about Cain again. I could go back to work on Wall Street, building my fortune and ensuring we live a life like my uncle and cousins. I haven’t brought it up yet, but maybe today is the day.
January in South Carolina is nothing like January in New York. Ashley and I can still sit outside on the deck, enjoying the constant rush and roar of the waves lapping up on the beach. It’s something we do almost every day because I need the wind in my hair, the sun on my skin, the open spaces stretching out in front of me. If I spend too much time inside, the walls start closing in on me. My thoughts get caustic and my heart gets poisonous and I know she feels the same way. Our hearts and minds need the vastness of the sky and the wide expanse of the sea or we start to feel trapped by the thoughts in our heads that have too much weight.
Today, in need of movement, we opted for a walk on the beach, holding hands and strolling along while Georgia scampers ahead in search of a brand new batch of shells. Ashley bought her a special seashell bucket and they sat down together to decorate the thing with bits of paint and flowers and other odds and ends from the craft store. It's the kind of stuff I can't do for my daughter. Or rather, the kind of stuff I don't think to do for my daughter, my very manliness getting in the way of knowing how to raise a girl into a woman. Watching Ashley care for her like this, like Georgia is her own child, it’s just another reason I’m falling so crazy in love.
“What are you thinking about?” Ashley asks, her voice almost hidden underneath the roar of the ocean. A storm is brewing offshore, strong wind blowing off the water as the clouds roll and boil in ever darkening shades of gray. Her hair whips across her face and she turns towards the ocean, letting the wind blow it back in place.
I squeeze her hand in mine. “You,” I say as she turns back to me, holding her hair back with her hand. “Us.”
Her face lights up. “I like being part of an us with you.”
“Do you? You sure?” Ahead of us, Georgia bends down, excited over a treasure trove of shells at her feet.
“I've never been more sure of anything.” Her face grows serious. “I can only think of two phases in my life where I can say I was actually happy. That summer when I was fifteen and these last few months. You know what those two periods have in common?”
I pretend to think, staring out at the gathering storm. “Doughnuts?”
“No silly…”
“Pizza?”
Ashley grins and shakes her head. “You, silly. It’s you.” She laughs as thunder rolls off in the distance. “I didn’t realize how unhappy I was until you came back and showed me what it feels like to smile and really mean it.”
Her words create an ache in me. “I hate to think of you ever being unhappy.” We walk awhile as the storm continues to grow. We’re going to have to turn back soon or we’ll be drenched. “I remember seeing you in the hallways in school back when I first moved here. You thought I never saw you, but there’s never been a time when we were in the same place that I haven’t seen you.”
She blushes and lowers her eyes, a smile dancing across her face. “You're just being sweet and romantic about the past because you like being with me now.”
“You can think that if you want. But I promise you I used to swagger down that hallway making sure I looked as tough and nonchalant as I possibly could when I passed you. I knew your eyes were on me and it was all I could do to keep my eyes off of you.”
Ashley looks surprised. “Now I know you’re making up stories. I was just some dumb freshman who somehow got lucky enough to finally catch your attention.”
“Nope. Wrong again. You caught my eye right away. No luck involved. But you were so much younger than me. And so sweet and so gentle, I was afraid I would ruin you. I told myself I couldn't have you. I made myself stay away.” I pull her to me, draw her in close and rub my hand along her arm. “In the end, I lost the battle. And then I learned who you were and I knew then that we were twin souls.”
“Twin souls.” Ashley sighs. “I like that.”
We watch Georgia dance in and out of the sea. Letting the ocean wash up until it licks the tips of her shoes before she runs squealing to the safety of dry land.
“I want to move back to New York,” I say, turning to Ashley and watching her intently.
Her face crumbles. The color drains from her cheeks and her lips purse in a thin, white line. She closes her eyes and she takes a long breath.
“And I want you to come with me,” I finish with a smile.
Her eyes fly open. “What? Why?”
“Because I can't imagine a life without you.”
The corner of her mouth quirks into a smile. “Really?” she asks, a blush warming her cheeks before she shakes her head and blinks it all away. “But that’s not what I mean. I mean why do you want to move back to New York?”
“Because,” I say, taking her hands in mine. “I want us to build a life together and there’s no way to do that in a small town where there's no room for growth. I’m pretty much as big as I’m going to get, owning Fantastic Sam’s.”
Ashley frowns, her eyebrows drawing together. Her reticence surprises me. I didn’t expect to have to defend my motivations, but for her, I will.
“I want what my aunt and uncle have. I want it with you. If we move to New York, I can provide one hell of a life for you and Bug. My girls won’t want for anything.”
Ashley searches my face. “I don't want for anything now. Neither does Georgia.”
“Sure, we’re fine now. But what about later? When she needs new clothes and wants a cellphone? When you both want new cars? When our house is too small? When Fantastic Sam’s can't grow any more than it already has? What then? If we move to New York City, I can get back into Wall Street. I can build us a fortune. I can make us happy.”
“I’m happy now. Mission accomplished.” Ashley sighs. “Besides, as dumb as it is, I always imagined myself raising my family here in Bliss. I want my children to go to the same school I went to. I want to go to parent teacher meetings and remember spending time in the same classrooms. I want to cheer my kids on at football games and remember making out with you under the bleachers. I want a home next to the ocean so I have a place to feel small and insignificant when my thoughts get too big. I want the roots and familiarity of being in the same place for all of my life.”