She didn’t want me enough to stay.
Despite Isaac’s offer to leave, we stayed the rest of the weekend. I couldn’t let her ghost win. This was my weekend getaway with my makeshift, unconventional family, and she wasn’t going to take that from me too.
Now we’re back to real life. I’m at work, Claire is in school. I was a wreck when I dropped her off this morning. She’s wearing a sling, just for the next two weeks while she’s at school. Isaac said it’s a good reminder for her classmates, so they don’t grab her elbow. To me the sling is nothing. No barrier between her tiny bones and the thousands of things I’ve imagined her falling on. Twice already I’ve called the school.
She’s fine, Ms. Reynolds. The assurances from her teacher don’t do much to alleviate my concern. I’ll feel better when I can see her myself.
Britt wants me to join her and a few other people for lunch. I ignore her email. I don’t want to go. I want to sit at my desk and bury my nose in a pile of work, forcing the day to go by faster. Britt comes to find me.
“Teppan yaki,” she whispers into the space between my ear and my hairline. She knows it’s my favorite.
“I think I’ll just stay here.” I give her a reassuring smile. At least, that’s what it’s supposed to do.
It doesn’t work. She frowns, her eyes suspicious. “What’s going on with you today?” She comes around my chair, leaning her backside against the edge of my desk.
I haven’t told her about my mom. I’m afraid of what Britt will do. She has a protective side, and that protection extends to people she considers family. Me. If I tell her where my mother is, it’s possible Britt will jump in her car and hunt my mother down.
Not that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind. I’d been thinking of little else since I saw her forty-eight hours ago. Dreaming up our dialogue. Or, more accurately, my cutting take-down of her actions.
“I had a bit of a rough weekend.” Lame excuse.
“Not the good kind of rough weekend, I take it?” She’s making a joke, but her eyes don’t hold any laughter.
I look up at her, and suddenly my chest feels tight. My lower lip twitches, maybe I’d even call it a tremble, but I refuse to cry at work.
“Oh, God, this is bad.” Britt looks horrified. She picks up my cell phone, fingers pressing the screen, then she puts it to her ear.
“Hi,” she says after a few seconds. I watch and listen. She orders two sandwiches and salads from the place on the first floor of our building.
“What about your teppan yaki?”
She waves a hand in the air as if the promise of freshly prepared Japanese food is long forgotten.
“Let’s go.” She hands me my purse.
We’re quiet until we get outside with our lunch. Britt has found us a little table off the entrance to the building, and she’s already unwrapping her sandwich.
“So, this weekend’s family trip wasn’t a hit?” She takes a bite. A few strands of julienned lettuce fall onto the table.
“No, that wasn’t it,” I open my sandwich and pick out the onions. Britt takes them from me and hands me her pickles. “Actually, that part was great. Isaac is…” I think back to our weekend. “He’s kind of amazing.” My voice is soft. It feels like an admittance, something I’m not supposed to say out loud.
Britt’s head bobs. Normally she would be hounding me for more information, but she knows there’s more to the story.
“And?”
I set down my food, trading my sandwich for the coral and gold bib necklace I’m wearing. My fingers bump alone the stones. “The town he took us to… Sugar Creek. Their resident blueberry muffin baker—” I stop when Britt’s mouth opens wide.
“No,” she gasps. She knows how, and why, I abhor the baked treat. Her head moves back and forth, slowly. “It’s not possible.”
My lips twist. “I’m afraid so.”
“Please tell me you confronted her. Please tell me you demanded to know what the fuck she’s been doing all these years.” Her fist slams down on the table. She’s half-standing, leaning toward me over the table.
I want to tell her that of course I was brave and strong. Like she would be. I saw the women who broke my heart and demanded answers. But, no.
I was a coward.
Her indignation over, Britt lowers herself until she’s back in her seat. She looks as if she’s in pain. Like Isaac did.
“You didn’t say anything to her, did you?” Her voice is full of pity. Because I did nothing? Or because it was done to me in the first place?
I look at my hands. They’re in my lap now.
“Did she see you?”
I shrug, meeting Britt’s eyes. “I’m not sure. She was carrying a tray of muffins. But she spoke to me. She said she stayed at the same cabin when she came to town eighteen years ago.”
Britt makes a disgusted, grunting sound in the back of her throat.
“I ran out. She must’ve watched me go.” I chew my lip, trying to see myself through her eyes. Or the eyes of the girl at the register. What had I looked like, running away like that? Did I make any noise? Cause a commotion? I was there, I lived it, but for some reason I can’t remember it.
“And she didn’t go after you?”
My eyes close for a long moment. “No.” In hindsight, I’m mad at myself. If only I were stronger. If only I could have spoken her name, forced her to look at me, waited for her to realize who I was. Why couldn’t I do that?
Britt comes to my side of the table, sliding across the bench until she’s beside me. “I’m sorry, Aubrey.”
I want to ask her what she’s sorry about. Is it my inability to speak up? The fact that I’ve just found the woman who abandoned me as a small child? Or that I’ve lost her again?
I choose to stay quiet. I let my best friend’s hug warm my chilled center.
Her love feels much nicer than my anger.
“Have you told your dad?”
My Dad. Somehow I’m going to have to tell him. I don’t know what it will do to him, but he deserves to know.
“Not yet.”
“Soon?”
I nod. I’m dreading it, but I can’t use that as my reason to keep this to myself.
Lunch is over. We go back upstairs to our separate desks. I feel better now, less heavy. I still feel like someone has punched me in the stomach, like it’s one long gasp for air, but it’s not so sharp.
I send Isaac a text.
I need to see my dad tonight. Can you handle Claire?
It takes Isaac two hours to respond, which I expect. His scheduled surgeries are in the afternoons.
A smile pulls up the corners of my mouth. Isaac the fixer. The man who accepts me.
I’m incredibly lucky.
“Do you want to sit outside?” My dad walks ahead of me, leading the way, even though I haven't said yes.
It’s hot, and I’d rather be inside in the air conditioning, but considering what I’m about to tell him, I can acquiesce.
He settles in a seat that’s in direct sun. It’s like he runs on a different thermostat than most people. He loves the heat.
I grab the chair opposite him that’s in partial sun and pull my legs into myself.
My dad aims his gaze at me. “What’s going on, Aubs?” A little grin plays at the corners of his mouth. I’m not sure what he finds amusing, and now there’s guilt in my stomach because I’m about to change that.
I open my mouth, but he speaks first. “Before you say anything, I want you to know you have my support. I really like Isaac, and I’m impressed with how he came into a tough situation and made the best out of it. He’s a family man. And he loves the people I happen to love the most too.”
I’m not sure what to say now. I came here to tell him I’ve found my mother, but he’s gone and said all that stuff about Isaac.
Of everything my dad just said, my mind is focused on one particular word.
Love.
My dad thinks Isaac loves us. I know Isaac loves Clai
re, but me? No way. If my dad only knew about our hours. He may not be so pleased with our arrangement anymore.
I set all his words aside. I came here for a reason, and if I wait any longer I’ll chicken out. Because that's exactly what I want to do. I want to bury my head in the sand and pretend I never found her. I liked it better before, when I didn’t know where she was. There was certainty in that. The mess was tidy. Now the mess is everywhere.
“Dad, listen.” I shake my head. “This isn’t about Isaac, though it’s good to know you approve of him.” I stall for another second, pulling all my hair into my hand and laying it over my left shoulder. “I don’t know how to say this, so—”
“Just say it.” His voice is gruff. Not because he’s mad at me. Because he doesn’t do well in the moments right after he realizes he’s going to receive news he may not like.
“I found my mom last weekend. She’s in Sugar Creek.” Best to get it over quickly, like ripping off a Band-Aid.
He’s still, the only movement is his head moving back, like he’s trying to get away from my words. His expression is nearly unchanged. I wish I were in his head, reading his thoughts and feeling his emotions. This would be a great time for him to suddenly do something totally opposite of my stoic father.
I wait. He clears his throat. Crosses an ankle over the opposite knee so his legs form a box. Then he uncrosses it. Takes off his baseball cap, smooths down his unkempt, graying hair, and slides the hat back on.
“Sugar Creek?” Ironic disbelief fills his words. “I did some work there last year. Not right there in the town, but nearby. Trouble with a power line.”
He shakes his head, pinching the bridge of his nose. I imagine he's thinking of how close he was to her, and he never even knew it.
“What did she say?” he asks.
“I didn’t speak to her. I just saw her. She owns the bakery where I went to pick up breakfast.”
His head jerks back again. “Blueberry muffins.” His eyes are wide. I wonder what he’s remembering.
I laugh without feeling happy. “Yep. Other stuff too, but those are her specialty. That’s what I was told, anyway.”
“I’ll be damned. All this time. Sugar Creek.”
“I know.”
He stands. “I need a beer. You?”
“Please.”
When he’s in the house, I take three deep breaths. It’s over. He knows.
“What do you want to do about all this?” he asks when he comes back out.
I take the beer he’s holding out. The neck of the bottle is cold, the beer inside even colder. I take a long drink and set it between my legs.
“I used to imagine finding her one day. Walking somewhere, seeing her out. But she would see me too, and she’d run to me.” My words stop. My imagination takes over.
She’s in my face, her expression frantic. She’s touching my cheeks like she can’t believe I’m there. “I’m sorry,” she repeats. Tears roll down her cheeks. “I had to go away, but I’m back now. Please let me be a mother to you again. I’ve never stopped loving you.”
I haven't had that daydream in years. Not since Claire was born.
“And that’s not what happened?” My dad asks. “She didn’t see you?”
I shake my head. “I’m not certain what she saw. She may have glanced my direction, but she didn’t recognize me. I ran out of her bakery, so maybe she saw my back.” Very different from my fantasy.
“I’d like to pay her a visit,” he says in a low growl.
“No.” I put my hand up, as though he’s going to get up right this second and jump in his truck. “Please, don’t. Not for me, anyway. I can’t stop you if there are some things you’d like to say to her, but don’t do it for me.” If his words bring her back… I don’t think I can handle her here, in Phoenix, or in my life at all. Resolute peace is still peace, and that’s what I’ve made with her. On my own. Because I’ve had to. I don’t need that rocked any more than it has been.
“Are you OK?” I ask, taking another sip.
“Sure.” He answers right away.
I study my dad. He’s looking out at the yard. His exterior is tough and strong. Dry like the Arizona soil. But water flows deep down. He’s feeling things his face won’t show.
We sit quietly, until the sun is almost gone from the sky and the song of the cicadas is more like an orchestra.
Before I leave, I excuse myself to the restroom. Instead, I make a detour to the laundry room to check the lint trap. I’m surprised, and a little sad, to find it empty.
I don’t want to move. I’m afraid to breathe too loudly.
She’s next to me, on her stomach. Her arm is flung over the pillow, her hair falls down around her. Her lips are parted, begging to be kissed.
We must’ve fallen asleep last night.
Usually she retreats after our hour is up. Physically and emotionally. I can always tell when it’s time. Her gates close, her open eyes shut down.
But not last night. Last night, she was different.
Sixty rolled toward me, not away. She curled into me, ran her fingers over my chest. I tried not to show her how happy that made me.
I kissed her forehead, felt the dampness at her hairline. She’d smiled and buried her face in my neck.
Now it’s morning, and I don’t know what to do. Will she wake up and feel regret that she didn’t leave my bed? She needs that barrier she puts up every day. It keeps her together.
Her eyes flutter a few times, then open. She’s alarmed at first, her shoulders tense. She studies me, her head still on the pillow.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft.
“Good morning.” I run my hand over her shoulder and down her arm, then back up.
“I fell asleep.” She smiles shyly.
“We both did.”
“I’m sorry.”
I shake my head. “Don’t be.” My fingers catch in her hair.
She closes her eyes and reaches for me, gripping my shoulders. I move over her as she rolls onto her back. Her hands are in my hair, and I can feel the reverberations of her quiet moans as my mouth roams her chest.
Her hips lift, urging me along. Supporting my weight on my right arm, I hook my left arm under her thigh and hitch up her leg.
Before I go any further, I look into her eyes. I forgot to close the blinds last night, and now the sunlight bounces off everything. It allows me to see her vividly. Hair like dark chocolate, skin creamy, eyes like the ocean. She’s breathtaking.
She reaches for me, her fingers trailing the top of my back. Her eyes are bright, wide. The flush on her cheeks is lovely.
“Isaac,” she whispers.
I love watching her lips form my name. Especially in this moment.
I love how her chest rises with a sharp intake of breath when I enter her.
I love her slow, rugged exhale when I’m all the way inside her.
Her fingers grip the back of my neck. When her free leg wraps around my backside, I see how this time is different.
In all our other hours, Aubrey gave me her body.
But this, right now, is not one of our hours.
This time I can feel Aubrey giving me her heart.
I’m taking Aubrey and Claire somewhere today. Somewhere awesome. But first, I have to get through this phone call. Dr. Redmond called again. Another voicemail, another offer. He thinks throwing more money my way will get me to Boston.
He’s wrong.
When he doesn’t answer, I leave a voicemail. “Dr. Redmond, this is Dr. Isaac Cordova returning your call. I appreciate your secondary offer, and as generous as it is, I remain firm in my choice to decline. My personal life is such that I can’t move at this time. Thank you again for considering me. It’s an honor.” I end the call and set my phone on the desk.
I’m aware I’m not making the best choice for my career, and maybe if things were different with Aubrey, I’d be asking her to move with me to Boston. There’s no way I can do that anytime soon. For one, she’d
never leave her dad. For two, she has just started taking baby steps with me. We turned our first big corner this morning.
Before I get too carried away by thoughts of waking up next to Aubrey, Claire charges into my office. She bounces up and down in front of my desk, impatient. I’m seeing more of her personality now that she’s no longer limited by her cast. Aubrey assures me the sassiness is being resurrected and isn’t newly acquired.
“What’s up, buttercup?” I smile at my daughter.
“You said you’re taking us somewhere special.” Her small hands go to her small hips. I wonder where she picked that up? Aubrey never stands that way.
“And I am. Are you ready?”
Her head bobs up and down. “I’ll go get Mommy.”
She races out the same way she raced in, her long ponytail swinging behind her.
When Claire comes in again, she’s dragging Aubrey with her.
“Claire tells me we’re going somewhere today.” Her eyes question me.
“It’s a surprise,” I say.
Aubrey’s lips turn down. She doesn’t like surprises.
Forging ahead, I tell her she and Claire will both need swimsuits.
Her eyes narrow.
I give her my best pleading face.
She relents. I can tell by the heave of her chest. “Swimsuits, sunscreen, hats, snacks.” She ticks them off on her hands.
“Sure,” I agree without hesitation. I’ll carry the kitchen sink on my back if it means getting Aubrey to try something new.
We spend the next twenty minutes getting ready, and I pack a bag of snacks and bottles of water.
“Ready?” I ask, when Aubrey comes into the kitchen.
“To go where?” She ask’s offhandedly, trying to trip me up.
“Nice try.”
She huffs playfully. Tied around her neck are the white straps of her swimsuit. She’s in denim cut-offs and a tank top.
We get Claire from her room and climb into my truck. Aubrey taps her feet to the music that’s softly playing, and when she realizes she’s doing it, she stops.
“Don’t say anything,” she warns me with a pointed finger.
“Wasn’t going to,” I say through a satisfied smile.
Our Finest Hour (The Time Series Book 1) Page 22