“I know, I know,” Sarah tried to explain, “I seem completely irrational. But it’s like I told my mother: both of these men made conscious decisions to abandon their children. They can’t expect me to do all the grunt work of raising their kids and then want to sweep in and enjoy the fruits of my labor without me objecting.”
“Well, you don’t know that’s what Abby’s father intends to do,” Pawel argued. “You don’t even know if he wants anything to do with her at all.”
Sarah shook her head, trying to subdue any stray tears. “I don’t know,” she whimpered, beginning to break down, “I am just scared. I’ve always had all the control. I didn’t have to share parenting responsibilities with anyone else. I got to call all the shots, and I don’t think I’m ready to give that up.”
“Well, that’s fair,” Pawel offered. He put his arm around Sarah and pulled her closer to him. “Honey, it’s okay, I’m not trying to upset you, but rather help you think about why you feel the way you do.”
Sarah nodded but the sobs had already started reverberating through her body. “It’s not that I want to deny them knowing their fathers,” she insisted.
“Does any of this relate to your relationship with your own father?” he asked, still trying to prod her gently toward an understanding.
“Oh, god, Pawel,” Sarah said, shaking and rocking back and forth in his embrace, “I don’t want to go there, okay? I don’t want to talk about him.”
“Okay, okay,” Pawel replied soothingly. “I’m sorry, Sarah, really. But know this: your kids are awesome. They are going to be fine, and the reason they’re going to be fine is that you are an amazing woman and a fabulous mother.”
She squeezed his hand. “Thanks for saying that, darling,” she said, “I need to hear that sometimes.”
***
“You there?” came the message. He glanced at his watch and noted it was 20 minutes before his Skype date with Maggie. It was Abby. James smiled; I might as well wish her a Merry Christmas too, he thought.
When she turned on her webcam, he realized she was in a different setting, a bedroom, but not hers. “What’s up, Abby? Merry Christmas!”
“Thanks, I’m with my friend Chloe,” she said and then she saw a flash of another girl on the screen, a petite-framed brunette with pixie-like features and a glimmering nose ring in her left nostril.
“Hi, Chloe, what are you girls doing up this late?” he asked.
“I wanted to tell you the news,” Abby replied. Then she turned to her friend and said something, causing the pair to erupt with giggles. He was positive whatever she said was about him. He smiled nervously, too uncomfortable to think about whatever the comment might have been.
“What news is that?” he asked, trying to appear neutral and unfazed by the laughter of teen girls that was presumably directed toward him.
“I got an email back from my dad,” Abby revealed, her smile so wide he could see her teeth. He knew that was a rare occurrence, like a meteor sighting or a four leaf clover.
“Wow, really? What did he have to say?” But what he was really thinking: I wonder what Sarah thinks about this.
“He was very polite,” Abby replied. “He asked me about my family and about school so I guess he doesn’t mind talking.”
“What did your mom say?” he cut to the chase.
Her grin vanished and James knew that she was anticipating that question by the way her shoulders jutted forward. She had prepared a response. “I’m not ready to tell her yet.”
“I thought when we spoke before we agreed you should tell her you contacted him,” James said, maybe a bit more sternly than he intended.
Abby was silent and it appeared that Chloe had left the room. Shit, this is exactly why I didn’t want to get involved, James thought. Now I feel like I need to tell Sarah if Abby won’t. What if he comes looking for her? “Abby, listen to me, it’s really important that you tell your mom what’s going on, okay?”
“Why?” she fired back defensively.
“Because you don’t really know this guy and now that he has talked to you and knows where you live, he might want to meet you, and your mom should really know well in advance of that happening,” he explained as calmly and rationally as possible, leaving out the possibility that this guy could be a total creep.
“She’s going to be mad, isn’t she?” Abby asked quietly, backing down.
James shrugged. “Your mom is very open-minded and forgiving. So she may be mad initially, but I am sure she will get used to the idea. But the longer you wait and the more interaction you have with him in the interim, the angrier she is going to be.” Sarah didn’t like being kept in the dark about anything, he thought, remembering her reaction when she first learned about Maggie.
“Okay,” Abby conceded. “I will tell her tomorrow and show her the emails.”
James brightened; he’d expected a bit more of a battle knowing how strong-willed Abby was. Of course, she could just be telling me she is going to tell her mom and then not. “So next time I talk to your mom, I’ll be able to ask her if she knows about this?” he asked, calling her bluff.
“I’d prefer if you didn’t tell her you knew,” Abby said in a business-like tone, as if she was drafting a contract.
“She should really know that we talk,” James advised. “So you should throw that in when you tell her about your dad. Just come clean about everything.”
“You act like I’m doing something wrong!” Abby protested.
“No, it’s not that, I just want everything to be on the up and up,” James explained. “Trust me, your mother would rather know what’s going on from the beginning than to be in the dark about anything. I know her well; just trust me on this, okay?”
Abby looked defeated. “Why did you leave my mom?” she suddenly spurted out, trying to turn the tables on him.
Shit, that’s the last thing I want to discuss, he thought, searching for the right way to frame his answer. If I answer at all. He stalled, then realized it was a fair question and one that deserved an explanation. “I care a lot about your mom,” he answered finally, “but we’re in different places in our lives. I want to settle down and start a family. And I’m going to do that with Maggie. I’ve known her a very long time and she’s a great woman.”
Abby’s shoulders drooped and she leaned forward slightly, studying James’s face as if she was trying to read between his words for other clues. Then Chloe reappeared on the bed next to her; James could see her pajama-clad thigh touching Abby’s. “That sucks,” is all she could manage in response, apparently not picking up on anything more than what his words had revealed.
“Yeah,” he agreed. “It kinda does.” He looked at his watch again. “And speaking of Maggie, she’s supposed to be Skyping me in just a few minutes so I gotta go. Don’t forget to talk to your mom about everything.”
Abby nodded. “Okay, Merry Christmas, James.” Chloe waved and mouthed the words goodbye.
“Bye, Abby.”
***
Moments later, James received a “Hello, baby” message from Maggie and accepted her invitation to chat. “There’s my girl!” he exclaimed, happy to see her sparkling hazel eyes. She had the webcam very close to her face so that he could barely see her trademark golden curls forming a frame around her.
“I have a surprise for you!” she offered in the sultriest voice she could muster.
“Oh yeah?” James replied, his curiosity piqued.
He watched as she pulled the computer away and set it on the desk in front of her. He noticed that all the lights were on in his bedroom room and he could see the farthest two corners on either side of the bed. She positioned herself in a provocative pose on the mattress, shouting across the room, “Can you still hear me?”
He was too stunned to speak. Maggie was the epitome of the girl next door, maybe a bit of a tomboy. She didn’t enjoy fussy fashions and she had never, ever worn lingerie for him. For the most part, James appreciated the utilitarian pract
icality of his betrothed. He liked that she was independent and didn’t succumb to the latest fads; rather she had a natural style and exuded an easy confidence, seemingly unaware of how beautiful she was. So, he nearly had to pick his jaw up off the floor when he finally processed the vision before him: Maggie decked out in a red velvet nightie with spaghetti straps and white marabou trim edging the bustline and hem.
“James?” she suddenly seemed a bit panicked. “You still there?”
“Of course, I’m just blown away. You look amazing!” He blew her a kiss.
“Are you alone? Do you have some privacy?” she asked with a hopeful glint in her tone.
“Yes, it’s just me in the office and the door is shut. How was your Christmas? I’m sorry you had to work.” He watched her cross her long, sleek legs and noticed she even had matching red polish on her toenails. He could only wonder if she tasted as good as she looked.
“James,” she admonished him, “I don’t want to talk about work. I want to please you.”
Wow, he thought, where is this coming from? He had never seen her this bold, this playful. He watched her uncross her legs, bending one at the knee and placing her foot on the bed so that her thighs were spread. She lifted up the crimson fabric so that he could see she was only wearing a tiny triangle of red material covering her sex.
“Let me see your tits,” he instructed, feeling his erection straining against his uniform pants and deciding to relieve some pressure by unfastening them and pulling out his wanting cock.
She complied, pulling the white feathered bodice down to reveal her small, perky nipples. She cupped her breasts in her hands and pushed them toward him, shifting so that she was on her knees. “What else would you like to see?” she inquired, her eyes smoldering under heavy, dark shadow. He’d never seen her that made-up. She looks so glamorous, he thought, seeing her in a new light. She really is a beauty. I’m so fucking lucky!
“Touch yourself, baby,” James commanded, beginning to stroke his cock very slowly as he imagined what it would be like to be sliding it inside her, feeling her hot, wet pussy contract around him as it accommodated his swollen girth.
She began to move her hand beneath the velour chemise, hooking her finger under the g-string and pulling it to the side. She threw her head back and moaned as she parted her lips and trailed her fingertip up her moist slit. She looked at him expectantly, waiting for his next directive.
“Taste it,” James said, his voice throaty and deep.
That instruction caught her off guard and she began to giggle uncontrollably, collapsing on the bed in a fit of laughter. “Omigod!” she exclaimed, finally turning toward the camera again, “I am so sorry!”
“Why are you laughing?” James questioned, his erection beginning to subside.
Maggie was finally still, now cross-legged on his bed but she had pulled the laptop onto the mattress in front of her. She was shaking her head and still laughing, but soon it became apparent that the laughter was an attempt to keep her tears at bay. “I’m sorry, honey.”
“Why are you sorry?” James tried to adjust his tone to sound soothing and kind, and not disappointed, which he was since he’d desperately needed a release and he wanted to have it while watching his fiancée masturbate.
Her grin was plastered on her face, freezing it so that she couldn’t inadvertently cry. “I just wanted to be sexy for you, honey, to make you want me. And it’s just not me. I suck at it...” Her voice trailed off as she glanced up, hoping that he wasn’t upset.
“Of course you’re sexy to me,” he consoled her. “You look amazing!”
“Thanks, honey. I could do it if you were here, but without you, it just feels weird,” she admitted.
“It’s fine,” he assured her. “I do appreciate the effort.” He sighed at the thought of his aching balls nestled back in his pants.
She went on to change the subject, her trip to Ohio for New Years and her plans to shop for wedding gowns with her mother and sister. James’s spine was tingling, partially because all the blood that had been directed toward his cock now seemed suspended throughout his body. All revved up and nowhere to go, he thought. And partially because they hadn’t talked about concrete wedding plans for a while. He had been wondering if they shouldn’t wait until after he returned to set a date and start making plans.
Of course, I can’t tell her that now, he realized. So he smiled and nodded. “I’m sorry you had to work on Christmas,” he apologized again.
“Well, you’re working on Christmas too,” she retorted. “It’s fine, baby. Next Christmas, we’ll be married! We’ll be together, I just know it!”
James’s smile was stiff, and he hoped she couldn’t tell that it was forced. “Sure, baby,” he reluctantly agreed.
As they exchanged goodbyes, all he could think about was that Sarah would have never chickened out if she was putting on a performance like the one Maggie attempted. She would have been a star.
***
Chapter Ten
Three Steps Back
I’m climbing the face of the rock, searching for the best hand- and footholds. My gun, sheathed in its holster, is shifting against my thigh with each advance, making my weapon point toward the sky. My assailant seems to have disappeared, but the stink of him still lingers in the air. I know he’s on that ledge under me and I will be safer on higher ground. My heart is pounding, urging me higher, faster. Suddenly I feel the holster catch against my leg and in a flash the gun pops out. I look behind me and see it crashing to the earth below. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Now I’m unarmed. Fuck.
***
Sarah was vibrating with fury but struggling... and somehow managing...to keep her cool. At least on the surface. Her daughter had just confessed to tracking down her father and receiving an email from him. She also admitted to being aided by her grandmother, Sarah’s very own mother, who had undoubtedly known Sarah’s opinion on the matter. “I’m going to need a minute,” Sarah seethed under her breath, somewhat grateful her mother and son weren’t in the house.
Abby’s face was pale and clenched with worry. She watched her mother turn her back to walk toward the french doors, interpreting the action as a dismissal and opportunity to escape upstairs to her lair. Once the room was empty, Sarah let out a cleansing sigh and examined the melting drifts of snow that clung to the edges of the deck. The day was fading fast into oblivion, but the sky was cold and gray. It would be one of those days without a sunset, where the day dissolves into night without any glow or warmth.
We’re in the last few days of 2011, Sarah considered. She reviewed the timeline of the year’s events in her mind and tried to determine if it had been a good year or a bad one. There’s no such thing as bad, she reminded herself. It’s all your perspective. It’s what you learn along the way. She crossed back to her armchair and collapsed, feeling her weight absorb into the cushions. I thought I got so far with James and then look what happened last summer. It was all for naught. And with Abby...I thought we had an understanding but she went behind my back. Hell, my own mother disregarded my wishes! I feel like this is the year of two steps forward, three steps back.
Sarah remembered what Pawel had said about exploring the reasons she was so opposed to Abby seeking out her father, that perhaps it was not Abby she was worried about getting hurt. Maybe I am the one worried about getting hurt. She stood up as if controlled by an external force and robotically made her way up the stairs toward her bedroom.
Her fingers were trembling by the time she unearthed the tattered shoebox from the back of her closet. The red cardboard was faded and two of the corners were held together with tan packing tape. She hadn't opened this box since her 18th birthday, although it had made moves from Colorado to New Mexico and to Maryland along with the rest of her earthly possessions. It's been almost twenty years, she thought, twenty years since she shifted through the contents and studied the pictures that she'd spent a lifetime trying to understand. She hadn't needed to look at the actual objects in so
long because she had memorized every minute detail.
Like many photographs from the 1970s, these had a reddish cast to them. Most were snapshots taken with 35mm film but there was one 5x7 professional portrait and that was the one that haunted her. On the left, a five-year-old girl with two long dark braids and big brown eyes wearing a yellow eyelet dress perched serenely on the plaid bell-bottomed knee of a man with glasses, shoulder-length brown hair and a matching beard and mustache. Next to the man was a sturdy raven-haired woman with a wise smile spread across her full, wine-colored lips between well-defined cheekbones highlighted with rouge. Her dark eyes were rimmed with liner and her black hair, parted down the middle, fell loosely around her shoulders. She wore an olive green peasant-style blouse and a long brown skirt. A chubby, dimpled-legged toddler with shaggy brown hair sat on a stool in front of her showcasing a toothy grin.
Sarah had studied the pale gray eyes behind the man’s glasses a million times, searching for answers. Who was this man? Her limited memories were of his smell, the sound of his voice, his posture as he sat reading a newspaper in his rust-colored tweed armchair, the scratchiness of his beard against the tender flesh of her cheek when he kissed her goodnight and tucked the covers up around her chin. No matter how many times she had oscillated between curiosity and apathy, the simple fact remained: this man was her father and he left her.
Her mother had always been willing to answer any questions that Sarah and Adam asked about him. She never belittled him, criticized him, or demonized him. Her face would drain of color at the mention of his name, but she'd gracefully conceal any resentment she harbored. Having lived through her own parallel situation, Sarah had always tried to use her mother's steadfast neutrality as an example of how to talk about Daniel Taylor, but she had failed miserably throughout the years. The disdain and hurt were too difficult to hide.
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