Eight (Love by Numbers Book 6)

by E. S. Carter

  “I’m not here to hurt you again, Halle,” he states as the door closes behind us. “I hope you know that.”

  I look from the box in my hand to that man at my side and decide that I do know that. He’s so different from the man I last saw two months ago. He’s like night and day, and I have to find out what’s changed to make him this way.

  “I can see you’re different, Josh,” I begin. “But you’re going to have to explain to me why, because as far as I can tell, we’re the same people we were a couple of weeks ago. Nothing has changed for me.”

  As my feet hit the sand, I hear him murmur, “Everything has changed for me.”

  We walk to a spot far enough away from the road and the rear of the club to be out of sight from prying eyes and sit down on the cool sand with only the moonlight to bear witness to our date.

  “Dammit,” Josh curses loudly, a few moments after we settle. “The flask only comes with one cup, and I didn’t think to bring a knife for the cake.”

  I turn to look away from the ocean glistening calmly before us and stare at the profile of the man at my side.

  “It’s okay,” I tell him quietly, a small smile on my lips. “I’m happy to share, and cake is always better when eaten with your fingers.”

  “This could get messy,” he states before opening the box and placing it between us on the sand.

  I’m not oblivious to the dual meaning of his words. He’s not just referencing the cake.

  “Isn’t that what life is? Just one big old mess,” I ask rhetorically.

  He stops his movements and turns his head to look at me.

  “Life is complicated, ugly and often messy, but it’s also beautiful too.”

  His hand finds mine, and he links our fingers.

  “It’s also incredibly short, and I’m done with letting it pass me by. It’s like I’m a bystander watching others live while I go through the motions, but I want to live it, I want to embrace the mess, and if I come out a little messy too, at least I can say I lived and not just existed.”

  “What changed for you?” I have to ask. I need an answer to that question more than I need my next breath.

  “Everything,” he begins before releasing my hand to pour coffee into the lid of the flask that also doubles as a small cup.

  “It was the anniversary of Laura’s death and also Arthur’s birthday,” he states quietly but with a determination in his voice to confess and share this with me.

  Laura. Such a pretty name.

  “I expected it to be the day that broke me completely, but my entire family showed up. What could have become a day for me to dwell and slip back into unbearable grief, actually turned into a celebration of two lives – Laura’s, and the little boy she sacrificed herself to bring into the world.”

  He hands me the steaming mug of coffee to take the first sip and our fingers brush, eliciting that same reaction deep in my belly that always comes from his touch.

  “When someone you love dies, grief is a by-product of that loss, but it can become indulgent, and it doesn’t serve anyone. The pain you endure becomes something you live on like air or water or food.”

  His eyes track the water before us, but I stay connected to him by more than his words when he softly places his hand on my shin as if to anchor himself while he lays out his truths before me.

  “That day I-” he shakes his head lightly, his eyes now focused on the recent memory “-no, we, transformed all our grief into remembrance. We shone a light on all that was Laura, highlighting her and the joy she brought to each of our lives. In doing so, we each gave something of her - our memories, and our love - to another person. That day was the day I realised that for all of us who were lucky to love her, she would never die.”

  He turns to face me once more with tears pooling in his eyes and a sad smile on his face, and I can’t help but reach out to touch him and give him comfort. He leans into my touch, absorbing it and speaking directly to me for the first time since we sat here on the beach.

  “But it was also the day I realised I had been dying, and the day I decided that for my kids, for my family, but also more importantly for me, that I needed and I wanted to live.”

  He leans forward to rest his forehead on mine, and I close my eyes at the touch.

  “You gave me that, Halle. You. And if nothing else ever happens between us, I wanted to tell you that.”

  I’m silent. Not because what he’s shared hasn’t impacted me, but because I don’t have the words to share just how much.

  Everything he’s said has been my life up until now. Yes, I’ve been alive, but I haven’t been living.

  For him, I could. For him, I could live.

  “What happened?”

  I don’t have to elaborate. He knows I’m asking about his wife.

  He lifts his head from mine, looks for a long, painful moment into my eyes and then resumes tracking his gaze across the ocean. It’s like it’s too painful to verbalise unless he detaches slightly, but he keeps his hand on my leg. I’m his anchor at this moment, and it fills me with a sense of belonging that I’ve never had before.

  “She had epilepsy. If she didn’t take her meds, her seizures could become regular and quite violent.”

  Anger tries to break through his words, and he remains silent for a beat while composing himself. I can see how much he is struggling with what he’s about to say, so I gently take his hand from my leg and lace his fingers with mine, giving them a small squeeze to tell him ‘I’m here, I’m listening’.

  With a shaky breath, he continues, “When she fell pregnant with Ivy, we discussed with her specialist the risk her meds would have on the baby. With the kind of drugs she was prescribed, it increased the risk of congenital disabilities or neurological conditions by about eleven percent, but he also said that he didn’t know how the pregnancy would affect Laura’s condition if she came off her drugs. It could have made it worse or in some cases better.”

  “But Ivy is okay, isn’t she?”

  A proud and beaming smile eclipses his face at the mention of his little girl.

  “Yeah, Princess Ivy is perfect.”

  “So Laura stayed on her meds?”

  His brow crumples in confusion as he pieces his thoughts together and answers,” Yeah, she did when carrying Ivy. We argued about it, but I insisted that her health was more important.”

  Realisation dawns and a sinking feeling hits me straight in the gut.

  “But she didn’t with Arthur?”

  He shakes his head sadly and pinches his lips together; fighting back the emotions that threaten to overwhelm him. When he’s got himself under control, his voice sounds thick and hoarse.

  “No, she told me she was still taking her meds, even told her midwife and doctor the same thing, but she stopped taking them as soon as she found out she was pregnant. After she…” he swallows thickly. “When my mother was cleaning out her drawers in our ensuite bathroom, she found all of Laura’s meds hidden in a cosmetics bag that was pushed to the very back.”

  He releases my hand and wipes his palms down the legs of his jeans. Lost without his touch, I place the now tepid coffee between my feet and wrap both arms around myself. I know this isn’t the end of the story and if he needs to do this without my touch reminding him he’s here with me and not her, I can understand that, but it doesn’t make me feel less devastated.

  His voice takes on an almost dreamlike quality as he recalls the day he lost her, and the day he gained a son.

  “Laura had been complaining that she was feeling lethargic all weekend, but we both put it down to the hot weather. By now she was almost full term and finding the summer heat unbearable. The following day I had parent and teacher evening in school, so I needed to leave early and knew I’d be home a little later. I kissed her goodbye at six and left her in bed. She begged me to call in sick and stay home. I knew she was teasing, but I called my mother and asked her to stay with her for a few hours until I got back.”

  He hes
itates before continuing, and I know this is getting more difficult for him, but I fight back the urge I have to touch him. I know when he needs comfort he’ll come to me, and I’ll be ready to offer it without restraints or restrictions.

  “My mother stayed with her during the morning and then took Ivy out after lunch. Laura said she was tired and wanted to grab a few hours in bed before I got home, so my mother promised to keep Ivy until I came to collect her.”

  The memory begins to get too much for him, so he pushes himself up off the sand and stands at his full height, lacing his fingers behind his neck while still staring off into the sea.

  “I had a free period for my last lesson, and instead of using the time to prepare for the after-school parents evening, I drove home, stopping off on the way to grab a litre of Laura’s favourite ice cream.” He trails off as if something else has come into his memory and adds, “Funny enough it’s Ivy’s favourite flavour too.”

  He shakes off that thought and begins to rock slightly from side to side before continuing.

  “I entered our house at two o’clock and didn’t think anything was wrong. Laura had sent me a text to say she was going to have a lie down for a few hours, so I expected her to be in bed.”

  His rocking turns to pacing. His hands are now in front of him as he examines his wedding band on his ring finger.

  “Eight hours. That’s all it took for the bottom to drop out of my world. Eight hours from the moment I walked out of our bedroom to the moment I walked back in.”

  He stops pacing and looks down at me, his frame blocking the moonlight, his eyes finding mine even in the darkness.

  “I left my wife, the only woman I had ever kissed, warm, safe and full of life. She was glowing with our new baby inside her and eager to meet our son. When I got back to her she was clammy, borderline cold, her pulse was weak, and vomit was pooled across her chest and clinging to her hair.”

  He turns away from me once more, and begins pacing in earnest, his hands running through his hair to tug on the strands.

  “I tried to wake her. I begged her to open her eyes.”

  He stops dead, his chin to his chest, his arms limp at his sides.

  “Another eight hours and she was gone forever. They tried to save her, but her brain had been starved of oxygen for too long. Arthur was lucky to survive. They told me that you know. That I was lucky.”

  He gives an angry snort.

  “There was nothing lucky about that day. Nothing.”

  Then he turns to me before sinking to his knees.

  I’ve never seen a man sob before and never want to see Josh do so again.

  “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, this wasn’t meant to be this way… I-”

  I wrap my arms around his frame, kneeling behind his back and engulfing him with my touch. The cold coffee spills at my feet and stains the pristine sand.

  “Don’t be sorry. I can’t imagine how hard it was to share that with me.”

  “There’s more, there’s so much more, but I don’t want you to hate me. I hate myself enough.”

  “Shh,” I soothe, leaning my cheek on his shoulder, my lips mere millimetres away from his skin, his warm, clean scent enveloping me. “We don’t have to share everything now. We have time for that, all the time in the world.”

  “I thought you said no do-overs.”

  His voice is still hoarse from tears, but I detect a slight tease in his tone.

  “I also once said that I was going to become a nun and run away to join a convent. Guess I’m prone to changing my mind.”

  “Fickle. Huh, I’d never have guessed.”

  I laugh lightly and place a soft kiss on his cheek.

  “You still owe me cake, mister. I suggest you pay up before I change my mind again.”

  We sit in silence sharing sips of the lukewarm coffee from the flask, licking cake frosting from our fingers and watching the sunrise over the Mediterranean.

  It was both the worst and best date of my life and I’d yet to share any of my ghosts with the brave man by my side. Maybe once he got to know me, it’d be him changing his mind.

  “Daddy, Arty’s chewed Freya’s head again, and her face is all squished!”

  I have a very hyperactive little girl who thinks she’s a teenager and a one-year-old boy with cannibalistic tendencies. Would you like to save my sanity and join us at the beach?

  “I’m coming, Ivy,” I call out as I exit the toilet where I was escaping for a quick five minutes. Is that terrible? Do other parents lock themselves in the loo for a breather?

  Now, before you get ahead of yourself, Ivy was playing in her bedroom, and Arthur was in his playpen. I didn’t just leave them and lock the door. In fact, I didn’t even shut the door fully, which is why I can see Ivy barrelling down the hallway towards me just as my phone buzzes in the pocket of my shorts.

  “Look, Daddy. Look at what he’s done to her!”

  She thrusts the drool covered doll into my stomach and then stands with her hands on her hips.

  “How did he get hold of her if he’s in his playpen?” I ask as I wipe off the excess spittle and begin trying to reshape her plastic face.

  “I asked him to look after her for me while I cooked our dinner in my kitchen.”

  Of course, she did. My little girl is a carer and is always trying to look after everyone.

  Just like her Mother.

  “Well, I think I have her fixed,” I say, handing over a still slightly deformed Freya while tugging my phone from the confines of my pocket.

  Hmm, would he try to eat me? That’s my only concern. A wannabe teen I can handle, but I may have to draw the line at a flesh-eating child.

  I huff out a laugh at her reply and catch Ivy’s eye as she stares me down.

  “Is that Nanna on the phone?”

  “No.”

  “Grampy?”

  “Nope.”

  “Uncle Iz?”

  “No, it’s nobody you know.”

  Her face scrunches up as she processes this information and then she asks, “Well, if I don’t know them, how do you, and why are they making you smile?”

  She’s got me there.

  “It’s Daddy’s friend, and they want to come to the beach with us if that’s okay with you?”

  She mulls this information over for a few seconds and then questions, “What’s his name?”

  “It’s a her.”

  “Your friend is a girl?”

  “A lady, yes.”

  I’m not sure where this new line of questioning is going.

  “Does she wear bras?”

  Okay, then. Where’s my mother when I need her?

  “I’m not sure you need to know that, Ivy.”

  “I’ll ask her when I see her,” she replies helpfully. “What’s her name? Is it Freya like my dolly?”

  She looks down at the toy doll in her arms.

  “No, it’s Halle.”

  “I don’t like that name.”

  “Well I think it’s a pretty name, so please don’t say that to Halle when you meet her.”

  “Nanna told me you should always be honest. Fibbers are naughty.”

  When did this turn into a conversation about lying?

  “Nanna’s right, but we also mustn’t hurt other’s feelings. You wouldn’t like it if someone said they didn’t like your name, would you Princess?”

  “But my name’s pretty. Mummy said she chose it for me.”

  My heart lurches, and I step forward and crouch down to her height, ignoring the buzz of my phone with another incoming text.

  “She did choose it for you and do you know why?”

  She bites her bottom lip and shakes her head. Her big, innocent eyes, identical to her mother’s, are fixed on mine desperate to hear another piece of information that connects her to Laura.

  “There’s a plant that’s called Ivy, and it grows all year round, winter or summer. It grows and climbs and sometimes goes so far up tall buildings that it looks like it can reac
h the sky.”

  Her eyes widen as she absorbs everything I’m saying, and I know this will be something she is going to remember and want to talk about again and again in the way only small children can.

  “We were on holiday exactly nine months before you were born,” I continue, breaking the story down into child-friendly wording. “And the little cottage we stayed at was covered in the greenest of green ivy. We never thought we’d get to have you so soon, so when your Mummy found out she was pregnant with you, she told me she thought that that little cottage must have been magic and if you were a little girl that we should call you Ivy.”

  I can see her little mind working overtime as she processes the story I just shared.

  “So, I’m magic?” she asks at length.

  “Yes, of course, you are. You’re our magical, Princess Ivy.”

  “Is Halle magic too?”

  Well, that came out of left field.

  I thought about her question and the best way to respond, and as I mulled over my reply my phone buzzed yet again.

  “Yeah,” I answered honestly because otherwise I’d get ratted out to Nanna for lying. “Halle is magical but not in the same way as you are, Princess Ivy. You’re magical because you’re half me, and half your Mummy, and that makes up a whole you. There’ll never be another Princess Ivy. That’s all you, kiddo. That’s what makes you magical.”

  Satisfied with my reply, she gives me a beaming smile and before she skips away back to her bedroom she says, “And you’re magical too Daddy. Now I have to go and get ready for the beach. I don’t want to be late for your new friend.”

  I watch my little girl as she disappears down the hall and into her room. Moments later I hear the zip of her beach bag as she likely begins to fill it with dozens of things that I’ll have to sneak out of it before leaving.

  My knees creak as I push up to stand, and I shake out my legs before pulling out my phone to check my messages.