by CE Kilgore
A girl who didn’t push her little sister’s strawberry-print stroller down a wheelchair ramp and onto the street.
The soup’s aroma curdles in my stomach, both awakening my hunger and making me nauseous. Staring at the milky white, I try to remember that day, but nothing comes to me except strawberries and a car horn’s blaring wail.
No… There’s something else…
The sound. The wail. Screaming. My momma was screaming.
I dart down the hallway, rushing past Ian and into the bathroom. Kneeling before the toilet, all I can manage is dry heaving while Ian holds my hair back. He doesn’t say anything as I sit there until my legs start to ache. He leaves me so I can use the bathroom, then he picks me up into his arms like I’m feather-light and carries me back to the bedroom. Cradled in his support, I try to stop my body from shaking.
“Can you try a spoonful for me, Charlotte?” he softly asks, holding a cooled bit of soup to my lips.
If this had been any other day, or any other man, being coddled like this would have pissed me off. I’m not some weak little girl who needs to be spoon-fed soup. Only, today I am. I am that little girl. I can’t get unstuck from that moment. Trapped in the haze of incomplete memories, I let Ian be my caretaker.
“Another?” he asks patiently after I force the first swallow down. I nod and he offers me a second spoonful.
I swallow the thick, warm liquid. A bite of carrot is welcome. The smallest things become magnified.
A tinge of pepper, the metal of the spoon, the way Ian’s mouth is slightly upturned on the left side as his unique hazel eyes watch over me. Blues and greens and a circle of brown – they help pull me from the edge where I teeter between a painful unwanted past and a future that requires me to face that pain and accept what I did.
I killed Mary Lynn.
My stomach convulses. Ian sets the spoon down and carries me back into the bathroom where the soup is expelled. This time, when he carries me back into the bedroom, my momma is waiting there. Ian starts to set me down, but I fight it and cling to him.
He sits on the bed again with me in his lap. Momma pats my forehead with a cloth and tries to feed me just like Ian did. I let her, because I really am that little girl who needs her momma.
“Momma,” I meekly cry and move from Ian’s arms to hers.
“I’ve got you, sweetie,” she rubs my back like she used to do when I was sick. “Ian, sweetheart, can you go into the kitchen and grab me the bottle of motion sickness pills that are in the top cupboard to the left of the sink?”
“Of course.” He kisses the back of my head then departs.
Once he’s gone, Momma eases me off her shoulder and brushes the hair outta my eyes. “Hey there, baby girl,” she smiles. “I need you to eat something.”
The very thought makes my stomach ache, and I shake my head in protest. “I can’t.”
Her face goes stern. “Charlotte Susanna, you know that word isn’t allowed in this house. You can, and you will eat that soup I made, and you’re gonna make sure Ian eats all his, too. You both haven’t eaten since this mornin’, and I’ll not have either one a’ you kids gettin’ sick on my watch. You hear me?”
I sniffle. “Yes, ma’am.” I’m searching her face for any sign about how upset with me she is, expecting at least a hint of anger or disgust. All I see is worry and the same love she’s always looked at me with. “Momma, I…”
“The next words outta your mouth better not be ‘I’m sorry’,” she chides, reminding me that she was the one who always instilled in me the devaluation of apologies. When you say sorry all the time, it’s hard to tell when you really mean it. There are always better things to say than ‘sorry’.
“No, ma’am,” I lower my eyes, because that’s exactly what I was about to say.
“Look at me, sweetie,” she commands gently and I comply. “It’s gonna be okay. Maybe not right now, or tomorrow, but it’ll be alright. We should’ve told you so much sooner, but we thought we were protecting you. I was afraid you’d be angry at us for keeping it secret so long, or that you’d… We didn’t want to lose you, too.”
It takes me a moment to put my thoughts into words. “I’m not angry, Momma, and I’m glad you told me. It helps. Things seem to make more sense now - things I couldn’t ever quite seem to figure out. I’m just not sure how to get from this moment to the next.”
“I know, baby,” she pulls me back into a tight hug as the sting of tears hits my eyes. “Your daddy and I have had twenty-five years to grieve. We’ve never forgotten Mary Lynn, but we’ve had joy and happy memories to help fill in the dark spaces losing her created. I’m so very grateful for that joy you brought to us.”
“I didn’t,” I start to argue, desperately wanting the blame to help harden my heart against this overwhelming sadness, but she squeezes it out of me.
“I almost lost both of my little girls that day, Charlotte. You were hit by the car, too, and you almost died on the way to the hospital. Then you were in a coma for a week with swelling on your brain. The doctors said chances were slim you’d pull through.”
She pauses to suck in a stammered breath, her arms circling me tight. “I prayed to God every single day. I said, Lord, you needed one of my girls for your host of angels, and for that I won’t be angry, but you’ve gotta let me keep at least one little light here with us. The next day, you woke up with bright eyes, a big smile and no memory of Mary or what happened, so we counted our blessings and let Mary Lynn go.
“We count our blessings every single day,” she stares into my eyes, leaving no room to question what she’s saying. “At the very top of that list has always been you, and because of you, we’ve been able to add so many wonderful things to that list. You were a wonderful daughter to raise, you’re a brilliant artist and you’re always trying to help others. You brought Emma into our lives, and now Ian…”
She stops and smiles with a little wink. “And maybe, you’ll bless us with some grandkids soon?”
“Momma!” The embarrassed whisper expels past my lips, and I glance to the doorway as she lets out a mischievous giggle. My entire face heats up, but it’s working. I’m not focusing entirely on Mary Lynn anymore. It’s still there, like a bitter aftertaste, but the present is coming back strong and I can actually think about the future again.
A little boy with blue-green eyes, sandy brown hair and a snorting laughter as he runs through the house, making one hell of a mess. Oh, God. It’s adorable. I aint never wanted kids before, but that… I think I want that.
“Well, your father and I aren’t gettin’ any younger,” she pushes in that motherly tone that says ‘I’m joking, but not really’. It’s an art she’s perfected over the years. “Ian is a good man, Charlotte, but I don’t think you need me to tell you that. He’s got your daddy’s approval, which is a first, and mine.”
A slow inhale puts that into perspective. Daddy didn’t like any of the boys I ever brought home. He especially seemed disapproving of Neil. Guess I should’a learned to listen to my daddy’s gut instinct a whole lot sooner. “I won’t make any promises, Momma. Not this time. I love him, and right now, I’m just gonna love him with all I can, every day. If that leads to a baby…”
“Or two,” she pushes with another snickering giggle.
“Or two,” I sigh, giving in with a quiet laugh of my own.
“Or three?” Ian’s amused voice is followed by a snort.
Momma and I startle and glance at the doorway to find him grinning at us like he’s caught a rooster in the hen house. He struts into the room as Momma and I turn redder than radishes. Setting the bottle of nausea medication on the tray, he gives me that special smile that’s just between us, then he turns to my mom.
“I can’t make any promises like that, either, Mrs. McLeod. My condition won’t make it easy, but I’m not at all against the idea. One thing I can promise is to love Charlotte and count every day that she’s in my life as a blessing.”
God, how long was he
standing outside that door? Wait… Did he just say he wasn’t against the idea of kids? Mercy…
Breathe, Charlotte.
Right, breathing. I think I’m still breathing. I think… No, all I can think about is that little boy with a tiny little snort.
“I think John and I can accept that,” my mom’s voice has me finally catching my breath as she stands from the bed. “Thank you for takin’ such good care of our little girl. I know it aint always easy, catchin’ a tornado.”
“Momma…” I sigh.
Ian snorts. “I think I’m getting pretty good at it. Though, I think I should take out some sort of disaster insurance policy.”
“Ian!” I scowl.
“Shush now, and eat your soup.” Mom heads for the door. “Both of you.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Ian and I say together as he sits back down on the edge of the bed. He hands me two pills and I take them while still fighting off the heated flush on my face. Wrapping one arm around my shoulders, he leans in, kisses my temple then snorts right in my ear. “So, two, hu?”
Wrinkling my nose, I refuse to be outdone. “Thought you said three? ‘Course, that’s a prime number, so we best aim for four.”
He coughs but can’t argue my logic, so I grin in triumph. Then it hits me that Ian and I just had the ‘kids’ discussion, albeit in a uniquely us way. I focus on getting the soup to stay in my stomach while my brain attempts to digest this new advancement in our relationship.
“John and Brandon are taking Emma out to feed the goats,” Ian informs me through sips of soup. “She would like to visit with you afterwards, if you’re feeling up to it.”
“Of course.” I set my spoon down and lean into his arm. I guess I must of spooked Emma pretty good. I think a dose of Emma sounds like the perfect medicine to ease this lingering sadness in my heart. Glancing up at Ian, I feel much better already. “I think… I think I’m gonna be alright. And, thank you. Thanks for doin’ all this.”
“You’re not mad?” he sounds surprised. “Not even a little?”
“Oh, I plan on punishin’ you good for the whole surprisin’ me in the car this mornin’, make no mistake about that Mr. Rider.”
“Sounds fun,” he grins. “Did you remember to pack your rope?”
“Hush up and eat your soup,” I mutter back between lips twitching to smile.
“Yes, ma’am.”
Yeah, I think we’re gonna be just fine.
Ian
Four kids. I think I just agreed to have four kids with Charlotte. The spoon shakes a bit in my hand as I swallow. One will be a challenge for my disorder, but that’s a prime number, so we’d have to have, at minimum, two. Side-glancing Charlotte’s blue eyes and red hair, my mind and heart are conspiring against me to push the number closer to six.
Little redheaded tornadoes wreaking havoc through my ordered world. It’s the cutest damn thing my imagination has ever given to me. One of those tornadoes stops just long enough to grin real wide up at me with a ‘Can’t catch me, Daddy!’ echoing through my ears. The next spoonful catches in my throat and sets off a coughing fit.
“You all right, sweetie?” Charlotte’s grinning at me like she knows exactly what I’m thinking.
Regaining control over the mini-panic attack that had my heart racing, I nod. “Just went down the wrong way.”
Or, maybe it went down perfectly. If I’m thinking kids, then I know the next thing I need to do, and holding it off any longer is only delaying the inevitable. “Are you finished?”
She nods and I hug her close with a kiss. “I’ll take these down to the kitchen and send Emma up, okay?”
“Okay,” she smiles as I stand.
Her hand lingers in mine for a moment longer then she lets go. Gathering up the tray, I head downstairs to the kitchen and set the dishes in the sink. Grabbing my boots, my jacket and my nerve, I walk out the back door. A light glows from the open doorway of the large barn and I can hear Emma’s bubbly laughter along with the bleating of goats. She’s got a large bottle and is hand feeding a young, black and white kid while Brandon looks on with a huge grin.
“Ian!” Emma turns her beaming smile my way. “I’m feeding a baby goat!”
“Late birth?” I ask John and he nods.
“Or very early,” he laughs. “Took me and Carol… and the mom, I think… by surprise. She’s been havin’ trouble feeding the kid, so I’ve been givin’ it a bit a’ help.”
Brandon swallows back a chuckle. “Emma named it Twitch.”
I snort as Emma points at the kid’s tail, which is going a mile a minute as it feeds from the bottle. “Charlotte said she’d like to see you.”
Emma eases the goat back to its thin, wobbly legs and it follows her as she hands the bottle to me. She peers up at my face in silence for a long moment then claps her hands over her mouth with a gasp. I swear, the girl is a mind reader and is counting the redheaded tornados still blowing through my brain. She lets out a musical laugh then skips out of the barn.
“I’d better go and keep her outta too much trouble,” Brandon dips his chin at us then follows Emma out the door.
“Good man,” John comments with a nod at the door. “He and Emma fit together real nice.”
“They do,” I agree as the kid nudges my knee. “And Brandon is one of the best men I know.”
John takes in several audible breaths, his exhales visible puffs in the cold night. “How’s my other girl?”
“Better.” I walk the goat back into the pen where its mom is waiting. The bottle is forgotten as they reunite and the kid finds a teat to latch onto. “I think she’ll be okay, but it’ll be a while before her head is clear again.”
He sighs behind me and leans on the rail. “I knew it’d be hard, but I don’t think my heart was ready for the way she looked at me. I broke my little angel’s heart today, and nothin’ is harder for a father to do.”
“You’re a good man, John, and a great father,” I speak honestly. I’ve grown to respect him as much as I respect Brandon, and it hurts to see the sorrow etched into the deep lines of his face.
“And you,” he says after a pause. “I can’t thank you enough for takin’ care of her. You’re really in love with my little girl.”
“I am.” I take in a long breath of cold, hay-scented air. “And that’s why I need to talk to you, sir.”
John’s eyebrow raises and he leans more deeply on the railing, as if he knows a long conversation is coming. “I’m listenin’, son.”
Alright, Rider, he’s listening. Don’t fuck this up. And stop twitching.
Putting my hands in my pockets, I look John in the eyes and try to be the man Charlotte deserves. “I know no one’s perfect, but I can’t say I’m even close to it. I’ve been living with OCD my whole life, and I’ve watched it get in my way so many times. It’s always had its ups and downs, and there recently, I was on a long way down. It was getting worse. Worse as it’s ever been.”
I’m trying not to rush the words of this speech I’ve rehearsed over and over in my head, and my eyes are watching John for any reaction. I probably sound like a nutjob, but I have to tell him this first so that he can, hopefully, understand where I’m coming from. Maybe then he’ll understand where I’m trying to go with his daughter.
John’s face remains calmly passive, so I continue. “It’s cost me several things over the years – my father, friends, damn near my degree and almost Brandon’s respect. I started missing jobs and messing things up. It got to a point where I figured, might as well just let it all go.”
John shifts as his expression changes into one of concern, then he asks a question I knew was coming after what they went through with Neil. “Were you thinkin’ a’ suicide, son?”
“No, sir,” I swallow. “Not this time. I’ve been on that ledge before, but Brandon and our family helped me through it. I’ve come to understand how selfish it would’ve been, and I haven’t considered that as an option since. I was thinking about committing myself to a hospit
al on a more permanent basis.”
I take my hands out of my pockets and watch them shake, then put them back in with an exhale. “I’m almost thirty, John. I was depressed, alone. I have great friends, but I wanted… I just thought there was never going to be anyone who could understand, who could put up with me and my damn twitching. Then your two daughters show up, and everything changed.”
That makes John smile, and I smile with him as I keep talking. “Emma was like this bright flash of color who helped Brandon at the same time she was bringing all of us back together. She gave us a reason to pull in close again when we hadn’t even realized how far apart we had begun to drift. Then Charlotte…”
A snort follows my memory. “Charlotte flew into Brandon’s office with her red hair blazing behind her, knocked the man on his ass and I knew right then. It was like my whole world found a focus. A reason to get over these damn roadblocks I put in front of myself. She’s incredible, John. Just… incredible.”
I square up, inhale and look him in the eyes again. “Charlotte makes me want to be a better man. She makes me believe I can be a better man - the man she deserves. If you think I’m that man… I… Sir, I’m asking for your permission to marry your daughter.”
A quiet falls over the barn. One breath passes as white smoke then another. Twitch bleats from the pen while I await judgment.
Slowly, one corner of John’s mouth raises into a causal smirk. “Shoot. You Texas boys don’t waste much time, do you?”
I have to snort at that. Brandon and Emma tied the knot at a surprise ceremony, and now I’m asking for Charlotte’s hand after less than three months. “Well, sir, we don’t really see the point in wasting time. If you don’t take the bull by the horns when you get the chance, you may never get another.”
He laughs lightly with a nod in understanding, then I say the last thing I need to and hope he agrees. “I love your daughter, and for some crazy reason that I’ve stopped trying to figure out, she loves me. In this world where things don’t make much sense as it is, that’s all I need to commit the rest of my life to her and her happiness.”