Lilies on Main
Page 10
“We’re just friends, Lil. Just friends.” And that, I know, is just a flat-out lie.
Fourteen
Aaron
I’ve been here since five thirty. Too nervous to order, too nervous to drink, but when I see Lilly’s dress, I know she means business. And then Lydia walks in behind her. Her seamless black dress fits her body in all the right places, yet it’s conservative, as if she’s trying to convince me this is a non-date. But still, she takes my breath away. Suddenly, I don’t know how to breathe, and I don’t notice this until my chest gets tight.
I let a big breath out, stand, and walk to them at the door.
“Hi.” I look at Lydia first. “Thanks for coming.”
“Did you give me a choice?” Lydia smiles.
Lilly grabs my legs. “I wore a dress, Aaron. Do you like it? My mommy wore a dress, too.”
I kneel down. “And you are the most beautiful little girl in here. And”—I motion for her ear—“your mommy is the most beautiful woman I have ever seen.”
Lilly smiles and whispers back, “I know. I tell her that all the time.”
I stand and take Lilly’s hand. I look at Lydia. “Come sit with me.”
Lydia’s eyes are more cautious than they were last night. You can tell a lot by someone’s eyes. Oftentimes, by looking at someone’s eyes, I can tell the truth about what they’re not saying instead of believing what’s coming out of their mouth.
Ruthie and Milton are here, and we wave.
“Mommy, can I go say hi to the Murdocks really quick?”
“Yes, but come right back,” Lydia says to her daughter.
As Lilly skips to the Murdocks’ table, I pull out Lydia’s chair. “Please, sit.”
She does, and I sit across from her.
Lydia takes a sip of the pre-poured water. “How did you get to be so great with kids?”
“Not sure what you mean,” I say, taking my water to my lips.
“You’re a natural, Aaron. How you helped Lilly with her lemonade stand, for one.”
“That was a business venture.” I smile.
And I swear, she blushes.
Come on, Lydia. Just fall with me.
“You sat with Lilly all day long and sold lemonade to raise money for sick children. How … how are you not married with children yet?”
This is the most Lydia has talked about personally with me.
There was one woman. But I’m not ready to go there yet, so I take a sip of my water instead. “I have all of my eggs in one basket.”
Planets move. The earth rotates. But time freezes.
She almost smiles. Bites her lip, so she doesn’t. “Wouldn’t it just be wiser to fall for a woman who doesn’t have baggage?”
“I’m not sure what you mean by baggage.”
Lydia sighs and folds her hands on the table. “Aaron, there’s a lot you don’t know about me.”
I lean on the table, resting my forearms. “Turns out, I’ve got a lot of time to find out.” I stare back at her. “Would you like something to drink?”
Lydia half-smiles. “A Diet Pepsi, please.”
“And Lilly?”
“Milk with dinner.”
Lydia looks past me to the Murdocks. Lilly is now sitting on Ruthie’s lap, and they’re talking.
I walk to the bar and give the drink order.
I walk back, sit down, and tell her this, “The first time I saw you was through the window of the bookstore. You were in the middle of the empty store. You’d been painting, and you had some paint on your face—a white stripe across your nose, to be exact. Your hands were on your hips. And there were tears streaming down your face. You didn’t see me, but I saw you.”
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t squirm. She just stares back at me. Listening.
“You covered your mouth like this.” I act out the memory. “It seemed like your tears weren’t because you were sad. It was almost like you were letting go of something.”
Lydia’s hand goes to her mouth. Her eyes move from mine to the red tablecloth to her daughter and then back to me again. They’re brimming with thoughts and memories.
“Then, you smiled. And laughed. And then I smiled. And I knew I had to see your smile for the rest of my life.”
Her eyes meet mine again; her stare is sharp. Perhaps from a protective outer layer that takes time to break through. “You can’t just fall in love like that, Aaron. Not love at first sight. It doesn’t exist.”
“If love at first sight doesn’t exist, then neither do happily ever afters, or the feeling when your favorite song comes over the radio. Neither do broken hearts or mended hearts. Neither do warm fires or rainy days. Or eating a really shitty tomato that looks great on the outside.”
“But they do. Those all exist, Aaron.”
“Then, you’ve experienced these?”
“Yes.”
“A tomato?”
She shakes her head. Smiles. “Yes, I’ve experienced eating a really shitty tomato.”
“And the feeling when your favorite song comes over the radio?”
“Yes.” She smiles again.
“What song is that?”
“‘Livin’ on a Prayer.’”
I pull back. “A Bon Jovi fan, huh?”
And then she does something beautiful. She stops masking her smile and lets it go. Lets it slide across her face, and my heart falls a little further to my feet.
I try to speak again but pause, fearing my words will interfere with what she’s allowing to break through, which is her smile.
“Broken hearts exist?” I whisper.
She nods. Her smile slowly fading.
“And mended hearts?”
“Yes,” she says, as if willing me to see her again in the bookstore window.
“Warm fires and rainy days?”
“Yes.”
“Then, if all of this is true, feelings we’ve experienced in life or things we’ve seen with our own two eyes, why can’t love at first sight be one of those?”
She smiles again and shakes her head. Looks at me as she toys with her fingers. Allows the smile to move across her face again. Maybe she’s embarrassed that she can’t reciprocate the love at first sight with me, but she also didn’t witness me at a very vulnerable time in my life. I knew from that moment on that Lydia White was the heart I was destined to love forever.
Catching us in the moment, Lilly joins us along with the Murdocks, and we make small talk with them before they leave.
Lilly doesn’t try the fish and chips because she doesn’t like eating animals.
I tried to explain that if we don’t eat fish our streams and oceans would become overburdened.
But she dug her heels in. “I don’t eat anything with a face on it.”
And right then and there, in Merryman’s, I fall in love with this little girl a little more. It’s as if she speaks love, and she stands by what she says. What she cares about. Do I think kids are born like that? Yes, but I also think her type of heart needs to be nurtured, cared for. Loved.
I walk them home. Lilly is up ahead, skipping to the beat of her own drum, singing.
The spring peepers sing, and I slip my hand over Lydia’s. She doesn’t flinch this time.
She squeezes my fingers with hers. Looks at me. Looks back at her daughter. “I’m not sure how to do this, Aaron.”
“Just fall, Lydia.”
She stares at me and chews on her cheeks. “I have a past, Aaron. A past that I don’t want you to be a part of. A past that gives Lilly and me nightmares.”
The message on my answering machine.
More than anything, I want to ask her who Lilly’s father is. I want to know who is responsible for creating this fear in my girls.
My girls.
“Mommy!” Lilly screeches. Stops dead in her tracks. “Is that the man from the pictures? Is that Daddy?”
“Where?” Her voice shakes almost immediately.
“In-in that gray car,” Lilly says.
Before either of them can move from this position, I’m running to the gray car that’s parked across the street from us.
The guy isn’t from Granite Harbor, as I’d know.
It’s dark out, and his dome light is on. He’s got a map out across his dashboard.
“Get out.” I open his car door.
“Why?” the man asks.
“Get out of the fucking car right now.”
The man pushes his map to the side and slowly gets out of his car, his eyes wide.
“Look across the street at those two people. Do you know them?”
The man slowly turns his head, looking across the street to Lydia and Lilly. “No.”
Lydia shakes her head.
It’s not him.
I try to straighten the man’s polo shirt. “Sorry for the confusion. Welcome to Granite Harbor.”
The man looks confused. “You can bet your ass I’m never coming back here again,” he says as he gets back in his car and quickly drives away.
Lilly’s head is tucked into her mother’s chest, underneath her chin, and Lydia is pale. Terrified.
I let a big breath out. Taking Lydia by her shoulder, I lead them both to the bookstore.
Lydia doesn’t say a word, just grabs her key and hands it to me, her hand shaking.
Two things come to mind. One, she locked her door in Granite Harbor, which no one does, and two, she’s allowing me to unlock it.
I set her key on the table when we walk inside. She turns back to me before she goes down the hallway to take Lilly to bed because she’s fallen fast asleep that quickly.
“Will you be here when I’m done?”
I lean against the frame of the kitchen, her face full of fear. Days that told her it would be all right. That, if she just stuck it out, things would change, assuming her ex-husband or husband—I’m not sure—is responsible for this. “Yes.”
Lydia nods, holds her daughter’s head to her neck, and takes her to bed.
The quiet space on the couch allows my mind to spin, thinking of what could have happened to make Lydia so terrified of Lilly’s dad.
Lydia comes out from her own bedroom, changed into a comfortable long-sleeved T-shirt and sweatpants.
“Tea?” she asks.
“Yeah.”
I hear her fill the teakettle with water. Set it on the stove and turn it on.
She walks into the living room where I’ve turned on the lamp next to the couch. Sits down on the other side of the couch.
Silence sits between us like an old blanket, well worn, soft, and comfortable.
I look down at her hands. Soft. Smooth. Still a slight tremble. The stitches peek through the sleeve of her shirt. I want to tell her how it looks like she’s healing, but I don’t because all I keep thinking about is the look on Lydia’s face when Lilly said Daddy.
“It wasn’t always like this, the fear, I mean,” she whispers in the darkened room to me. Not just anyone. Me.
Her defenses are up, and her body is facing me, her back resting against the arm of the couch.
I look at her, casual, not wanting anything but her truths. The sad parts. The scary parts and everything in between.
“If you’re not ready to talk about it yet, we don’t have to,” I say and immediately regret it because I want to know—not because that is logically what comes next, but because I want to experience this with her. I want to save her. Selfish, I know, but I want to be her hero. I want to be the guy who gives her what she needs. Who gives her what she wants, even if her wants aren’t me. I want to pull her back from the dark edges of the abyss and give her a soft place to land.
“I thought that moving to Granite Harbor would change everything. That Lilly and I could start over here. But the truth is, they’re just old fears disguising themselves as new ones. Brett Lancaster. Dr. Brett Lancaster. When we met, he was the hero, and somehow, over the course of our time together, he became the monster.” As Lydia talks, she keeps her position against the arm of the couch, though her body language loosens a little. Her shoulders come down from their tight position.
The hot water in the kitchen slowly comes to a whistle.
Before she gets up to get us some tea, I reach over and put my hand on her arm. She stops moving, and her eyes meet mine.
“This isn’t your fault. You know that, right?”
“I have our daughter, Aaron. He’ll always think it’s my fault. He went to prison because I was finally brave enough to go to the police.”
I reluctantly remove my hand, so she can get up.
She stands. Looks down at me. “He’ll be in prison for a while. But the time is running out, and then he’ll want to see his daughter again.”
Fifteen
Lydia
Tiny fragments of my past that come from my core reach and touch the surface of my skin. Aaron left reluctantly. And, if I’m being honest, if it wasn’t for Lilly, I’d probably have had him sleep on the couch, just to have a little security, I suppose. Lilly and I, aside from living with my parents, have been on our own since we left. But something about this night, something about Lilly thinking she had seen Brett, rekindled the terror.
What is my plan for when he’s released from prison? Will I be notified?
I make a note to call the district attorney’s office in the morning to check on Brett’s release date.
Did I share too much with Aaron?
It’s been so long since I’ve brought up Brett’s name with anyone. Deep within me, it felt good to talk about it. Brought up old fear though. New fear, too—of what will be the norm once he’s released from prison. That’s a whole new set of worries.
I turn in my bed and feel the sheet slide across my body, my daughter next to me. I watch her as she breathes, wanting nothing more than a normal life for her. One where we’re not in constant battle with the unseen. Where I’m not running or looking over my shoulder.
Fear takes up permanent residence in my stomach, and I feed it. My mind wandering to different scenarios that create more of the same feeling, and there’s never a good outcome.
I push Lilly’s hair away from her face. This is my happy place.
And I wish for morning light.
It’s Monday.
Dr. Phillips’s office is just off Main Street, and Mrs. Stanna Lovelace, in her late fifties, is the schedule-keeper, the appointment-booker, the fish-feeder, the finder of records, the tracker-downer of all things. She’s also really great with kids, and she greets Lilly as we walk in the door. The doctor’s office is a house that’s been converted into a fully functional doctor’s office.
“Well, Lilly, I think you’ve grown since the last time you came in with your mom.”
Lilly smiles. “Good morning, Stanna. I have a joke for you.” Lilly wiggles up into her lap. “Room five, Lydia. Dr. Phillips will be in with you shortly.” She winks.
I smile. “Thanks.”
I’ve been here several times for the same thing. Sometimes, for other things or when my heart seems to be acting up, which is very unusual. It only happened once, and it wasn’t my heart at all; it was an anxiety attack when we first moved here. And a few times with Lilly for a sickness.
“Good morning, Lydia.” Dr. Phillips comes in, his white coat trailing behind him, almost as if he blew in with a storm.
I ease up onto the table with a narrow, thin sheet of paper, used to protect the spread of germs.
Does it really work? I think to myself.
I always try my best not to wrinkle the white paper on the exam table, but it’s a task I have yet to succeed at.
Dr. Phillips always puts me at ease. Answers all my questions. Never in a hurry. Takes time with his patients.
He washes his hands, grabs a few paper towels, and then sits on the small swivel stool near the counter. Puts on
a set of thin rubber gloves. “Just the stitches today?” he asks.
“Just the stitches.”
He slides his glasses on and rolls closer to me, putting his hands out to take a look at the spot just above the inside of my wrist that needs the removal. “Tender spot. They cleared the margins?”
I nod.
“Results yet?”
“Malignant.”
Dr. Phillips stops and takes his glasses off. “Again?”
I’m not sure what to say. My due diligence is getting my skin checked twice a year. Take all the necessary precautions. Maybe it’s his way of asking why this keeps happening. Of course, he’s a medical doctor, and maybe the question is completely rhetorical. Or maybe he’s just as dumbfounded as to why this keeps coming back.
Dr. Phillips puts his glasses back on, grabs his tool, and begins to take out the few stitches. When he’s done, the scar is a bright pink and reminds me of crinkled paper.
Lilly will enjoy that, I think to myself. Probably build a story around it.
My scars are on my back and never somewhere I can’t cover it up. This is new for me. It’s exposed and out in the open. Surely, I can’t wear long sleeves forever.
And, out of the blue, I think to myself, Why do you have to cover it up?
“Just keep some antiseptic on it for a day or two, but it looks good, Lydia. You did blood work, right?”
I nod.
“And what about your lymph nodes? Did you get those checked?”
“So far, so good.”
“Good.” Dr. Phillips stands. Takes off his gloves and throws them in the trash. Washes his hands once more. Before he walks out, he turns back to me. He’s deep in thought. “All you can do is stay on top of this, Lydia. I’m not sure why this keeps coming back, but you’re in good hands with Dr. Sumpter in Portland. He’s the best of the best and specializes in this kind of thing.”
“Thank you, Dr. Phillips,” is all I manage to say as I hop down off the exam table. It’s just past nine thirty, in time to get back to the bookstore and open up.
I follow Dr. Phillips out to the small waiting area, and Lilly and Stanna are working on a game of Hangman.