by Scarlet West
“How about we ask Uncle Tom to join us at the park tomorrow?” I asked.
“Okay,” my daughter said, her eyes brightening up. I felt more relaxed. It was such a tiny thing, and it could make such a big difference in her world.
“Are you finished?” I asked, seeing that her plate had emptied faster since mention of Tom. “There’s some more in the pot if you’re still hungry.”
My daughter nodded, grinning. “I’m always hungry.”
I nodded knowingly, remembering my own appetite at her age. She was already tall for a nine-year-old, and growing seemingly by the day. She would be a tall girl – something she’d inherited from Drake.
While Amelia helped herself to seconds in the kitchen, I leaned back in my chair, eyes closed. I felt drained, confused and tired. And I had no idea what to do.
If I told Amelia, I would have to tell Drake.
And if I told Drake, I might ruin his world and my daughter’s in the process.
He couldn’t move back to Bridgeway to be with us even if he wanted to. There was nothing for him in Bridgeway. His career required him to be right there, at the forefront of things, in New York. And anyway, I had no idea how he would take the news. Maybe it wouldn’t affect him at all.
He walked away without thinking to write, or call, or visit. He drifted away from me. I didn’t think he cared.
Now, I was not too sure.
And that, I thought, standing to take my bowl to the kitchen, was what had scared me.
Maybe Drake felt something for me, after all.
4
Drake
“That was excellent.”
Tom sighed as he leaned back in his seat, opposite me. He was grinning at Alex who sat next to me. I laid my fork aside, politely.
“It was excellent,” I agreed. “Thanks, Alex.”
“I’m pleased you could visit,” Alex said warmly. A pretty woman with a full, soft face and wavy brown hair, she had a gentle manner which suited Tom well.
“So am I,” I said.
They seem happy.
It made me smile, seeing Tom and Alex together. It also made me feel weird, my mind asking questions about my own life, my own happiness. Why wasn’t I thinking about settling down? I was a whole year older than Tom. With his comfortable home, his contented grin, he seemed to me the epitome of how a man should live.
I just couldn’t imagine such a lifestyle for myself.
Somehow something about the picture felt off. I couldn’t imagine settling down with anybody I’d met in New York, couldn’t see myself sharing my high-rise apartment with a conventionally appropriate girl, saving a percentage of my income for our kid’s college fees.
“How is life, really, in New York?”
Tom’s words disrupted my meandering thoughts. I looked up, frowning.
“It’s okay,” I said levelly. “Tiring.”
“I can imagine,” Alex chuckled. “You have to work odd hours, I guess.”
“All night, mostly,” I agreed. “And all day, too, during a production.” I chuckled, shaking my head as I thought about it. Put like that, it sounded crazy. True, but crazy.
Alex whistled. “Wow, Drake!” she turned in her seat, fixing me with round eyes. “I thought being an accountant was tiring.” She stood, collecting our plates. I handed mine to her, feeling awkward. I could easily have taken it to the kitchen myself.
“Being an accountant is boring,” Tom called as Alex left.
I smiled. “I’m sure it has its bright spots,” I said slowly.
“Yeah. Like figuring out how to finally balance your client’s debts with his assets?” He chuckled. “Really exciting stuff.”
I pulled a face at him. “It can’t be that bad. I know you, Tom. You’re the kind of guy who likes suspense.”
“Suspense is for my hobbies,” Tom acknowledged. “I still hang glide on the weekends.”
“That’s awesome,” I nodded. I took a sip of my beer. “It must be great to be close to open countryside.”
“That is a big plus of being here in Bridgeway,” Tom agreed mildly, nodding his head. “I know Trina likes that too. She comes with me sometimes, though not for the hang gliding.” He chuckled. “Trina still doesn’t like heights. She just likes the outdoors.”
“I know,” I said. My throat was tight with memories. I remembered too well Trina in the outdoors, hiking. That glowing smile. How she let her hair loose, blowing in the wind.
“She’s a good girl,” Tom said slowly. “It’s a pity about how things turned out for her.”
“What do you mean?” I put my bottle down, slowly and stared at him. My heart started to thump with alarm. My first thought was that maybe Trina had been in an abusive relationship, or maybe she was sick. She had a sort of sad atmosphere about her, a wistful quality that worried me. I thought I understood why, now. And I was worried.
“Yeah,” Tom said slowly. “Sorry. I forgot you didn’t know.” He looked down at his plate, suddenly awkward. I saw him lift his fork and make a trail in the pesto with it, distracting himself.
“What?” I said, my voice cracking with intensity. “Damn it, Tom,” I hissed. “Has something happened to Trina? Is she sick? Hurt? What?”
He looked up, frowning, and I realized how bizarre my behavior must appear to him. He had no idea of our relationship as he had been away most of the time and I didn’t want to get into it now when it didn’t really matter. I made myself take a deep breath and let myself come slowly back to a reasonable frame of mind.
“Sorry,” I said. “I was concerned. She looked sad, when we saw her and I guess it made me concerned about her.”
“I don’t blame you,” Tom admitted. “Sometimes I feel the same way.” He chuckled. In the kitchen, I could hear Alex rinsing pots. I glanced up, glad that we had a moment alone .
“What is it, Tom?” I asked. “What happened?”
“Amelia happened,” he said with a wistful grin. “Trina is a mother.”
“What?”
I shouted it, then saw him wince. I dropped my voice, repeating my question in an urgent whisper.
“Jesus Drake. What the hell are you shouting for?”
“ I’m sorry.” I shook my head wearily. “I was just surprised. I didn’t know; her daughter wasn’t there today, and she never mentioned her.”
“No, she didn’t,” Tom agreed slowly. “She goes to her friend’s house on afternoons when Trina works. She doesn’t work tomorrow, so Amelia will be there then.”
“Amelia,” I said, feeling a tug on my heartstrings. I remembered a conversation clearly, as if it was yesterday. I was with Trina, and we were talking about people we admired the most. Trina had said Amelia Earhart. I remembered agreeing with her.
“I wish I could be like her,” Trina had said.
“You are like her,” I whispered into her hair. “Beautiful, amazing. Fearless.”
She named her daughter Amelia. After her hero.
I felt a pang in my heart, sore and aching. With the pang came a strange question.
Who was the father?
“How old is Amelia?” I asked, gently. I expected him to say a year, perhaps two years. Trina didn’t look like she had a small baby to take care of, but then it might explain that tired, wistful look. I wouldn’t like the responsibility of such a small life, depending solely on me, I thought.
“She’s nine,” Tom said.
“Nine?” I nearly choked on the sip of beer I’d taken.
My mind reeled. Nine. Trina and I had been together ten years ago which meant that her daughter could certainly be mine.
I looked at my best friend and wondered why he’d never told me. The only reason for it had to be that he didn’t know. Trina hadn’t told him that she’d had my daughter. Or maybe, the girl wasn’t mine after all. The thought sat like a rock in my gut.
“How has she been with it all these years?” I asked carefully.
Tom shrugged. “She’s been amazing,” he said, clearly in awe o
f his twin. “It hasn’t been easy. Our father nearly disowned her and treated her like shit when he found out she was pregnant. But she pushed through and made a life for herself and my niece. A good life. I’m really proud of her.” “I can imagine,” I said softly. I felt as if a hole had just been bored through my chest. My heart ached with pain, and guilt, and regret. What if Amelia was mine? What if Trina went through such hell because of me?
“Trina doesn’t see him anymore,” Tom said briefly. “He reacted so badly,” he shook his head, expression disgusted. “I can barely forgive him for it, and I know she never wants to see him again. Our mom keeps in touch, though. She loves her granddaughter.” He shook his head, smiling appreciatively.
“I mean, Amelia’s father?” I asked slowly.
“I don’t know.” Tom’s face went hard. “Some bastard. Trina never said who he was. Said she didn’t want to burden him, that he wouldn’t care anyway. I hope he’s rotting somewhere,” he spat.
“I understand,” I said, feeling empty inside.
The father probably was some bastard, I thought sadly. If the baby had been mine, surely Trina would have told me. She knew that Tom and I had kept in touch throughout college. And besides, she would surely have known I would care, would have known I would have come straight back to be by her side. Wouldn’t she?
I’d loved her.
I knew that now and knew there was no point in denying that truth to myself or to her, any longer. I was there, now. Whatever had happened to her in the past it was irrelevant. I could take care of her, help her. She needed a hand.
“So,” Tom let out a slow breath. “If you could avoid mentioning this to Trina? If she knew I’d told you, she’d kill me. She’s pretty touchy about it. She felt so ashamed, you know.”
“Of course,” I said at once. “I understand.”
“Amelia’s a beautiful child,” Tom said wistfully. “I hope Trina introduces you one day. You’d love her.”
“I bet I would,” I said, and surprised myself by meaning it. I hadn’t realized until that moment that I wanted children. I had little enough experience of them, but the more I saw of them the more I liked them. They were so spontaneous, so authentic. So heartfelt.
Not like us adults, who hide our feelings so deep inside.
I leaned back in my seat, suddenly weary. The clock said it was eleven pm. Early for me normally, but the latest revelation had shocked me to my core.
I scraped back my chair, stifling a yawn. Tom noticed and pushed back his chair, too, standing. Alex came back in from the kitchen, carrying a tray with two coffee-mugs on it. I had already finished my beer.
“Alex, Tom,” I said, blinking to clear my head from the fog of weariness that had decided to settle inside it. “Thanks for an amazing dinner. I have to get back to the hotel now. I’m really tired. It’s been a great time, though. Thanks.” I stifled another yawn.
“Of course, Drake,” Alex said gently. “Please come back again.”
“I will,” I managed, giving her a tired grin.
“It was great to catch up,” Tom said, walking to the front door with me, to see me out. “Can I drive you to the hotel?”
“Thanks, Tom,” I said. “I’d appreciate it. I was going to call a cab, but if you don’t mind?”
“Not at all,” he said, grabbing his keys from a hook near the door.
“You know,” he said slowly, as we headed up the dark, silent streets toward the main road, “I didn’t know how mad I still was at everyone who judged my sister.”
“It must have been really hard,” I made myself say. My heart had sunk into my shoes by now. I felt like a complete fool. If I hadn’t behaved like I had, if I’d been more honest, Trina would probably never have been pushed into the arms of the person who’d neglected her so shamefully.
“It’s passed, now,” Tom shook his head. “Amelia’s a beautiful, smart, funny child. I should focus on the present, forget about the past.”
“That’s not always easy,” I acknowledged, with feeling. “If there’s unfinished stuff back there, it keeps on haunting you.” I know. Better than anyone. My love for Trina has haunted me ever since I left her.
“Never a truer word, pal,” he chuckled ruefully. “Is this it?” he asked, slowing down as we drove down a street ghost-lit with the light from the three hotels in town.
“Yep, there it is,” I nodded, pointing at the biggest, grandest building of all. The Kingsley was still a nice, traditional place. It had surprised me to find it in such good condition, especially given the devastating effect the mine closure had wreaked on the town.
“Great,” he nodded. “So. See you later?”
“As soon as I have a moment, I’ll call,” I nodded. “And you’ll pass Trina’s number onto me?”
I had asked earlier, not knowing how urgently I’d want it now. I tensed, hoping my inappropriate shocked reaction hadn’t put him off unduly.
“Sure, Drake. Will do.”
“Thanks, Tom,” I said. “Goodnight.”
“Night, Drake,” he said. He unlocked the door and I hopped out, shaking his hand briefly in farewell.
I knew I was never going to be able to sleep that night. I had way too much to think about, like Trina, and her past and the identity of whatever fool fathered her child.
5
Trina
“And the wheel in the sky keeps on tur-ning…”
I sang along with the song – something from my mother’s youth – the swish of the broom as I swept the tiled floor, making a muted counterpart to the loud sound of the radio. I was cleaning more enthusiastically than normal; somehow it helped to keep my mind from thoughts of Drake.
“Mom?” my daughter called, loudly, over the sound of the music and my cleaning. “Are we going to the park with Uncle Tom today?”
“Yeah,” I called back, feeling my own heart lift somewhat at that thought. I’d texted Tom the previous evening, and he’d agreed quickly. So far, he was the only person who’d texted.
Drake hasn’t. Even though he has my number.
The thought shouldn’t have upset me, I knew. I knew that Drake was busy with his movie and catching up with past friends. He’d left me ten years ago and I should have figured by now what that meant. I was just a blip on his radar.
“Whee!”
Amelia appeared suddenly, hanging upside down from the railing by the stairs. It was a new trick of hers, one that made my heart flip over with anxiety every time I saw it. One slip and she could fall down the stairs and break her neck.
“Careful, sweetie,” I cautioned, bending to sweep away the dirt. “You could hurt yourself.”
“I’m strong, mommy,” Amelia chided mildly, flipping herself back upright and turning around on the railing to face me. “You said yourself that I’m going to be a big, strong girl.”
“I did,” I said, wincing as I stood and my back clicked. “I know you will be.”
“My dad was tall,” Amelia said, stunning me. “You said he was. And I’ll be tall too.”
“Um, yes,” I said, letting the dirt fall into the dustbin, and reaching distractingly, for my broom handle again. “He was. Dearest, don’t you want to try on a dress for the party this weekend? I think the blue one will be good.”
“What was my dad like?” she asked, curious. It was a topic she’d discussed incessantly at one point, when she was about five and she’d been granted the information that other kids had dads, but she only had one parent. I had answered her questions as fully as I could, then – aware that her words would get back to her peers, who could repeat bias they heard from their parents and shame her – and then tried tactfully to steer her around the topic as her interest naturally waned.
Now, her interest was back. It was almost like she could sense my worries.
“He was tall, like you,” I said, leaning on the kitchen counter with some resignation. “And he had brownish hair. You have my hair, and Uncle Tom’s.”
“Uh-huh,” she nodded. “
I’m glad. It’s pretty hair. Like yours, mommy.”
“Thanks,” I said, smiling wanly. “And he had green eyes, just like yours. Exactly like.” My mouth quirked sorrowfully, remembering those beautiful eyes. I had stared into them just yesterday evening. I could still feel the aftereffects on my body, mind, and spirit.
“Well, I know what he looks like,” she said. “But what was he like? Inside?”
I tensed. It was a topic I had to be careful with. I didn’t want to tell her that I thought he didn’t really care about me. She would take it to mean that he didn’t care about her and I couldn’t do that to her. I wouldn’t. She was a bright, sweet, and spirited child and I wouldn’t tarnish her self-esteem by thinking her father wouldn’t want to know her and how amazing she was. I chose my words carefully.
“He was really a good man,” I said, choosing to return back to the arguments I’d given then. “A man with a lot of talents, and a good heart.”
“And he left us,” she said. Her voice stiffened, like a whip-crack. I felt my insides twist up, painfully.
“He had no other choice,” I protested, defending Drake. The truth was, I’d never given him a choice. I had made the decision for him, reading my direction from the way he’d treated me previously. He was the one who had chosen to leave Bridgeway with never a backward glance, I reminded myself stiffly. “Are you sure?” my daughter asked. I looked into her eyes. Her pale, lovely face was like an avenging angel, those green eyes hard and adamant. I felt ashamed for both of us, her father and me.
“We’ll never know. Can we stop it, sweetie?” I asked, pleading. “I don’t have the energy.”
“No, you don’t,” my daughter was hurt. “You never do. You’re tired and it’s all my fault. Because you have to do everything for me yourself.”
“Amelia,” I pleaded. I turned away from the kitchen, following her to the bathroom. She slammed the door and I heard the lock engage.
“Go away,” she said. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”