Текст книги "Pocketful of Sand"

Автор книги: M. Leighton

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Текущая страница: 10 (всего у книги 16 страниц)

TWENTY-THREE

Eden

THE LITTLE COTTAGE we’ve called home for almost three months feels empty tonight.  Cole got a call from Jason about a renter who lost hot water, so Emmy and I came on home while he went to fix it. He didn’t know how long he’d be, so we didn’t make any set plans to see each other or talk to each other later. Maybe that’s the reason I feel off.

Emmy seemed to notice the quiet when we first got here, but she’s lying on the living room floor, coloring happily now.  We played a game and read a story, so determined was I that she not notice his absence.  Or my reaction to it.  Whatever else happens in my life, it’s imperative that Emmy not be affected by it. And the melancholy I’m fighting has me wondering if having Cole in our lives was such a good idea.

It’s too late now, though, and the thought of giving him up is becoming increasingly distasteful.

I’m sitting quietly in the chair, watching my daughter draw and listening to her hum, when she throws down her crayon and climbs to her feet. She races the short distance to me and throws herself into my arms.  She puts her little hands on either of my cheeks and squeezes, giving me “fish face” as she loves to do.

She’s smiling at me when she observes, “You laughed a lot today, Momma.”

“I did?”

“Uh-huh.”  The expression on her face is that of someone who has uncovered a wonderful secret.  “You like him, don’t you?”

Hmmm. How to answer that carefully…

“I think he’s very nice. Don’t you?”

She nods enthusiastically.  “He makes good French toast.  And he dances funny.”

She wrinkles her nose and I do the same, nodding in agreement.  “He does, doesn’t he?”

Emmy giggles.  “But I like it.”

“I do, too.”

“He makes you happy, right?”

“You make me happy,” I skirt.

“But he could make you happy if I’m not here, right?”

“Nothing could make me happy if you weren’t here. I love you too much, doodle bug.”

Her smile melts into a disappointed face.  “But you’d try, right?”

I try not to make a big deal of her odd questions and her concern with my happiness. I figure it has to have something to do with her emotional scars from what happened. I don’t even pretend to know the way a child’s mind works, but it worries me when she starts this stuff.

“Emmy, why do you worry about me being happy without you?”

“Because I might not always be here.”

“What makes you think that?”

She shrugs, letting her hands fall away from my face to rest on my chest.  “Sometimes angels go to heaven.  And you said I’m an angel.”

“You’re my angel, but that doesn’t mean you’ll go to heaven anytime soon.  Most of the time, God lets mommas and daddys keep their angels for a long, long time.”

As she ponders this, she pooches her lips out over and over, like she’s kissing.   “But Mr. Danzer didn’t get to keep his angel.”

“No.  But you shouldn’t let that worry you, sweetie.  I’m here. I’ll keep you safe.”

I know I shouldn’t make promises I can’t keep, but as long as I’m alive and able, I will keep her safe. And I’m hoping my promise will ease her mind. Emmy has enough to deal with in her life without worrying about death and what will happen to her mother if she were to die.

Just letting that thought drift through my mind is enough to clog my throat and tie my stomach in knots.

I push aside my rising emotion and send a comically suspicious sidelong glance at my daughter.  “Is this a stall tactic?  Are you trying to get out of taking a bath?”

“No,” she answers. And I don’t think for a second that this had anything to do with her bath, but I need to take her mind off it.

I dance my fingers down her sides, eliciting a squeal.  “Are you suuure?”

“I’m suuure!” she laughs, trying to wiggle away from my tickling fingers.

“I didn’t hear you.”

“I’m sure!” she says again through her smiling lips.

“I guess the only way to prove it is to get this little body in the tub.  Let’s go, little miss,” I say, scooping her up into my arms.  “And then…ice cream!”

Her eyes widen.  I try not to let her eat after her bath, and I control her sugar intake as much as I can, but tonight…well, tonight I think maybe ice cream is a good idea.

⌘⌘⌘⌘

I didn’t hear from Cole last night.  Now, it’s time for Emmy’s bath again, yet I still haven’t heard from him.  I’ve picked up the cell phone at least a dozen times, thinking I’d text him, just to see if he got the water heater fixed.  But I don’t.  I’ve spent the last twenty-four hours telling myself that maybe it’s for the best if I don’t hear from him again.  I can’t decide if it’s a good thing or a bad thing for Emmy.

On the one hand, she seems to really like him.  From that first day on the beach, she seems as taken with him, as inexplicably drawn to him as I am. Only in a different way, of course. Even though she hasn’t talked in front of him other than to call to me that first morning, she’s opening up around him, and that makes my heart soar with happiness.  Plus, she seems to be fixated on me being happy with someone in life. Maybe that’s a natural concern for a child, but I think she’s a bit young to be getting started with thoughts like that.

But despite those positives, I worry that if she gets too attached to him and things don’t work out between us, she’ll be crushed. And she’s been hurt enough by the men in her life. I don’t want to risk scarring her further.

Maybe if Cole does call me back, I should have a talk with him about boundaries.  Maybe I should have a talk with myself about boundaries.

After her bath, Emmy reads two of her favorite stories to me before her bedtime.  As I watch her lips move and her eyes scan, as I listen to the brilliant way her young mind works, I pray that I won’t do anything to hurt her, intentionally or not.  Children shouldn’t know hurt and fear the way she’s known them. Maybe that’s enough to last her a lifetime.  Maybe the rest will be smooth sailing.

When she’s asleep, though, without her presence to distract me, the night drags on.  I try to watch television, but nothing interests me. I find myself glancing outside repeatedly, looking for what I don’t know.

Well, yes I do.  It’s not a what; it’s a who.

Cole.  When I’m not actively thinking about something else, he’s on my mind.  I click off the television and go to the kitchen for some water, my eyes automatically drawn to the house diagonal from mine. I wonder if he stays there at night. He was obviously staying there the night I went to get him. How many other nights has he spent there?  Is he there now? If he is, why hasn’t he come over? Why haven’t I heard from him?

My endless spool of unanswered questions is enough to give me a headache, so I grab two Tylenol and take up a book that I bought from Jordan’s limited selection a couple of weeks back. I do my best to lose myself in it and let the heat from the fireplace sooth away my tension.

I wake up nearly two hours later, my book open and resting on my chest, the fire nearly died down.  I’m almost grateful for the prospect of sleep. Trying not to think about Cole has been as frustrating as it’s been exhausting.

I stoke the fire, cut off the lights and head for bed.  I must fall immediately to sleep, because it seems like a dream when I feel soft-yet-firm lips brush mine and a cool hand skates up the inside of my thigh.

I drift in that place between dream and reality for a few more seconds, enjoying the warm, liquid feel in my stomach and the ache that has started between my legs. But when cold air hits me as the covers are drawn slowly away from my body, I come groggily awake.

“Am I dreaming?” I say aloud.

“No, but I might be,” a sandpaper voice says.

Cole.

My heart speeds up to twice its normal pace and excitement races through me, waking me fully.

“Breaking and entering, huh?” I tease playfully, happier than I care to admit that he’s here.  Finally. It seems like I’ve waited forever.

“I didn’t break anything, but I sure do plan to enter.  Several times, actually.”

I grin, listening to the rustle of his clothes coming off in the dark.

“This is illegal, you know. To come into a tenant’s home unannounced.”

I hear the springs creak and feel the mattress dip as Cole sets his knee and one hand on the end of the bed.  He slides his hands up my legs, parting them as he goes.  I feel the scrape of his stubble at one point, up near my groin, and a wicked stab of want gushes through me.

I feel his weight settle on me, pinning me beneath his naked heat. He answers just before his lips take mine.  “So sue me.”

⌘⌘⌘⌘

“Are you upset that I came?” Cole asks as he kisses a trail from my chin to my ear, his body still completely sheathed within mine.

“Not at all.”

“Good.”  I hear the smile in his voice. “I missed you too much to stay away a second night.”

“Why did you stay away at all?”

“It was late by the time I got the water heater apart last night and then today I had to catch a ride with Jordan to Ashbrook for some parts that they didn’t have here.  By the time I got it finished up, I knew you’d be right in the middle of getting Emmy ready for bed. I didn’t want to intrude, so I waited.  But this was it.  Maximum wait time.  I’d have busted down your door if it had been two minutes longer,” he confesses with a lusty growl.

“Is that right, Mr. Testosterone?”

“Hell yeah, that’s right,” he says, flexing his hips and causing me to gasp at the hardness that’s already starting to take shape inside me.  “Are you complaining about my testosterone?”

He swivels his hips, rubbing me in just the right spot.  “God, no,” I moan quietly, tilting my pelvis to capture him more fully.

“Because I can leave if I’m bothering you.”  He fastens his mouth on one nipple as he withdraws and then pushes all the way back into me, deep enough to rock my hips back.

“You’re bothering me alright,” I tell him breathlessly, “but I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

“Good, because I’m thinking that as long as you’re here, you’re stuck with me.”

I don’t get to worry over that comment because Cole leans back and pulls me up into a sitting position, held in his arms, impaled on his length.  But when I’m lying bonelessly beside him an hour later, I can think of little else.

⌘⌘⌘⌘

As much as I’d love to wake up beside Cole, I’m afraid that Emmy will rise early again, a fluke thing, and find us in bed together.  I don’t think she’s ready for that, no matter how much she likes Cole or thinks he makes me happy.

But in the wee hours, Cole, seemingly almost as in tune with Emmy’s welfare as I am, gives me a long, passionate kiss and announces that he’s leaving.

“I probably shouldn’t be here when Emmy gets up.”

I don’t argue, because it’s exactly what I was thinking.

I sit up to watch him dress, shafts of moonlight pouring through the curtains he insisted on opening.  I want to see you, he’d said.  I want to see your face when you come. I want to see your beautiful legs spread and I want to watch my cock slide in and out of you.  I don’t ever want to forget what that looks like.

How was I going to say no to that?  And now I’m getting the benefit. I can see his muscles flex as he pulls on his pants, like titanium machinery gliding smoothly under flawless skin.  And I can see his face, partly shadowed, when he looks at me.  That look that says he could stay here and make love to me forever and never get tired. That look that says he wants me more than he wants to eat. That look that says he wants… more.  Only I don’t know exactly what “more” is for him.

“Will I see you later?” I ask.

“How about dinner tonight? I’ll cook.”

“I promised Emmy I’d take her to Bailey’s for a cheeseburger tonight. She did well on her math test and that’s what she wanted as a reward, so…”

“Can I come?”

I hide the smile that wants to light up my face.  “I suppose we could put up with your incessant chatter for another night.”  I see his wry expression.  “What are you up to now? I mean, is the house across the street finished? Or will you be working on something else?”

“I’ll be back across the street tomorrow,” he responds vaguely.

“And today?”

I see his pause. I see his hesitation.  I’ve overstepped.

“Today, I’ll be at the beach.”

It’s Sunday.

“Building a sandcastle?”

He nods once, his brow furrowing like it’s done so often since I’ve known him. The thing is, I haven’t seen him frown much in the last few days.

“We, um, we could come and help if you want. Or if you’d rather do it by yourself…”  I let the sentence trail off, flabbergasted at my audacity. What the hell is wrong with me? It’s like I own him, like he can’t spend a minute without me or have a day that’s unaccounted for.

“Thanks, but–”

“Oh, God! I’m so sorry!  Listen to me! I sound like a controlling fruitcake. Just forget I said anything,” I plead, covering my face with my hands.  How. Humiliating.  If he ever wondered whether I’ve had any kind of normal relationship in the past, I’m sure he has his answer now.

Cole pulls my hands from my face. His expression is kind, but inscrutable.  “Don’t apologize. I want to be with you. But,” he adds, his smile small, “this is just something that’s…it’s just something that I have to do on my own.”

“I understand, Cole. Truly I do. I don’t know why I even offered.” I shake my head.

“Because you’re caring and fun and you want to be with me, too.”

I neither confirm nor deny his assumption, but he’s right. I do want to be with him.

“I’ll pick you up at six. And wear something formal. You’ve never been to Bailey’s at night.”

For a split second, I wonder if he’s serious.  “You’re kidding, right?”

His laugh is a short bark. “Of course I’m kidding. Have you seen Bailey’s? You don’t even have to have teeth to get served in there.”

“Good point,” I concede.  “I just wanted to make sure.”

Cole leans into me where I’m sitting on the bed.  “If it were up to me, you could come naked.  You’d be the best dressed person there.  But there’s Emmy.  And the police, of course.  It probably wouldn’t end like I’d want it to–with you riding my cock at the bar.”

I screw up my face.  “Is that what you think about when you ask me to dinner at Bailey’s?”

“Don’t look at me like that. If you weren’t so delectable, so irresistible, so damned addictive, I wouldn’t think about you all the time like I do.  It’s your own fault.”

He bends his head to nip at my breast with his teeth.  “If you’re leaving, you’d better stop right there,” I warn.

His sigh is long and loud.  “Fine. I guess I’m going.  I had a good reason, right?” he teases.

“Emmy.”

“Right right.  A very good reason.”

I grin as he pecks me hard on the mouth and walks away like I took his favorite toy.

I think to myself after I hear the front door shut and snap locked that he’s not the only one who’s addicted.

TWENTY-FOUR

Cole

MAYBE COMING TO Bailey’s was a mistake.  I expected the whispers and the long, odd looks, but I never expected to feel so…possessive.  I find myself glaring at any man who stares at Eden for more than ten seconds.  And there are a lot of them.  Bailey’s is the only place to eat in the whole town.  It has a pretty big crowd on the weekends.

It doesn’t help that my mood was a little testy to begin with.  I didn’t really want to leave Eden’s this morning. I wanted to stay, to play with her beautiful breasts, to lick her satiny skin, to reach deep inside her body with mine and drag out moans and gasps from her unwilling lungs.  That constant want left me distracted when I went to the beach.

After that, I came home and showered, torn between thoughts of what Eden’s body would look like all wet and soapy, and the asshole that I am for finding some amount of happiness when my own daughter can’t.

All in all, it left my mood a little sour before we even arrived at Bailey’s.  And now I’m having to contend with all the locals drooling over my beautiful date.

“Are you okay?” Eden asks as we take a seat at one of the few booths available in Bailey’s.

“Of course. Why?”

She watches me suspiciously, her hazel gray eyes searching mine for answers that I’m unwilling to give.  “Just curious.”

I open the menu and pretend to peruse it. I’ve got the whole thing memorized and I already know what I want. I just need a few minutes to collect myself, to conceal the growing agitation that must be reflected on my face.

“Hiya, sweetie,” Jordan slurs when she approaches the table to take our order.  She leans down to hug Eden.  “I’ve been meaning to get out to your place, but it looks like you’ve been plenty busy without my company,” she says loudly as she nods in my direction.

I scowl at her.

“Oh come on, Cole!  You know there’s no keeping secrets in this town. Everything comes out eventually.”

I grit my teeth.

“Maybe people should just mind their own business,” I say mildly, holding her brown eyes until her smile dies.

“Well,” Jordan says, clearing her throat and turning to Eden.  “What can I get you two tonight?”

Eden orders Emmy’s meal and then her own.  After I order and Jordan leaves, she announces, “Emmy and I are going to check out the jukebox.”  She says it with a smile, but I can see the tightness in her face.

She doesn’t give me time to respond, just gets up, waits for Emmy to slide out and then they walk off.

I’m screwing this up. I know I am.  But damn!  I feel kind of crazy today.  I’m used to feeling one of two emotions–pain or numbness.  Not all this other stuff.

I watch Eden as she walks away.  Her ass looks amazing in the jeans she’s wearing and her pink sweater fits her upper body to perfection.  Nearly every head turns as she passes.  Even the women look, although they’re probably either jealous because she’s so incredibly beautiful or appreciative of her relationship with her daughter. It’s plain to see that she adores Emmy and that she’s a good mother.  It’s there in the way Emmy looks up at her and the way Eden never lets go of her hand.

The longer I watch her, the more I realize that she’s the perfect woman. And the more I think about it, the more it eats at me that everyone else wants her, too.

She avoids my eyes as she walks back to the booth, making me feel even more like a shitheel for ruining her night out with Emmy.

I wait until they’re both situated back in the booth and Emmy is coloring before I speak.  “I’m sorry,” I tell her quietly.

That draws her stormy eyes back to mine.  “For what?”

She’s not playing dumb. She’s asking me what’s been up my ass.

I sigh.  “I’ve never been jealous before.”

Her brows draw together.  “Jealous? Of what?”

“Of all these men looking at you.”

She glances around.  “What men looking at me?”

“You really don’t see it, do you?”

“See what?”  She’s genuinely perplexed.

“See the way your hair pours down your back like a waterfall made of ink.  See the way your eyes sparkle when you look at Emmy.  See the way your laugh makes other people smile.  See the way everybody wants you.”

Pink spots bloom on her cheeks and she looks away from me, shy all of a sudden.

“Or the way you blush when someone tells you you’re beautiful.”

“Well, if that’s what’s wrong with you, then maybe you shouldn’t apologize,” she teases with a grin.

“Yes, I should. You don’t deserve my mood. And neither does Emmy.”

Eden glances over at her daughter, who is coloring pretty damn well for someone her age.  Eden looks back at me and shrugs.  “We’re okay now that you’re okay.”

“I’m trying to be.”

She smiles. “Now you know how I feel when Jordan is so friendly with you.”

I scoff.  “Please. There’s not a woman in a ten state radius that holds a candle to you.”

I can tell my comment pleases her.  “You’re gonna give me a big head.”

I tilt my head and consider her. “Nah. You’re not the type to get conceited.”

“Oh really?  Then what type am I?”

I pause, debating how truthful to be.  In the end, I tell her exactly what I’m thinking.  “The perfect type.”

Her smile widens and her cheeks turn pinker, and just like that, I feel more relaxed than I have all day.

“You two going to be able to eat around all that flirting and smiling?” Jordan asks when she returns with a tray of our food.  “If not, princess and I will eat it, won’t we, little Emmy?” She winks at Emmy and Emmy leans her head against Eden’s arm to hide her face.  “That must be a ‘no’.”

“Emmy would share her food with me, wouldn’t you, Emmy?” I ask of the little girl who looks so much like mine.  She grins shyly and nods.  “Jordan’s out of luck, isn’t she?”  She grins bigger and nods more vigorously.  I wink at her and am gratified by a tiny giggle.  She’s not talking to me yet, but I figure the fact that she’s smiling and not sucking her thumb is progress.  And I’ll take every little small bit of progress I can get.

⌘⌘⌘⌘

I’m studying the picture Emmy drew for me after dinner when Eden quietly reappears in the living room doorway.  The level of detail in the sandcastle and in the flowers is probably pretty advanced for a child her age.  But that’s not what strikes me most about the picture. What knocks the breath out of me is that she seems to have caught the emptiness I felt there today.

“What’s wrong?  Don’t you like refrigerator pictures?” asks Eden.

“I like them just fine.”  I turn my attention back to the drawing, once again bothered by something that was eating at me earlier.  When I was at the beach.

Eden comes to sit beside me on the couch, curling her legs under her and tucking her hands between her knees to warm them.  I inhale the clean smell of her shampoo and the lightly sweet perfume or body lotion that she wears.  Whatever it is, the scent suits her perfectly.

“Seriously, what’s the matter? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

My smile is more bitter than anything.  “That’s the problem. Only reverse.”

“The reverse? What’s that mean?”

I sigh and let the paper drift out of my fingers to settle silently on the wooden coffee table in front of me.  Like letting go of a memory and watching it drift off into nothingness.  Only I don’t want to do that.

“Everybody in this town thinks I’m crazy,” I begin.  “Did you know that?”  She doesn’t respond. She doesn’t need to. The answer is right there in her expressive eyes.  They tell me more than what she’d be comfortable with sometimes, I think.  “I’m not surprised.  It’s probably a juicy topic of conversation in a place like this. If gossip had headlines, I’m sure they’d read, ‘Ex Football Pro Talks to Dead Daughter On Beach’.”  I pause, gathering my thoughts, choosing my words carefully as I toy with one edge of Emmy’s picture.  My fingers are drawn to it over and over.  “I’m not crazy, Eden.  I wanted to see Charity. I wanted to hear her voice.  I wanted it so badly that I could see her. And hear her.  But I knew she wasn’t really there.  Not even in ghost form.  It was just my way of keeping her alive.  Of never forgetting even one small detail about her, like the way her voice sounded.”

I take a deep breath and rub my hand over my face, forcing myself to sit back and let go of the paper.  “It was always strongest at the beach.  Making those sandcastles. Until today.”  I close my eyes.  My chest feels tight just thinking about this.  About losing Charity.

Eden’s voice is whisper quiet.  “What do you mean?”

I don’t look at her. I can’t.  “I didn’t hear her today.  Didn’t see her.  I wanted to.  I did everything right.  Just like I always do.  The flowers.  The castle.  The pocketful of sand.  But she wasn’t there.  In my mind, she just wasn’t there.”

“Why?  What happened?”

I roll my head on the cushion and look at Eden.  Her features are as beautiful as ever in the flickering firelight. I’m glad she’s kept it going.  I don’t know why, but I am. It seems to be…symbolic somehow.

I study her.  As always, her eyes tell the tale. There’s trepidation in them.  Dread.  “You happened.  Emmy happened.”

“Cole, I–”

I interrupt because I need to get this out.  Now that the guilt is eating me alive.  “I wasn’t looking for anybody, Eden.  I wasn’t trying to move on or get over her, to find something more in life.  I was content in my misery.”  I pause.  “I had no intention of pursuing you, even though I felt like I’d been hit with a sledgehammer when I saw you on the beach that day.  But still, I wasn’t going to do anything about it. Only I couldn’t stay away.”

“Cole, I never–”

“I know, I know.  I didn’t either.  But I did. You did.  We did.  And now…today, all I could think about was you. How I didn’t want to leave you this morning. How anxious I was to see you again at dinner. To see you with Emmy. To see her smile and maybe hear her voice.  Just once. And because I took you with me, there was no room for my daughter.”

I sound bitter.  Resentful.  I don’t mean to. It just came out that way. I should apologize.  But I feel like that would be an even bigger betrayal to Charity.

I’m filled with dread as I wait for Eden to respond.  I wouldn’t be surprised if she told me to leave.

“Cole, did you consider that maybe you’re just finding some healthy middle ground?”

I turn to look at her.  She doesn’t appear mad or hurt. She just seems…calm. She sounds calm, too. Calm and practical.

“How can forgetting my dead daughter ever be healthy?”

“You’re not forgetting her. You’re sitting here talking about her. You went to the beach today to honor her memory.  That’s not forgetting her.  But Cole, I doubt it’s a healthy coping mechanism to imagine seeing and hearing her.  Don’t you think that maybe this is the healthy way to grieve?  To think of her, talk about her. Visit places she loved.”

I study Eden.  Why am I angry right now?  Is it because I feel like she’s trying to replace my daughter with her own?   Or is it because she and Emmy are disrupting the delicate balance I had between living and grieving?  Or am I just mad at myself?

Eden reaches for my hand, laces her fingers through mine.  I jerk slightly, my first instinct to pull away because of what I’m thinking, how I’m feeling.  But she won’t let me. She just tightens her grip.  Like she’s tightened her grip on me.

“She wouldn’t blame you for being happy, you know.”

And there it is.

The guilt.

This is what’s eating at me–guilt.  The guilt of finding someone, of moving on when I had no intention of moving on. Of letting anything other than Charity be the focus of my life.

I pull away and stand, pacing to the other end of the living room.  “You wouldn’t understand,” I tell her coldly.  That’s how I feel–cold.

“I’ve never been through what you’ve been through, Cole, no, but that doesn’t mean that I don’t understand.  She was your child.  She would want you to be happy. She would never want you to sacrifice your life to somehow memorialize her.  Accidents happen.  Even if she were here, she wouldn’t blame you.”

“You don’t know that.”  I don’t face her. I can’t.

“Yes, I do.  She was a child.  Children are forgiving and resilient.  More than anything she would want you to be happy.  And to stop blaming yourself for something you couldn’t control.”

“But I deserve the blame. It’s my punishment.”

“Cole, you can’t carry the weight of an accident.  That’s insane!”

“Is it?” I spit, whirling toward her.  “Is it?  I killed her dammit!  Is it insane to carry the blame when my daughter died in a drunk driving accident with me?  Because of me?  Is it insane to carry the blame when she trusted me with her life and I threw it away because of a party?  No, that’s not insane, Eden. That’s justice.”

My chest is heaving, my pulse pounding in my ears.  I didn’t realize how loud, how harsh my voice was getting until the quiet set in.  Now the quiet is like death, cold and empty.

“Y-you were driving drunk in the accident that killed her?”

Shame.  God, the shame…the remorse…the pain…it’s overwhelming.  I turn and lean my forehead against the wall, resisting the urge to pound my fist against it.  But Emmy…Emmy is sleeping. She doesn’t need to be here for this.  To witness this–the dissolution of Cole.

“The last time we came up here three years ago, Brooke wanted to come a day early.  It was the weekend before Charity’s seventh birthday and she wanted to have a surprise party for her.  We fought because I wanted to stop by a friend’s party first. I ended up agreeing to get Charity here by eight just to shut her up.  But I went by my friend’s house first anyway.  Stayed long enough to have a few drinks.  And to be running late.”  I close my eyes. I can still see my little girl, smiling up at me from the passenger seat. Innocent, trusting.  Alive.

“I wasn’t drunk, but I wasn’t sober either.  It started raining about halfway here. I remember Charity telling me that this time, she was going to bring back enough sand in her pockets to give some to all her friends at home. Of all the things she loved about our trips, building sandcastles on the beach with her daddy was her favorite.”

I don’t have to look back at Eden to know she’s crying.  I hear her shaky breaths, I hear her quiet sobs.  Only a parent would understand the pain that this kind of story means. Even if they’ve never experienced it, they’ve feared it. Dreamed about it.  Prayed that it never happens to them.

“I was speeding when I saw the truck coming around the corner. He was barely over the line, but I swerved anyway. I was still going too fast when my right tire hit the gravel on the side of the road. I lost control. I couldn’t correct the skid.  There was a steep bank and we started to roll.  The car flipped four times before we hit the tree. Charity’s side was impacted the most.  She was crushed.” I’m shivering.  I feel like my teeth are chattering and my insides are trying to jump through my skin.  “They said sh-she died instantly.”