“You seem to be takin’ this hard, Cotton, and I won’t say it wasn’t tough but it was a long time ago and there were people closer to the situation who should have done something about it.”
“Your mother,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“You’re right,” he stated.
“I know I am,” I told him.
“Your man now, what’s that about?” he changed the subject suddenly.
And there we were, just as I suspected.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t confused at his question.
“I’m not following,” I replied.
“He’s got years on you, girl,” he shared something I knew.
“And you had years on Alana,” I returned the favor, referring to his wife, a beauty, Native American, statuesque, graceful, soft-spoken, kind, and now, upsettingly, gone.
It was before the time I could “cipher,” but I knew she’d been in her twenties when they married, Cotton in his forties. That didn’t stop them from building a family, which they did, all adopted because Alana got ovarian cancer when she was way too young, had her entire womb removed, enjoyed a good spell with her man then it came back and devoured her.
But unlike my friend Kim, who died within months of diagnosis, for Alana, it took its time the second time around, drew it out, so when Alana finally faded away, it was a relief, even to Cotton, who was ravaged by her illness, his powerlessness against it but not her loss. His relief was so great, you could see it, feel it. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a stillness of expression and manner. And it lasted a long time.
Then he got crotchety and now he was a new Cotton, one who didn’t smile as much as I remembered him doing when I was a kid. And he didn’t laugh as much either.
He found his way to live on without the woman he adored.
But it wasn’t the same.
“We’re not talkin’ ’bout Alana, Zara. We’re talkin’ ’bout you,” Cotton shot back.
“Cotton, you’re grumpy but I love you. You know it. Still, I don’t know where you’re aimin’ so I don’t know where to put my shield.”
He didn’t pull any punches when he finally spit it out.
“Girls come from homes like yours sometimes find their daddies.”
I blinked.
Then I stared.
After I did that for a while, I burst out laughing.
“I’m not bein’ funny, girl,” Cotton groused through my laughter.
Also through my laughter, I forced out, “You so totally are.”
“Zara, straighten up and listen to me. I’m bein’ very serious.”
I choked down my laughter and looked at him.
“Darlin’, he even looks mean,” Cotton stated quietly when he got my attention.
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed. “But he’s the gentlest, most affectionate man I’ve ever met.”
“Zara—”
I cut him off.
“When I broke my wrist, he drove hundreds of miles to cook and clean for me for a week. When Kim died, he couldn’t get here until two days after the funeral because of work but he busted his ass to get here. He had only three days off and he didn’t sleep a wink in those days due to driving and spending time looking after me. And when I found out about Xenia, I couldn’t hold myself up and Ham was right down on the kitchen floor with me, holding me in his arms while I cried.”
I leaned forward and batted his knee with my hand before I leaned back, but through all this, I held his eyes.
“He’s not my dad, Cotton. He’s a big man who’s worked in bars his whole life so he’s got a look about him that you just don’t mess with him. But he got that through his profession. He doesn’t practice it in life.”
“Max likes him,” Cotton told me, sounding peeved, like he didn’t want to admit that.
But that was when I knew that Max also had reservations about Ham, maybe because of the way he looked, maybe Nina had shared some of our history, and that was why Max was cautious at first at The Rooster.
But Ham had won Max over and Max had shared this with Cotton.
“Give him a chance. There’s a lot to like,” I assured Cotton.
“He gonna give me that chance or is he gonna blow town and leave you again but leavin’ you this time maybe with a boy to raise?” Cotton asked.
“You know, I love you all the more because you care enough to bring me out here and have this talk, even if your honesty is off-base. But Ham’s stayin’,” I replied and Cotton’s eyes grew shrewd.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you sure?”
“Because he told me.”
“Girl—”
I scooted across the boulder to get closer to him and once there, I leaned in farther.
“He loves me, Cotton.”
“He tell you that?”
I felt my chin jerk back.
He hadn’t.
Ham had never said that.
He showed it, all the time.
But he’d never said it.
Not when he talked about committing to Gnaw Bone, committing to me. Not while we were cozied up, watching TV. Not during sex. Not cuddling after sex prior to falling asleep.
Not ever.
“You got a whale of a fight on your hands, darlin’,” Cotton said and I focused on him again. “Choose who you got in the corner of your ring wisely. You take on a child, your life becomes about that child and it’s harder to take life’s knocks when they hit you. You definitely shouldn’t be courtin’ them.”
“Ham’s a good guy,” I whispered.
“I believe you,” Cotton replied. “But a good guy and good for you are two different things, Zara.”
It was getting on my nerves when people made sense when they were talking about Ham even when I knew deep down they had no clue what they were talking about.
“I’m suddenly rethinking being your camera-bag-lugging girl,” I shared in order to express this and he grinned. It didn’t quite catch his eyes but he did it.
“Truth hurts. Then again, it also sets you free,” he stated. “Talk to your man and make sure his head is where you need it to be. You get that boy away from your daddy’s family, you gotta teach him to look after himself and the best way to do that is by example.”
“Ham’ll win you over,” I promised.
“Not me he’s gotta win,” Cotton returned. “But I’ll take it, though only after I know he’s pulled out all the stops to win you.”
“Your mother,” he said.
“Yes,” I agreed.
“You’re right,” he stated.
“I know I am,” I told him.
“Your man now, what’s that about?” he changed the subject suddenly.
And there we were, just as I suspected.
That didn’t mean I wasn’t confused at his question.
“I’m not following,” I replied.
“He’s got years on you, girl,” he shared something I knew.
“And you had years on Alana,” I returned the favor, referring to his wife, a beauty, Native American, statuesque, graceful, soft-spoken, kind, and now, upsettingly, gone.
It was before the time I could “cipher,” but I knew she’d been in her twenties when they married, Cotton in his forties. That didn’t stop them from building a family, which they did, all adopted because Alana got ovarian cancer when she was way too young, had her entire womb removed, enjoyed a good spell with her man then it came back and devoured her.
But unlike my friend Kim, who died within months of diagnosis, for Alana, it took its time the second time around, drew it out, so when Alana finally faded away, it was a relief, even to Cotton, who was ravaged by her illness, his powerlessness against it but not her loss. His relief was so great, you could see it, feel it. It wasn’t a celebration. It was a stillness of expression and manner. And it lasted a long time.
Then he got crotchety and now he was a new Cotton, one who didn’t smile as much as I remembered him doing when I was a kid. And he didn’t laugh as much either.
He found his way to live on without the woman he adored.
But it wasn’t the same.
“We’re not talkin’ ’bout Alana, Zara. We’re talkin’ ’bout you,” Cotton shot back.
“Cotton, you’re grumpy but I love you. You know it. Still, I don’t know where you’re aimin’ so I don’t know where to put my shield.”
He didn’t pull any punches when he finally spit it out.
“Girls come from homes like yours sometimes find their daddies.”
I blinked.
Then I stared.
After I did that for a while, I burst out laughing.
“I’m not bein’ funny, girl,” Cotton groused through my laughter.
Also through my laughter, I forced out, “You so totally are.”
“Zara, straighten up and listen to me. I’m bein’ very serious.”
I choked down my laughter and looked at him.
“Darlin’, he even looks mean,” Cotton stated quietly when he got my attention.
“Yeah, he does,” I agreed. “But he’s the gentlest, most affectionate man I’ve ever met.”
“Zara—”
I cut him off.
“When I broke my wrist, he drove hundreds of miles to cook and clean for me for a week. When Kim died, he couldn’t get here until two days after the funeral because of work but he busted his ass to get here. He had only three days off and he didn’t sleep a wink in those days due to driving and spending time looking after me. And when I found out about Xenia, I couldn’t hold myself up and Ham was right down on the kitchen floor with me, holding me in his arms while I cried.”
I leaned forward and batted his knee with my hand before I leaned back, but through all this, I held his eyes.
“He’s not my dad, Cotton. He’s a big man who’s worked in bars his whole life so he’s got a look about him that you just don’t mess with him. But he got that through his profession. He doesn’t practice it in life.”
“Max likes him,” Cotton told me, sounding peeved, like he didn’t want to admit that.
But that was when I knew that Max also had reservations about Ham, maybe because of the way he looked, maybe Nina had shared some of our history, and that was why Max was cautious at first at The Rooster.
But Ham had won Max over and Max had shared this with Cotton.
“Give him a chance. There’s a lot to like,” I assured Cotton.
“He gonna give me that chance or is he gonna blow town and leave you again but leavin’ you this time maybe with a boy to raise?” Cotton asked.
“You know, I love you all the more because you care enough to bring me out here and have this talk, even if your honesty is off-base. But Ham’s stayin’,” I replied and Cotton’s eyes grew shrewd.
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.”
“And how are you sure?”
“Because he told me.”
“Girl—”
I scooted across the boulder to get closer to him and once there, I leaned in farther.
“He loves me, Cotton.”
“He tell you that?”
I felt my chin jerk back.
He hadn’t.
Ham had never said that.
He showed it, all the time.
But he’d never said it.
Not when he talked about committing to Gnaw Bone, committing to me. Not while we were cozied up, watching TV. Not during sex. Not cuddling after sex prior to falling asleep.
Not ever.
“You got a whale of a fight on your hands, darlin’,” Cotton said and I focused on him again. “Choose who you got in the corner of your ring wisely. You take on a child, your life becomes about that child and it’s harder to take life’s knocks when they hit you. You definitely shouldn’t be courtin’ them.”
“Ham’s a good guy,” I whispered.
“I believe you,” Cotton replied. “But a good guy and good for you are two different things, Zara.”
It was getting on my nerves when people made sense when they were talking about Ham even when I knew deep down they had no clue what they were talking about.
“I’m suddenly rethinking being your camera-bag-lugging girl,” I shared in order to express this and he grinned. It didn’t quite catch his eyes but he did it.
“Truth hurts. Then again, it also sets you free,” he stated. “Talk to your man and make sure his head is where you need it to be. You get that boy away from your daddy’s family, you gotta teach him to look after himself and the best way to do that is by example.”
“Ham’ll win you over,” I promised.
“Not me he’s gotta win,” Cotton returned. “But I’ll take it, though only after I know he’s pulled out all the stops to win you.”
