Pocketful of Sand
Page 25

My breath is coming in big, heavy sobs and I’m shaking. The fragile wall that I’d built separating my past from my present is eroding, melting away like the grasp I have on my composure. Memories are colliding with my five senses and suddenly the man in front of me is the same one who still haunts me, who still terrorizes my dreams.
“Eden,” he begins, but I cut him off.
“Get out, Cole.” When he doesn’t move right away, just stands staring at me, I shout, “Get out!”
I double over, wrapping my arms around my middle in an effort to still my jittering insides. I see Cole’s snowy boots receding as he backs toward the door. I don’t move until the cold wind hits my face as he exits. But then I crumble to my knees and sob until I fall into a dreamless sleep.
SIXTEEN
Eden
I FOCUS ON Emmy’s voice as she reads to me. This is part of her schooling. She learns best if I can make it fun for her. I guess most kids probably do. It’s one of the most magical parts of my day, too. Her intelligence and animation never cease to make my heart swell with pride.
I watch her little mouth form the words, words far beyond the reading level of other children her age. I watch her little fingers turn the pages, faster and faster as she gets older. I watch her little eyes follow the sentences, sparkling with delight as the story progresses. This little girl, this little miracle, is my whole world. Has been since the day she was born. She saved me from…well, she just saved me. Plain and simple.
I’ve always applied myself so fully, so deeply to loving her, to protecting and caring for her, so much so that nothing else mattered. And while I’m still applying myself to those same things, right now it doesn’t seem to be very effective in quieting the ache that’s been emanating from my heart since I opened my eyes this morning.
Cole.
My insides squeeze painfully at just the thought of his name passing through my mind. It drags with it the fright and disappointment from last night.
How could I be so wrapped up in a man I hardly know? Why would I allow that to happen when he’s obviously got a metric ton of issues?
It’s the same question over and over again–Why him? Why him? Why him?
I’m getting no closer to an answer.
The snow is pouring outside, burying us deeper and deeper in a wintery wonderland. Before, I was sort of looking forward to it in some strange way–being snowed in. But now, I just feel suffocated.
It’s almost eight when the power goes out. I bathe Emmy by candlelight with the last of the hot water. She laughs and plays, thinking the whole ordeal is great fun. It’s when I get her out to dry her that I’m reminded how wise she is for her years sometimes.
“Why are you sad, Momma?” she asks, cupping my cheek with her tiny hand.
“I’m not sad, sweetpea. I’m just trying to hurry so that my daughter doesn’t turn into an ice sculpture right in front of me.”
This does nothing to eliminate the worry I find in her eyes. It breaks my heart to see anything other than child-like love and awe and carefree happiness there. Her eyes have seen too much in her short life; I don’t want to add to her scars by letting her see too many of mine.
“Are you scared?”
I close my eyes and lean into her warm palm. “No, baby. Are you?”
“I’m only scared of leaving you.”
“Well then you shouldn’t be afraid. You won’t ever have to leave me.”
“But what if I do? You’ll be sad and no one will make you happy anymore.”
“You’ll always be here to make me happy, sweetie. And you’re all I’ll ever need.”
I need to get past this Cole thing and get back to just Emmy and me against the world. We never needed anybody before. We don’t need to start now.
Once Emmy is dry, I start stuffing her quickly into her clothes.
“Do you think he’s still sad because he doesn’t have a little girl anymore?” she asks, holding onto my shoulder as she steps into her panties.
I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about, but I’m very curious to know why she’s thinking about him. It seems that Cole has a hold on this household.
“He’ll probably always be sad, but that’s not her fault. That just means that he loved her sooo much.”
Emmy grins at me. “You make him stop being sad.”
“Why do you say that?”
“He looks at you different, Momma. He wants to kiss you. I can tell.” She giggles, all little girl now. “Momma and Cole sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” she sings.
“I don’t think Momma and Cole will be kissing any time soon,” I tell her as I pull her pajama top over her head.
“But you want to.”
“No, I don’t.”
She giggles again. “Maybe if you kiss him, you’ll be happy, too.”
“I thought boy kisses were gross,” I say, reminding her of her opinion of the stronger sex thus far in life.
“Not for big girls. For big girls, they’re magic.”
I sweep her up into my arms and she throws her arms around my neck. “The only magical kisses I know of are these.” I rain kisses all over her face and hair until she lets the subject drop.
I hope, unlike me, she’ll just be able to put it from her mind. Put him from her mind.
I envy Emmy’s ability to go straight to sleep. I pray it means that, despite all her worries and questions, her mind is for the most part worry-free. Unlike mine, which is keeping me wide awake. I’m still sitting in the dark, staring at the empty fireplace, covered in a blanket, thinking. That’s why I hear the soft knock. Had I been anywhere other than a few feet from the door, I’d never have heard it.