My car tires kick up gravel as I speed out of the parking lot. How could she? I run my hand through my hair. Why wouldn’t either of them have told me? They are such vicious, catty women; you’d think they would have come running with the information. All I can think, as I speed on the 95 toward Leah, is of the little girl that still bears my name. The one she told me I was not a parent to. Was that a lie? If Leah lied about Estella’s parentage, I would kill her myself.
Estella, with her beautiful red curls and her blue eyes — but she had my nose. I’d been so sure of it until Leah told me that she was someone else’s. Then her nose had shifted. I thought that I was seeing things because I wanted so badly for her to be mine.
My mouth feels dry as I pull into her driveway. A million years ago it had been my driveway. My wife had been in that house. I broke it all apart because of the love I had for a ghost — a married ghost.
God. I think of Olivia now and a peace settles over me. She might not be mine, but I’m hers. It’s no use even fighting it anymore. I just keep falling flat on my face and then rolling toward her. If I can’t have Olivia Kaspen, then I’ll be alone. She is a disease I have. After ten years, I am finally realizing that I can’t cure it with other women.
I push the door to the car open and step out. Leah’s SUV is parked in her usual spot. I walk past it and up the stairs to the front door. It’s open. Walking into the foyer, I close the door behind me. Glancing around, I see that the living room is a mess of toys — a Cabbage Patch doll lays on its head next to a pile of naked Barbies. I step over a tricycle, heading toward the kitchen. I hear my name.
“Caleb?”
Leah stands in the doorway to the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hand. I blink a few times. I’ve never seen Leah hold anything but a martini glass. She dries her hands with the towel and tosses it on the counter, walking toward me.
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
My chest heaves with everything that wants to come out. I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crumble beneath the pressure. Leah notices what I’m doing and raises her eyebrows.
“Oh,” she says. She beckons me to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she pulls a bottle of tequila from the cabinet. She pours two shots, takes one of them, and refills the glass.
“We fight better with tequila,” she says, handing one to me.
I don’t want to drink the liquor. Adding it to the fire that is already coursing through me can only mean danger. I look at the clear liquid and bring it to my lips. If Leah wants fire, I’m going to give it to her.
“Where’s Estella?”
“Asleep.”
I set my glass on the counter.
Good.
I walk toward my ex-wife. She backs up, her nostrils flaring.
“Tell me what you did.”
“I’ve done a lot of things,” she shrugs, trying to play it cool, “you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Olivia.”
Her name pings between us, ripping open old wounds and spraying blood across the room. Leah is furious.
“Don’t say that name in my house.”
“It’s my house,” I say calmly. Leah’s face is pale. She runs her tongue along her teeth, blinking slowly.
“Did you know Turner?”
“Yes.”
“And you had him ask Olivia out … to keep her away from me?”
“Yes.”
I nod. My heart is aching. I lean over the counter to gather my rising anger before it explodes. I push it down, swallow my contempt and look her in the eyes. Olivia and I never had a chance. The whole time we were destroying ourselves, someone else was having a go at it too.
“Leah,” I say, closing my eyes. “The hospital … after you took those pills-” my voice cracks. I rub a hand across my face. I am so tired. “Were you pregnant?”
She raises her chin and I already know the answer.
Oh God. She lied. If she lied about that baby, what else has she lied about? I remember the blood. All the blood on our bed sheets. She said she was losing that baby and I believed her. It was probably just her period. How long after that had Estella been conceived?
I pace the length of the kitchen, my hands behind my neck. I say her name again; this time it’s a plea.
“Is she mine, Leah? Oh f**k.” I drop my hands. “Is she mine?”
I watch her face as she takes her time answering. She looks conflicted as to whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, she shrugs.
“Yeah.”
The whole world goes quiet. My heart crashes. Rises. Crashes.
Grief cleaves me in two. Two years, I haven’t seen her in two years. My daughter. My daughter.
The empty glass I drank tequila from sits to the right of my hand. I let my anger come, swiping the glass to the floor. It shatters and Leah flinches. I want to shake her, I want to throw her like that glass and watch her shatter for all the things she’s done. I head for the stairs.
“Caleb.” She comes after me, grabbing my arm. I yank myself free, taking the stairs two at a time.
She calls my name, but I barely hear her. I reach the top of the stairs and turn left down the hallway. She’s behind me, begging me to stop.
“Caleb, she’s sleeping. You’re going to terrify her. Don’t…”
I fling open the door and take in the soft pink light. Her bed is in the corner, a white four-poster. I walk in slowly, my steps muffled by the carpet. I can see her hair fanned out on the pillow, shockingly red and curly. I take another step in and I can see her face — pouty lips, chubby cheeks and my nose. I kneel next to the bed so I can see her, and I cry for the second time in my life. I cry quietly, my body shaking from my sobs.
Leah’s pleas have stopped. I don’t know whether she’s behind me or not — I don’t care. Stella’s eyes flutter open. For being woken up in the middle of the night by a stranger, she is surprisingly alert and calm. She lies still, her blue eyes watching my face with the gaze of a much older child.
“Why are you cwying?”
The sound of her voice, raspy like her mother’s, startles me. I cry harder.
“Daddy, why are you cwying?”
I feel like someone has just poured ice water over my head. I lean back; suddenly sober. I take in her disheveled curls, her full chubby cheeks, and I melt for my daughter.
“How do you know I’m your daddy?” I ask gently.
Estella, with her beautiful red curls and her blue eyes — but she had my nose. I’d been so sure of it until Leah told me that she was someone else’s. Then her nose had shifted. I thought that I was seeing things because I wanted so badly for her to be mine.
My mouth feels dry as I pull into her driveway. A million years ago it had been my driveway. My wife had been in that house. I broke it all apart because of the love I had for a ghost — a married ghost.
God. I think of Olivia now and a peace settles over me. She might not be mine, but I’m hers. It’s no use even fighting it anymore. I just keep falling flat on my face and then rolling toward her. If I can’t have Olivia Kaspen, then I’ll be alone. She is a disease I have. After ten years, I am finally realizing that I can’t cure it with other women.
I push the door to the car open and step out. Leah’s SUV is parked in her usual spot. I walk past it and up the stairs to the front door. It’s open. Walking into the foyer, I close the door behind me. Glancing around, I see that the living room is a mess of toys — a Cabbage Patch doll lays on its head next to a pile of naked Barbies. I step over a tricycle, heading toward the kitchen. I hear my name.
“Caleb?”
Leah stands in the doorway to the kitchen, a dishtowel in her hand. I blink a few times. I’ve never seen Leah hold anything but a martini glass. She dries her hands with the towel and tosses it on the counter, walking toward me.
“Are you okay? What are you doing here?”
My chest heaves with everything that wants to come out. I grind my teeth so hard I’m surprised they don’t crumble beneath the pressure. Leah notices what I’m doing and raises her eyebrows.
“Oh,” she says. She beckons me to the kitchen. I follow her and watch as she pulls a bottle of tequila from the cabinet. She pours two shots, takes one of them, and refills the glass.
“We fight better with tequila,” she says, handing one to me.
I don’t want to drink the liquor. Adding it to the fire that is already coursing through me can only mean danger. I look at the clear liquid and bring it to my lips. If Leah wants fire, I’m going to give it to her.
“Where’s Estella?”
“Asleep.”
I set my glass on the counter.
Good.
I walk toward my ex-wife. She backs up, her nostrils flaring.
“Tell me what you did.”
“I’ve done a lot of things,” she shrugs, trying to play it cool, “you’ll have to be more specific.”
“Olivia.”
Her name pings between us, ripping open old wounds and spraying blood across the room. Leah is furious.
“Don’t say that name in my house.”
“It’s my house,” I say calmly. Leah’s face is pale. She runs her tongue along her teeth, blinking slowly.
“Did you know Turner?”
“Yes.”
“And you had him ask Olivia out … to keep her away from me?”
“Yes.”
I nod. My heart is aching. I lean over the counter to gather my rising anger before it explodes. I push it down, swallow my contempt and look her in the eyes. Olivia and I never had a chance. The whole time we were destroying ourselves, someone else was having a go at it too.
“Leah,” I say, closing my eyes. “The hospital … after you took those pills-” my voice cracks. I rub a hand across my face. I am so tired. “Were you pregnant?”
She raises her chin and I already know the answer.
Oh God. She lied. If she lied about that baby, what else has she lied about? I remember the blood. All the blood on our bed sheets. She said she was losing that baby and I believed her. It was probably just her period. How long after that had Estella been conceived?
I pace the length of the kitchen, my hands behind my neck. I say her name again; this time it’s a plea.
“Is she mine, Leah? Oh f**k.” I drop my hands. “Is she mine?”
I watch her face as she takes her time answering. She looks conflicted as to whether or not to tell the truth. Finally, she shrugs.
“Yeah.”
The whole world goes quiet. My heart crashes. Rises. Crashes.
Grief cleaves me in two. Two years, I haven’t seen her in two years. My daughter. My daughter.
The empty glass I drank tequila from sits to the right of my hand. I let my anger come, swiping the glass to the floor. It shatters and Leah flinches. I want to shake her, I want to throw her like that glass and watch her shatter for all the things she’s done. I head for the stairs.
“Caleb.” She comes after me, grabbing my arm. I yank myself free, taking the stairs two at a time.
She calls my name, but I barely hear her. I reach the top of the stairs and turn left down the hallway. She’s behind me, begging me to stop.
“Caleb, she’s sleeping. You’re going to terrify her. Don’t…”
I fling open the door and take in the soft pink light. Her bed is in the corner, a white four-poster. I walk in slowly, my steps muffled by the carpet. I can see her hair fanned out on the pillow, shockingly red and curly. I take another step in and I can see her face — pouty lips, chubby cheeks and my nose. I kneel next to the bed so I can see her, and I cry for the second time in my life. I cry quietly, my body shaking from my sobs.
Leah’s pleas have stopped. I don’t know whether she’s behind me or not — I don’t care. Stella’s eyes flutter open. For being woken up in the middle of the night by a stranger, she is surprisingly alert and calm. She lies still, her blue eyes watching my face with the gaze of a much older child.
“Why are you cwying?”
The sound of her voice, raspy like her mother’s, startles me. I cry harder.
“Daddy, why are you cwying?”
I feel like someone has just poured ice water over my head. I lean back; suddenly sober. I take in her disheveled curls, her full chubby cheeks, and I melt for my daughter.
“How do you know I’m your daddy?” I ask gently.
