by L. D. Davis
“He doesn’t want to be a father,” Claire answered above a whisper. She wouldn’t look at me now.
“Does he help you at all?” I heard myself asking.
She still wouldn’t look at me. She shook her head, took a deep breath, and stood up straight. “I can take care of her by myself. I don’t need him or anyone else.”
I knew Claire. Claire was trying to prove she was more prideful and stronger than what she was really feeling. I could see it in her eyes.
Emmy looked at me and I looked back. I already knew what she wanted me to do and I didn’t want to do it, but then I hated deadbeat fathers. I sighed deeply and turned my attention back to Claire.
“I can get him,” I said and then held up a hand when she started to speak. “I know you said you don’t need him. I know you make good money, but that does not mean that he can shirk his responsibilities.”
She looked at me and I could sense the regret she felt. “You would do that for me? Even after…” she faltered and looked at Emmy nervously.
“Even after the whole who’s-the-daddy-craziness?” Emmy asked her.
Stunned, Claire stared at her. “You know?”
“She’s my wife,” I said plainly. “She knows everything there is to know about me.”
Emmy nodded in agreement.
I had told her about Claire shortly after I proposed to her. I had felt so guilty for not telling her sooner, but Em soothed that guilt. She didn’t hold it against me because it happened before we were officially back together.
“Besides, I already knew,” she had said casually.
“What?” I stared at her disbelievingly. “How?”
“I was looking for something in your desk and found the paternity order,” she shrugged. “I knew you would tell me if that baby was yours, because you would want to do the right thing for Claire and the baby. I wasn’t sure if you’d tell me about it if the baby wasn’t yours, but then it wouldn’t matter, and it doesn’t.”
We had never spoken about it again, but now Claire was standing before us and I pretty much sealed our fate. I would have to not only talk about Claire again, but I’d have to see her again, repeatedly, until Carrie’s father paid up.
Claire seemed to deflate before us, her shoulders sagged and she looked down at Carrie’s stroller.
“I can’t afford a big legal battle right now,” she said and began to shift from foot to foot.
“What are you talking about?” I snorted. “You make great money at that marketing firm.”
I didn’t particularly want her money, but I was surprised to hear her say she couldn’t afford something. Claire had made good money after clawing her way up through the company.
She looked up at me with a sigh. “They forced me to resign my position. I’m not even making half of what I made before.”
“Why did they make you resign?” Emmy asked, just as puzzled as me.
“They were okay with me going out on maternity leave,” she said and shifted Carrie to her other arm.
The little girl kept smiling and giggling whenever Lucas made his “Vwroom” sound with his cars. Admittedly, she was a very cute kid, though smaller than I expected. Maybe she wasn’t as old as I thought. I started to do math in my head, but Claire’s next words forced the numbers out of my head.
“Carrie was diagnosed with Cystic Fibrosis shortly after she was born,” Claire said. “She’s only one and we’ve spent a tremendous amount of time in the hospital since she was born. My superiors felt that it was best that I stepped down since I couldn’t give them the eighty hours plus a week I used to give to them before Carrie was born,” Claire said bitterly.
“They can’t do that,” Emmy said, and then looked at me. “Can they?”
I ran a hand through my hair. “Depends. Were you keeping up with your work?”
Claire nodded. “I worked right out of her hospital room. If I had to be in a meeting, my mom would go sit with her. It was a struggle, but I gave it more than my best. One of my coworker’s had a son with leukemia. He spent a lot of time out of the office and they didn’t make him step down.”
“How are you paying Carrie’s medical bills?” Emmy wondered. “And living day to day.”
Claire sighed and a blush rose in her cheeks. “Carrie’s bills are growing faster than I can pay them. Between the prescriptions and trying to make up for what I lost, my savings is depleting fast. I have medical insurance, but it’s expensive and they are paying for less and less. I’m okay with basic needs, for now, but it’s only a matter of time before I find myself standing in line at the county welfare office. The only reason I’m shopping at the mall is because my sister gave me a gift card.”
Emmy scowled. “Sounds fucked up.”
“Language,” I scolded, shaking my head.
She shrugged and said, “Sorry, but it is.”
“You should have come to me sooner,” I said to Claire.
She gave me a look that said, “Really? Should I have? Yeah, right.” She didn’t say what her eyes said. Even Emmy gave me a sideways look that said, “Yeah, right.”
I looked back to Claire. I hadn’t wanted to speak to her, but now that I had, I felt bad for her, and I felt bad that she couldn’t come to me. Another woman was in trouble and felt she couldn’t come to me because I would be a jackass, which I probably would have been at first. I hated what Claire did, but what she was going through was beyond any kind of punishment anyone should ever receive.
“Okay, listen,” I said. “I’m officially out of the office until the end of January, but I think you need to get started. I am going to send you to Deluca.”
“That scary woman you hated so much?” Claire asked incredulously.
“That scary woman is my friend,” Emmy said proudly. “And this is a perfect case for her. She doesn’t take any shit, especially from men. She’ll legally beat the crap out of Carrie’s dad and use your bosses’ bodies to wipe up the mess.”
I rolled my eyes. Emmy spoke with complete adoration for the heart eating bitch, but she was right. This was a perfect case for Vivian and it would keep the proper distance between me and Claire.
“That’s all well and good,” Claire said, eyeing Emmy wearily. “But I still don’t have the money.”
“We’ll speak with her first,” I said. “I’ll have her call you either way.”
She looked at me and then Emmy and back to me. Her eyes still flickering back and forth she said, “You don’t have to do this. You don’t owe me anything,” she said to me.
I didn’t. I could have told her good luck and walked away, but like she had said a few minutes before, we used to be friends once. I didn’t hate Claire. I didn’t love Claire, but the circumstances with her daughter made me care.
“I know,” I said with a slow nod. “But we used to be friends once.”
She looked relieved that I said that. “Thank you,” she said softly and then looked at Emmy. “Thank you both.”
We exchanged a few more pleasantries before all of the kids started to get restless. Emmy promised her Vivian would be in touch soon. The goodbyes were quick. Claire and Carrie started to walk one way and we started to walk another way. I felt a gentle hand on my elbow. As Em and the kids continued walking, I stopped and faced Claire.
“I just want you to know that I wasn’t trying to trap you,” she said quietly, but her eyes screamed for me to understand. “I had some pretty strong feelings for you and I probably would have given up just about anything to be in her place,” she nodded towards Emmy. “But I wasn’t trying to trap you. I promise. I’m really happy for you, Luke.”
I could feel her sincerity. The animosity I held towards her melted away.
“Thank you, Claire,” I said sincerely and squeezed her hand. “Take care.”
“You, too,” she grinned with relief and turned away.
I caught up to my family a moment later. Emmy looked up at me and smiled.
“You are an incredible human being, Luke Kessle
r,” she said lovingly.
I grazed the back of my hand over her soft cheek. “You make me an incredible human being, Emmy.”
For half a second, it was only the two of us in the entire world as we gazed into each other’s eyes. Then the sounds of Lucas’s whining and Kaitlyn’s crying and the various noises of the mall brought us back to our reality, but it was a reality I was grateful to be in and there isn’t anything or anyone in the world that could shake us from it.
Epilogue
Love (noun)
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. sexual passion or desire.
4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
We are every definition of the word. I give and receive passionate affection. We have warm and personal attachments for our family. We are sexual passion and desire. She is my love and I am hers.
I repeatedly gave her the benefit of doubt, and she repeatedly forgave me for my own actions and words. She wasn’t being herself, but now she is more than herself. She is perfection in her new skin, after shedding the dead skin of the woman she was not. The woman I loved and have loved for some time fights her way through difficult circumstances. She fights for her friends. She fights for her children and extended family. She fights for me. She fights for herself. The woman I love has a strong mind and a strong soul. She has an abundance of confidence and knows she deserves respect, happiness, and monogamy, and I give her all of that and more. Not just because I want to, but because she requires no less. She is faithful, devoted, loyal, and true. She is not the most innocent person, but she is not cruel. She curses. She drinks. She flirts with her husband shamelessly regardless of who is watching. This woman who grew from the ashes of the woman she used to be, is enduring, a weapon to those who dare trifle with those she loves, and a treasure to those of us who are fortuitous enough to know her. She excites every part of me and she will never break my heart.
When you know in your bones, right down to the cellular level, that you are supposed to be with someone, you hold on to them with everything you have. When you know beyond a shadow of a doubt that someone is your soul mate, the one person in the universe you cannot be without, you fight for her. You knock down whoever gets in your way. You give her every reason to know her place with you. You will give anything and everything you have for her. You will die for her.
Emmy once told me that I saved her, that I rescued her from her biggest enemy: herself.
“You picked up all of the pieces and put me back together again,” she had said.
“If you’re as cracked as your mother, I’ll be putting you back together for the rest of our lives.”
She punched me. I kissed her.
When my lips finally pulled away from hers, she bit that pretty bottom lip and placed her hand on my heart. Her eyebrows furrowed.
“I’m sorry I broke your heart,” she whispered.
“It was a long time ago,” I said dismissively.
“But I hurt you so bad.” She looked up at me with tears pooled in her eyes.
“Emmy,” I said gently, taking her hand in mine. “I was born to love you. I was made to be with you. That was one of many challenges we’ve had to overcome, and there will be more, but we’ll always face them together. As bad as that time was for us, it did not ultimately keep us apart, and nothing and no one ever will. I will never stop fighting for you.”
“But you already have me,” she said, tilting her pretty head.
“If I stop fighting, I become complacent. If I become complacent, you could slip between my fingers, and I am unwilling to let that happen. You will never have to wonder if my heart is still in this. As long as I remain breathing and my heart continues to beat, I will fight for you.”
“I will fight for you, too.”
“You better, Mrs. Kessler” I said, smiling at her. “I am a fine specimen.”
She smiled back at me and gently cupped my cheek in one hand. “Yes, you sure are, Mr. Kessler.”
“And Em?”
“Yes?”
“You saved me, too.”
And she had. In ways that either of us will ever completely understand. I was incomplete before I knew her. I was broken after I did know her. Now, I am complete. Now I am whole again. We saved each other. We fought for each other and our lives together. We are worth the fight.
The End
Tethered
An Accidentally On Purpose Companion Novel
Prologue
I was at my best friend’s wedding reception dancing dirty with her husband. I grinded, I shook, and shimmied, and dropped it like it was hot. He got into it, dancing better than most guys I have ever known, and I’ve known quite a few. I dared a glance at his wife. She watched us while laughing, smiling, and clapping. I loved that she knew that I didn’t mean anything by it. I loved that she knew how happy I was for her and that I was not trying to screw her husband.
The song changed and he drew me in for a slower paced dance that didn’t require me to shake my ass. Luke Kessler looked ridiculously happy. He was high off of his happiness. It pleased me, and it also made me sad for myself.
“You look really happy,” I said to him.
“I don’t think it’s possible to feel any happier,” he answered with a big, beautiful smile.
I don’t know how Emmy has survived such panty dropping smiles.
I bit back my own smile and said, “Sweet. Cheesy and corny, but sweet. I’ve honestly never seen Em look so happy.”
We both looked across the dancefloor. Emmy was dancing with her father Fred. I danced with Fred at my wedding too. He was the only dad I had when I got married.
“I really like you, Luke,” I said, turning my eyes back to my best friend’s husband. “In fact, I love you as much as a girl can love her best friend’s husband without it being scandalous. But…” I trailed off.
Like Emmy, and especially like her mother Sam, I spoke my mind. Speak first, and worry about the consequences later. My words have caused a great deal of trouble over the years, but maybe it wasn’t the time or place to say what I really wanted to say. Luke has been very good to Emmy, with the exception of a few months not that long ago, but that was kind of her fault. I didn’t want him to think that I doubted him, because I didn’t, but like the rest of us, he was only human.
“But?” Luke looked at me warily.
“If you fuck this up beyond repair, I will kill you,” I promised.
I felt his body stiffen ever so slightly under my hands.
“I would rather die than to fuck this up beyond repair,” he replied.
“We all say that,” I said quietly. “We would rather die than to hurt the ones we love, but we do. She did it to you.” Under my breath, I muttered, “Hell, I’ve done it.”
Luke frowned and looked at me with puzzlement. I realized with horror that he heard my last few words.
He glanced curiously at my husband Jerry, who was surrounded by a few adoring baseball fans. Even if they were not Philly fans, they were drawn to the professional athlete, and he to them.
“It’s my wedding day,” Luke finally said with exasperation. “I don’t want to talk about that, Donya.”
“I just want you to always be conscious of your actions, Luke.” I gave him a very hard look. “It’s very easy to find yourself standing on the wrong side of the line without ever meaning to cross it.”
I suddenly felt like the banquet room was too small. Ignoring the startled expression on his face, I kissed Luke’s cheek and pulled out of his arms.
“Just remember what I said,” I said in a rush of air.
I whirled around and raced toward the exit. It was January, in Chicago no less, but the room felt stuffy, and each new breath seemed harder to take than the one before it. I resisted the urge to wipe my sweaty palms on my maid of honor dress as I weaved my way ar
ound people and tables. I promised myself I wouldn’t turn around and look. There was no reason to look.
I won’t look.
With only a few steps left to the door, I turned my head and looked.
It’s as if there is a magnet that pulls my eyes to his exact location every time. My eyes always find him right away, no matter the circumstances, no matter the obstacles between us.
He looked stunning in his tuxedo. By all appearances, he seemed casual and relaxed with his hands in his pockets as he stood talking to his older brother. His deep blue bowtie was hanging to one side and his shirt was unbuttoned a few buttons, revealing the beginning contours of what I knew to be a well-defined chest.
His dark hair was a little on the long side, and several strands fell across his forehead. I thought it was sexy, but his wife hated it. She must not have liked running her fingers through it.
Sadly, I looked away and escaped the crushing pressure of the room.
After retrieving my coat, I walked out of the building and into the frozen tundra. I veered away from the small group of guests that were also braving the cold, and followed a stone path around to the back side of the building. I looked around and was relieved to find myself alone.
I opened my purse and found my hidden cigarette and lighter. I put the cancer stick in my mouth and lit it up. Inhaling deeply, I closed my eyes, and let the smoke out slowly through slightly parted lips.
Smoking was the bad habit I picked up during my days as a model. I got lucky. It could have been cocaine, heroin, pills, or so many other things that strung a girl out. I quit smoking regularly when I quit modeling, but on occasion, a cigarette was necessary.
When I was about half way through my necessary cigarette, I heard light footfalls behind me. I knew who was coming without having to look. I could feel him. I have always been able to feel him. I stopped questioning it long ago.
One strong arm encircled my waist. I shivered and it had nothing to do with the chilling weather. Fingers plucked the cigarette from my lips and tossed it away. I watched as it landed in the snow a few feet off of the path. It was resilient. It burned on, despite the cold moisture under it.
