Catch Me Twice

by Charmaine Pauls

  Nancy drops down on her knees in front of me. “My God, Kristi.” Tears run down her cheeks as she hugs me with Noah sandwiched between us. “Are you all right?”

  Gina puts a mug in my hand. “Tea to warm you.”

  I take a sip. It’s laced with alcohol.

  “Let’s give them some space,” Dr. Santoni says, ushering the crowd away.

  Luan touches my shoulder. “We better get you home.”

  “I’ll drive,” Steve offers.

  “Thanks,” Luan says, “but I’ve got this.”

  He steers me to his car while people ask if we need anything. As I’m about to get inside, Tessa runs up.

  “I’m sorry,” she sobs. “It happened so fast. He was feeding the ducks and leaned over too far. He just fell in.” She wipes her nose. “He just fell in.”

  “You called for help straight away,” I say. “You did the right thing.”

  “I can’t swim,” she says through violent weeping.

  I squeeze her arm. “Everyone is okay.”

  “Someone needs to drive Tessa home,” my mom says, throwing an arm around the hysterical girl’s shoulders.

  “I’ll take her,” Jake says.

  “You’ll have to stay with her for a while.” My mom gives him a meaningful look. “Make sure she drinks something warm that’ll relax her.”

  Jake turns to me. “Will you be all right?” He looks at Noah, his brows pulled together. “Will he be okay?”

  “Yes,” I whisper. “Thank you, Jake. Thank you for what you did back there.”

  “No thanks needed.”

  Luan extends a hand. “Kristi and I are most thankful to you.”

  Jake accepts the handshake wordlessly, although a little reluctantly.

  “I was going to jump in,” Luan continues, “but you were already in the water, and I’m not a powerful swimmer like you obviously are.” He takes his wallet from his back pocket. “I’d like to reward you for your trouble. Any amount you want. Five hundred?”

  I nearly choke on my saliva.

  Jake’s eyes tighten. “I don’t need a reward, especially not for helping my own son.”

  “Biological,” Luan says.

  Jake takes a step toward Luan, his fists clenched at his sides. “Come again?”

  “Since you haven’t made contact until now, Noah is little else than a stranger to you.”

  What’s wrong with Luan? Before he can say more, which will undoubtedly earn him a broken nose, I push him toward the car. “I need to get Noah out of these wet clothes before he catches a cold.”

  The two men stare at each other like rams about to lock horns. Jake is massaging his breastbone in a way that tells me he’s past annoyance. He’s furious.

  “Luan, now,” my mom says, opening the door on the driver’s side.

  I get into the back with Noah while my mom takes the passenger seat in the front. As Luan pulls off, I look back. Jake stands in the middle of the road, staring after the car. My chest squeezes with an inexplicable emotion. I came close to losing Noah, but so did Jake. Maybe I should’ve invited Jake home so he could be there for his son like I know he wants. I glimpsed the longing in his eyes. No. Jake is wet. He needs a warm shower and a change of clothes. Or so I tell myself. Besides, Noah’s needs come first, and right now I need to reassure and settle him.

  I glance at the child in my lap, my precious child. He stopped crying and is resting his cheek on my chest, sucking his thumb.

  “Maybe you should stay over at the house tonight,” Luan says, catching my gaze in the rearview mirror.

  “Noah needs his familiar space, his own bed.” So do I. Plus, I’m upset with Luan for how he behaved and what he said to Jake.

  He gives me a guilty smile. “The offer stands.”

  When we get home, I don’t bathe Noah in the tub, but take a warm shower holding him tightly in my arms. After we’re both dressed in our flannel pajamas, way too warm for summer but not enough to warm the chill in my bones, I go through the habitual motions of feeding him dinner and reading him a story. After the traumatic experience, he needs the reassuring routine of his everyday life. Instead of putting him down in his crib, I crawl into bed with him. It doesn’t take long for him to doze off, probably an aftereffect of the fright.

  My mom sits down on the edge of the bed, a tender smile warming her face as she looks down at Noah. “He was very brave.”

  Pinching my eyes close for a second, I take a tremulous breath. “I still feel sick.”

  “Can I get you anything?”

  “It’s more of an emotional sickness.” Which I feel in my insides and every bone of my body.

  She regards me quietly for a while. I know what’s coming even before she asks, “Are you going to tell me what happened with Jake tonight?”

  My stomach twists with guilt but showing it will only make her believe she’s got a reason to worry. “When were you going to tell me about Eddie?”

  “It’s not serious.” She blinks when she says it, a telltale sign she’s lying.

  “How long have you been sleeping together?”

  She waves a hand. “Four or five years.”

  I gasp. “And you’re only telling me now?”

  She scratches the back of her neck. “I didn’t know how you’d take it. Besides, as I said, it’s nothing serious.”

  Taking her hand, I squeeze her fingers. “If you were trying to protect me, you needn’t have bothered.”

  She gives me a startled look. “Why?”

  “Eddie’s been too nice to me for a while now. I should’ve guessed. Plus, I don’t care who you date. You’re an adult, Mom. I respect your choices.”

  “Well,” she smooths a crease from the bedspread with a palm, “he does own the corner store, and he is Chinese.”

  There’s a stigma to corner store owners in our town, especially the small stores that sell toffees and chewing gum by the unit, and even more so if the owners are foreigners. Around here, foreignness is a fear all on its own.

  “Just because other people look down on who he is and what he does for a living doesn’t mean I will.”

  “You’re right.” She gives me a hesitant smile. “I should’ve had more faith in you.”

  Her words sting, because they boomerang right back at me, throwing an unwelcome spotlight on what happened with Jake behind the curtain of willow branches.

  “It’s late,” I mumble. “After what happened, I’m really tired.”

  “Of course.” She pats my hand. “Wake me if you need anything in the night.”

  “Mom,” I groan. “I’m twenty-two, not five.”

  “A mother is always a mother, no matter the age of her spawn.”

  She says spawn jokingly, as if the word is evil, which I most probably am, seeing that I cheated on Luan with my husband. Urgh. I’m not going to even try to analyze that, at least not until morning and only after two cups of coffee.

  “Love you, Mom.”

  She kisses my forehead. “Love you more.”

  Jake

  All the way back to the hotel, I can’t get the image of Noah’s red cap on the brown water out of my head or that kiss. That kiss that could’ve led to the truth if Gina and Eddie—fuck me—hadn’t shown up or Noah hadn’t fallen into the lake.

  I’m rattled to my bones, more than I’d like to admit. I saw the fear in Kristi’s wide blue eyes tonight and felt the thread that binds us as sure as it’s a livewire. It’s more than a legal contract claiming marriage. I’ve always felt our bond. I just chose to ignore it, doing my best to keep my toxic self away from a woman who deserves so much more, but double fuck it, she deserves more than that loser, Luan. What a prick.

  If I’m dishing out insults, I have to be honest enough to take them. Call me a dick. I shouldn’t have ignored Kristi all night in a hopeless effort to make her jealous. I shouldn’t have kissed her either, but I’m not going to regret it. Fuck that. At the next chance I get, my hand will be in her pants again.

 
My trainers slosh dirty water over the floor of the hotel reception where a box with my name on it waits on the counter. I check the sender address. Ahmed. With the box clutched under my arm, I climb the one level up to my room and scare a couple of cockroaches away before I get into the shower. After washing the mud and rancid-reeking water from my body, I dress in exercise pants and a clean T-shirt and sit down on the armchair by the bed with the box poised on the edge of the mattress.

  I need a drink and a smoke like never before, but the bar is closed, and I drove past the gas station again, too shaken to give anything other than Noah and Kristi a thought. I stare at the box for several long seconds before tearing off the masking tape that seals it. A whiff rises from inside, a smell of vanilla and amber that still clings to the stash after all these years. It smells like Kristi. And regret. Underneath the stack of letters, which is neatly tied with a ribbon, are two parcels, a big one with Noah’s name and a smaller one with Kristi’s. Ahmed, that damn dandy. A warm feeling heats my chest. Ahmed has always been a gentleman to the tee. I take out the pile of letters and flip it over before pulling the ends of the ribbon. The refined bastard even steamed the envelopes open. None of them are torn, except for the last one, the one in which Kristi demanded a divorce. Typical perfectionistic Ahmed, they’re organized by date.

  Leaning back in the stuffy chair, I start with the first one. I don’t even get to the third one before I’m bawling like a fucking baby.

  Kristi

  Thank goodness it’s Sunday, and I don’t have to be up early for work or rush Noah through his breakfast to get him to the crèche on time. When he’s done eating, I take him for a walk to the river and give him a gentle lecture about the dangers of water, trying my best not to install fear. I don’t want to traumatize him, but he needs to understand the implications of falling into water. If he understands, I don’t know. He listens quietly until my lecture is finished. Not even a moment later, he pushes his toy truck through a dirt track he carved with a stick around the roots of a tree. Sitting down on one of the roots, I watch him. I’m reveling in the marvel of him when Jake’s rental pulls up.

  Immediately, my stomach draws tight. Even more so when he gets out wearing a tight pair of jeans that hugs his hips and thighs, and a T-shirt that strains to accommodate his big arms and broad shoulders. In each hand, he carries a gift-wrapped parcel. The heat of his tongue as he explored my lips is seared into my memory. The path of his fingers as he boldly stuck them down my underwear makes me heat in places I’d rather ignore, but it’s difficult to deny the effect he has on me when he stalks toward us with tiger strides, his gait sure and determined. He knows exactly where he’s heading and what he’s doing. It’s only when he’s closer that I notice how red-rimmed his eyes are and how dark the circles underneath.

  “Sleep much?” I ask when he stops next to me.

  “Nope.” He crouches down next to Noah, who stops playing to look with interest at the parcels. “This is for you,” he says, placing the bigger of the two in front of Noah. Then he straightens and holds the smaller one out to me. “And for you.”

  I take the gift because my mom taught me it’s rude to not accept the kindness of the gesture. “For us?”

  He shoves his hands in the front pockets of his jeans and says with an embarrassed smile, “They’re not from me.”

  I shoot him a questioning look as Noah starts tearing enthusiastically at the paper.

  “They’re from a friend in Dubai.”

  I stiffen at the mention of that place, the place where he entertained countless women, but brush the untimely pinch of hurt away. I’m being unfair. Jake never said he’d love Noah and me. We made a mistake, Jake and I. We made our choices, and we’re living with them. Which brings the mistake of yesterday to mind, not that it hasn’t been tormenting me all night and morning. I have to be honest with Luan about what happened, and I’m not sure how he’ll take it. To say I’m tense is an understatement.

  It takes a little help from Jake before the paper finally comes off Noah’s gift. Noah holds up a fire truck with a long ladder and big horn. When Jake presses the horn, a siren blares. Noah grins from ear to ear. As if a thought suddenly hits him, he looks at me for approval. Jake is still a stranger to him, and Noah is not yet certain how he should react toward him. I give a small nod. It’s all it takes for Noah to discard the old truck and start playing with the new one.

  I remind him gently of his manners. “What do we say?”

  Noah gets to his feet and gives Jake a quick hug before going back on all fours to chase an imaginary fire.

  Jake doesn’t say anything, but his throat moves as he swallows. I try hard not to make too much of the emotions squeezing my heart at how Noah’s little arms looked around his father’s neck. We watch our son play until I sense Jake staring at me and turn my head. Our gazes collide. The heat in his eyes is a reminder of last night, a reminder that I can pretend all I want, but it doesn’t make what happened or how I reacted to him go away.

  He motions at the parcel I clutch in my hands. “Aren’t you going to open it?”

  Thankful for the distraction, I tear the paper away and remove a silk scarf in pastel colors.

  “That was very thoughtful of your friend,” I say. “You’ll have to thank her for us.”

  “Him. Ahmed. I worked for him.” Strain creeps into his voice. “Well, technically, I worked for his father.”

  The way in which he says the last part makes me look at him more closely. His expression is veiled. He’s hiding something. Something about that job or the man he worked for didn’t turn out well.

  “Did you enjoy the job?” I ask carefully.

  “Does anyone ever enjoy everything about a job?”

  “If you like most of it, the smaller, less pleasurable tasks shouldn’t matter.”

  “Do you like your job?”

  Do I? It’s always been a means to an end. I’m not passionate about bookkeeping, but I can’t say I hate it. “It’s not that bad.”

  “If Luan is planning on marrying you, why doesn’t he take care of you?”

  I give a start at the abrupt turn of the conversation. “He can’t let me move in until we’re married.”

  “Can’t or won’t?”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “You’ve been working for him for four years, and he still lets you live in a trailer.”

  “It’s only been a couple of weeks since we decided to get together,” I say defensively.

  “Doesn’t make a difference. If he cared, he could’ve put you up in a house a long time ago.”

  “Don’t you dare judge Luan, not when you can’t be blamed for the same accusation just because you weren’t around.”

  “I got you a house. That fact that my mother selfishly leased it to pocket the money is no excuse for my ignorance, but I’m going to rectify that.”

  “I never expected anything other than help to cover the medical costs of the birth from you.”

  “I admire your pride and independence, but it still doesn’t change the fact that for someone who claims to love you he barely pays you enough to eat.”

  Heat flares in my cheeks, knowing Jake saw the state of our food cupboards before he so generously filled them up. “He pays me what the job is worth. I’m no one’s charity case.”

  “I never would’ve allowed that.”

  Jumping to my feet, I cry, “You weren’t here.”

  We both still. Shit. I swore I’d never lay the blame at Jake’s feet, and I hate him for making me do it, for making me appear weak.

  “I’m sorry, Kristi.” He takes a step toward me.

  Pulling away, I draw the edges of my jersey together as if the thin wool can keep the coldness spreading to my heart at bay. “No, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said that.”

  “Thank you for saying it. Thank you for giving me an opportunity to apologize.”

  “There’s nothing to apologize about.”

  “There’s pl
enty.” He searches my face, imploring me with his eyes. “You may not realize it, but I need to say it as much as you need to hear it. I’m sorry I wasn’t here for you and Noah.” He grips my shoulders gently. “I needed to say that because I need healing too.”

  The admittance that he may also be suffering throws me off balance. I want to disregard the notion, but it was there in his eyes when he looked at Noah and when he spoke about his job. It was there last night when both of us could’ve lost our child.

  His arms fold around me, warm and strong. There’s compassion and understanding in the hug. The embrace offers comfort without demanding anything in return. For the first time, Jake holds me in a non-sexual way, in a way I desperately need. As he gives me his apology with no drama but sincere regret, something heavy lifts off my chest. The strain of carrying all the blame for our mistake falls away as he takes his share of the burden and allows me to face the feelings I’ve repressed for far too long. He allows me to acknowledge the disappointment of my shattered dreams and unrequited love. I’m far from trusting or forgiving him, but I can let a little of my guard down in the safety of his arms, letting his apology soothe a deep-seated hurt that has never quite vanished.

  “I’ll make it up to you,” he whispers in my hair, planting a soft kiss on my crown. “For as long as I live.”

  The words are unwelcome. Pushing on his chest, I put distance between us. “I appreciate your apology, but we’re over. We both moved on. This doesn’t change anything.”

  He closes his eyes and inhales deeply. When he opens them again, his expression is pained. “I’ll be patient.”

  “Jake, please.”

  “You can’t deny our chemistry.”

  “It’s physical. It’s always been physical.”

  “I disagree. I’ve been in love with you since first grade. I still am.”

  I take a step away. “Don’t say that.”