by Staci Hart
She smiled. “Then I won’t worry either.”
And then I kissed her.
It was slow and gentle, a savoring motion of lips and tongues and hands that roamed. The weight of her breast in my palm, the feel of her thigh between mine, her body flush against me. Every second and every minute with her was a dream, a discovery—not only of her, but of myself.
We would try. I would have her, and she would have me. And the exaltation of that decision brought our bodies together with an easy grace, a long appreciation of each other that went on and on until we were spent and satisfied.
Even then, neither of us wanted to leave the bed or the room or the quiet sanctuary of the morning. But when Maven woke, singing through the baby monitor, our time was up.
Hannah dressed, and I pulled on my slacks, gathering the rest of my clothes before kissing her well and thoroughly at her door. We split up—she headed for the bathroom, and I made my way upstairs, passing Katie in the kitchen. She froze when she saw me, her mouth opening as one brow climbed, her lips stretching into a smile that I returned along with a shrug.
“About time, Charlie,” she said.
“You’re a terrible influence,” I said back and climbed the stairs, still smiling. I might actually smile until I died;, I was so happy.
I tossed my clothes in the direction of my bedroom door and entered Maven’s room, finding her sitting in her bed, singing to her bunny as she made it dance.
“Hey, baby,” I cooed as I approached.
She smiled at me. “Daddy!”
I picked her up and propped her on my hip, leaning back to look at her. “Feel better?”
She nodded and hooked her finger in her lips.
“Hungry?”
Another nod.
I kissed her temple. “Come on then.”
“Kai have a pa-ka-sickle?”
I chuckled. “Sure, a medicine popsicle and some toast. What do you say?”
Her answer was to curl into my chest, tucking her head under my neck, a spot where she fit perfectly. For a little while longer at least.
We swung by my room so I could change into jersey pants and a T-shirt before heading downstairs again and into the kitchen. Hannah hadn’t come up, and Katie looked like she was about to burst.
She practically bum-rushed me with a fool grin on her face.
I had to laugh as I put Maven in her seat. “Don’t try to hide it, Katie.”
She giggled—my fifty-something cook actually giggled like a girl—hands clasped in front of her. “I can’t help it. I love her, Charlie, and I love you. And the two of you together is just the best. She makes you happy, and you deserve to be happy after all that woman put you through.”
“You’ve been a real pro at keeping that under wraps, let me tell you.”
She swatted my arm. “Everything’s okay, right? That wasn’t just a … a one-time thing?”
“I sure hope not.”
She giggled again, her cheeks high and pink as she flitted away.
A moment later, Hannah walked in, hair in a long braid over her shoulder and her face full of sunshine.
“Good morning,” she said, catching my eyes and holding them as I handed Maven her popsicle.
“Morning,” Katie and I echoed.
Hannah took one look at Katie and looked back to me, smiling. “She knows?”
“I think she’s been waiting for it for weeks.”
Katie and Hannah laughed, but Katie didn’t make a fuss.
“Don’t worry about me,” she said as she turned on the kettle. “I won’t make it weird, but you certainly don’t have to sneak around me.”
“Good,” I said. “Come here, Hannah. Let’s make out.”
They laughed again, but I held out my hand and motioned her over.
“Seriously, come here. Let’s show Katie what we’re made of.”
Hannah’s cheeks flushed, shaking her head as she stepped over, took my hand, and kissed me on the cheek before moving away to help Katie with breakfast.
“Ugh, lame,” I joked and sat next to Maven, happy as a bunny in a field of clover, feeling blissfully right for the first time in as long as I could remember.
Hannah
A few hours later, the four of us sat on the couch watching an animated movie. Well, Charlie and I sat close enough that we touched shoulder to hip to knee, and Maven sat in my lap, but Sammy couldn’t sit still. At that moment, he was sliding across the coffee table on his belly, face turned to the television. Charlie’s eyes were on the papers in his lap—his attempt at working—but when Sammy spun on his stomach and went across the table the way he’d come, Charlie looked up.
“You bored, bud?” he asked.
“Yesssss,” he hissed. “I’m a snake! Ik ben de slang!”
Charlie smiled. “Man, he’s picking that up fast.”
“Ja, hij is jong. He’s young and clever and curious.”
“Well, I’m doomed then.”
I laughed. “Je kunt leren.”
One brow rose. “That sounds a little dirty.”
“You can learn,” I said with my schoolteacher voice. “Juf Hannah will teach you.”
His smile rose on one side. “Oh, I’m sure Juf Hannah could definitely teach me a thing or two.”
I chuckled, but he brought the back of his hand to the back of mine, and we threaded our fingers backward together with a squeeze.
“Come on,” Charlie said and moved to get up, tossing his paperwork on the coffee table. “Let’s go for a walk.”
Sammy crowed and jumped through the living room. “A walk, a walk, a walk!”
Charlie ruffled his hair. “Yeah, get some of that energy out. We’ll have lunch after. What do you say?”
“Let’s goooooo!” The word trailed away as he bolted out of the room and to the bench where his shoes were.
Charlie took Maven and felt her forehead. “I think her fever’s almost gone. Think we can take her on a walk in the stroller?”
“She’s so much better. I think the fresh air might do her good, yeah?”
“Ja,” he said, smiling as he turned to follow Sammy.
We busied ourselves with shoes and jackets and the stroller, saying goodbye to Katie on our way out into the crisp autumn day.
Charlie held Sammy’s hand as we walked toward the park, and I followed with the stroller, watching the two of them talk, Charlie smiling as he looked down at his son, who hadn’t stopped talking since we stepped outside.
The sky was high and cloudless and blue, broken only by the fiery tops of the trees as they began their slumber toward spring. The breeze had just the slightest chill, sweeping leaves away in its currents, whispering with their dry crackling against the pavement that the holidays were coming, that scarves and fires and hot chocolate and cinnamon were around the corner.
My eyes traced the treetops that lined the avenue in matching height, marveling over the rusty shade against the cornflower blue of the sky behind them.
“What a lovely day,” I said when Sammy began humming.
Charlie glanced over our surroundings, up the street of brownstones with their old iron lamps. “It really is. New York in fall is almost as impressive as New York in spring.”
I sighed, smiling. “I would like to see that.”
“You will,” he said, smiling back. “The park is full of blossoming trees, the grass so green and lush, and everyone is just … fresh. New. Ready for change.”
“I can imagine.”
He chuckled to himself and rubbed the back of his neck. “Seems like a pretty stupid comparison, thinking about it. Holland is the land of flowers, isn’t it?”
“It’s true; there are quite a lot of flowers. Tulip fields in spring paint the earth in stripes of color. The grass is always green, even in the winter, and lavender grows everywhere. And autumn is lovely, too. The canals are lined with auburn trees against the old houses. It’s a riot of color—green and lush in the summer, gold and warm in the fall. Winter is drab—t
here’s always a bit of rain—but when it snows …” I sighed.
“Do you miss it?”
I shrugged. “Less lately.”
He smiled at that, a smile meant only for me. “Good.”
We turned the corner for the park, and Charlie stopped at a shop window to look inside.
“Oh, man … the old sandwich shop moved.” Disappointment hung on his words. “I loved this place. What a great space. Come here and look.”
I stopped the stroller next to the window and peered inside. It was a beautiful shop, long and narrow with big windows, but it was a bit outdated and a little run-down. It had been mostly stripped down, and the sign in the window directed viewers to their new location.
“You should turn this into a bakery,” he said.
I laughed genuinely at the suggestion.
But he turned to me, serious. “I mean it. Look, it’s already set up and ready to go.” He glanced back through the window. “With a little remodeling and some TLC, this place could really be something.”
This time when I laughed, I shook my head. “It’s a lovely shop, Charlie.”
The expression on his face might almost be a pout. “Oh, come on. You can’t even daydream about it?”
I looked into the shop again, opening my mouth to speak, but for a second, I said nothing. “I wouldn’t even know where to begin. I don’t know anything about the business side of things even if I did have the money to rent a space like this.” I nodded in.
“Psh. You don’t need any of those things to dream.” He took my hand, gazing in. “What would you do in there? How would you want it to look? Just imagine it, that’s all. Dreaming’s free.”
I sighed and scanned the space, going along with it. “Well, let’s see. Pretty new wood floors would make a difference. Open white shelves behind the counter. How high do you think the ceilings are?”
He narrowed his eyes. “Tall. Maybe eighteen feet?”
I nodded, excitement slipping through me as my imagination skipped away from me. “Grand molding. A big chalkboard sign. Cases of pastries with little handwritten signs. Chairs lined up facing out to the street, with a deep table, so you could work here or sit with your friends and look out. A pretty baldakijn—how do you say … a canopy with broad pink-and-white stripes.”
He was watching me with his face full of adoration. “See? Dreaming is free. What would you name it?”
“Lekker,” I answered with a smile as warm as my heart. “It means yummy, delicious. In Dutch, everything is lekker.” I leaned closer and whispered, “Even bottoms.”
Charlie laughed, his head tipping back just a little. He whispered back, eyes twinkling, “How do you say nice butt?”
“Lekker cont.”
“Man, that really does sound filthy.”
I shrugged, and we laughed together and turned back to the sidewalk, hand in hand and smiling. Because he was right; dreaming was free. And I found myself with more dreams every day.
Charlie
Central Park was picturesque that day, and so was my life. It was one of those perfect afternoons, the kind you imagined when you were young enough to still believe things would turn out like you thought they would. It was the sound of Sammy laughing as I chased him around a patch of the park and the sight of Hannah sitting on a blanket with Maven in her lap, watching and smiling. It almost felt like déjà vu, a recognition from somewhere deep and elemental that made me believe with some certainty that I was exactly where I was supposed to be. That everything I had been through brought me to that day, to that moment, to the moments after.
And there were so many. Laughing with Katie in the kitchen and eating dinner with Hannah and the kids, getting them ready for bed together—again a natural dance that Hannah and I found ourselves in without need for discussion or instruction, just the two of us moving in synchronicity until both kids were in bed.
We headed downstairs to her room, hand in hand, not ever agreeing to it aloud. It just seemed the only place to go. She’d kept the fireplace clean, and I’d made sure there were an abundance of supplies, so I built a fire while she pulled pillows down, resting them against the footboard.
I lit the lazy log and piled wood on top, and before long, I was sitting with her tucked into my side and her head resting in the curve of my neck, our legs stretched out in front of us and faces turned to the fire as it licked the logs, crackling and popping.
She sighed.
So did I.
“I really don’t want to work on Monday,” I said regretfully, watching the fire. “Today was too good, and I bet tomorrow will be even better. I’m ruined.”
Hannah chuckled. “I can’t imagine working as much as you do.”
“It’s like I’m caught in a wheel that won’t stop turning. There’s no way to stop it, no way out. I guess it would be different if I loved it, but I don’t.”
“Did you ever?”
I thought back, searching through those first years. “You know, at first, I think I did. It was exciting, new. I felt like I was contributing, that I was a part of something. About a year in, that was all gone.”
“What do you think changed?” she asked.
“I was exhausted,” I answered. “It’s not sustainable to work that many hours day after day, month after month. Promotions help, and raises make it easier for a minute, but in the end, we’re chasing something we can never catch. Because the second one job is over, there are three more to be done.”
We sat silently for a moment.
“If you could do anything in the world, what would you do?” she asked.
“Easy. I’d be a professional kwarktaart taster.”
She laughed. “I’m serious.”
I held her a little closer. “I don’t know, Hannah. I really don’t. I never did know; that’s part of why I went into law. I enjoyed it well enough and was good at it. I mean, as good as anyone can be at memorizing things—which, for me, is pretty damn good. It made sense to me. I used to think it was my calling. Now I think it might be my curse.”
“Well, imagine it. Dreaming is free,” she said pointedly.
“I guess it’s only fair you used my own line on me.”
I thought about it for a little while, and she waited for me, content and patient.
“It’s hard to think of anything outside of my degree. What am I even qualified for? I guess I could be a consultant or something, but I’m over the whole thing. I don’t really want to practice law. I don’t have any passions. How sad is that? I’ve been so busy trying to succeed, working toward my degree and then my advancement in my career, that I never even found any hobbies.”
“What about before college?”
I shrugged. “I played basketball, but I wasn’t any good, just tall. And I played video games, but I wasn’t very good at that either. I like solving puzzles, solving problems, making things efficient.” I shook my head, feeling hopeless. “I didn’t think this would be my life. I didn’t think I’d be in my thirties and so unhappy. I’ve failed in the most important way; I’m not happy. Well, I wasn’t. Not until things changed. Not until I could see how to change them. And that’s in part thanks to you.”
She sat up and shifted to meet my eyes, her face sweet and soft and open and lovely, so lovely.
“I feel like I’ve been looking at life upside down for a decade. But now, I can see. I don’t know what to do about it, not yet, but I can see. Do you understand?”
She nodded, her skin warm and rosy in my hand, her face tilted, eyes down.
“I’m sorry,” she said quietly.
“Don’t be. The realization is that much sweeter this way. I know now what I have to lose. I know what I have to gain. I know what I want even though I don’t know how to get it yet.”
“I believe you’ll have everything you wish for, Charlie. All you have to do is reach out and take it.”
I smiled and reached for her with the hopes of taking her. “Oh, is that all I have to do?”
She smiled
back and leaned toward me, angling for a kiss. “That’s all.”
And so I took what she offered, starting with her lips.
14
Absence
Charlie
The night was gone too soon, and morning came on its heels. The only real solace was that it was Sunday, and I’d be shirking work again.
Monday was going to suck for too many reasons to count.
Katie was off that day, leaving Hannah and me to fend for ourselves. And it was glorious.
Parenting with Hannah was fun.
It was so strange to realize that it could be fun. I’d never been a part of a unit that functioned like it did with her, and every minute with her had made me more and more confident that I could be a good dad, that I did know what to do, that I could have what I wanted.
I should have known things were going too well long before the knock on the door.
We were all in the entryway getting ready to walk to the Children’s Museum when it happened, just an innocuous rap of knuckles on the front door. I answered with a smile that slipped off my face, turned down by the anchoring of my heart as it sank in my chest.
Mary’s smile didn’t falter, though it didn’t reach her eyes. No, her eyes glinted with some secondary, alternative emotion more real than that false happiness on her face. Her dark hair was down and wavy, her clothes neat and unassuming.
Everything about her was a lie.
“Hi, Charlie.”
I was stuck to the spot, staring at her for a long moment.
“Can I come in?” she asked, half-joking, the punch line—to my own house—left unspoken.
“No.” It was almost a croak, my dry throat was sticky with shock and discomfort.
Her brow quirked. She still smiled. “What do you mean, no? I wanted to catch you when I knew you’d be at home, so we could … talk.”
“No,” I said, stronger this time. “Mary, you can’t—”
“I can’t what?” she shot, the truth in her heart surfacing, the brief niceties out of the way. “I can’t see my children? I can’t come into my own house?”
