Pocketful of Sand

by M. Leighton

  In the bathroom I turn on the hot water spigot and temper it with just a little bit of cold as I wind up my hair and shed my clothes. I think my eyes roll back into my head when I stick my toe in. The moan that rumbles out of my throat when I sink down into the warm liquid is uncontainable. “Holy crap, that feels good!” I say to the empty room. It’s fairly quiet in here, only the muted blare of the television interrupting the tranquility.

  I let my eyes drift shut, visions of Cole dancing through my thoughts. His beautiful face, his incredible body, his overt strength. His hidden vulnerability. He’s like all things delicious–and gorgeous, and capable, and mysterious–wrapped up in a package that has KEEP AWAY scrawled across the front. It makes for one of the most irresistible combinations I’ve ever encountered. It’s so easy to picture him sweeping me off my feet, holding me in his strong arms, crushing my mouth with his perfect lips, warming my skin with his calloused touch. God!

  I don’t know how much time has passed in my fantasy world when I lift my head to look around. Emmy is happily singing along with one of her favorite DVDs and my water has cooled considerably. Not ready to give up Cole just yet, I hook my toe in the drain plug and yank. I let out a couple of inches of tepid water before I re-plug it and twist the hot water knob to add more heat. I hear a dull clink and practically the whole thing comes off in my hand and then, a deluge of water.

  The hard spray hits me right in the face. I squeal and press my hand in to cover the pipe hole. Water is in my eyes, shooting up onto the ceiling and spilling from the tub out onto the floor before I get it somewhat under control. And even then, it’s still spewing like crazy. And it’s getting hotter.

  “Mom! What happened?”

  Emmy is standing in the doorway, wide-eyed. I flatten my palm over the pipe end to stem the flow as I look around for some kind of shut-off valve. The only one I see is for the toilet right beside the tub.

  My mind races. I’m no plumber! I have no idea what to do in a situation like this other than let it flood the house, which would be a nightmare! One thought, one person, pops into my head. Whether advisable or not, I cling to that image.

  “Emmy, I need you to run to the cottage across the street. You know the one where Mr. Danzer worked this summer?”

  “Yeah, I know which one.”

  “You go straight over there and knock on the door. Don’t stop and don’t talk to anyone else, do you hear me?”

  “I won’t, Momma.” Her eyes look frightened, but she’s already backing out the door.

  “Emmy, get Mr. Danzer and bring him over here, okay?”

  She nods and then turns to run.

  “Emmy!” I yell. I sigh in relief when she appears in the doorway again, cheeks already flushed. “Hand me two towels,” I say. She grabs one from the sink where I left it and another from the cabinet underneath and hands them both to me. Water leaks copiously from around my fingers when I ease back to wind one around my front, half of it dragging in the water, and then stuff the other one on the pipe to staunch the flow of hot water. “Okay, go, go, go!”

  She races off and I pray that sending her after him was the right thing to do. This would be a terrible time of year to have to find alternative accommodations. But if anyone can fix this, I bet Cole can.

  I snatch the plug out of the drain again and listen to the water in the tub gurgle away, my stomach twitching with anxious anticipation.

  TEN

  Cole

  PART OF ME is glad that Eden isn’t at her window anymore. It’s hard enough to keep my mind off her as it is, but when I can see her…when she stands so still in her kitchen and watches me…

  I close my eyes and grit my teeth against the unwanted sensations that tear through me. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I don’t want to think about her or imagine what her soft lips would feel like against mine. I don’t want to lie awake at night and wonder what she’s doing, what she wears to bed, or what she looks like when she sleeps. I don’t want any of this.

  Not that it matters. I’m getting it anyway. No matter how hard I fight it, she’s all I can think about. Accept on beach day.

  I almost don’t hear the knock at the door. I’m too deep in thought and the sound is too soft. I stop hammering for a second to listen, thinking I might’ve mistaken some other noise for a knock. But then I hear it again, hesitant but insistent.

  I lay down my hammer and walk to the door, cracking it to look outside. Standing on the porch is Eden’s daughter, Emmy. Her eyes are as big as saucers, her thumb is stuck snugly in her mouth and she’s wiggling one foot where it’s being swallowed whole in what looks like her mother’s shoe.

  A searing streak of panic blazes through me. I fling open the door and drop to one knee in front of her. “Emmy, what is it? Is your mom hurt?”

  She shakes her head slowly, eyeing me suspiciously, like I might try to grab her and run away. Relief washes through me and I drop my head for a second. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care more than in the polite way that people care about what happens to someone they hardly know. But that’s not what this is. This relief…the panic that I felt initially…it’s much more than just polite. It’s a helluva lot more.

  And I have no idea why.

  I think again, briefly, vaguely, What the hell is she doing to me?

  Emmy raises her arm and points back to her house. Her message is clear.

  I would’ve responded, but the words get stuck in my throat when she surprises me by reaching out and curling her small fingers around mine. Something in my chest seizes. The world becomes uncomfortably emotional for a few seconds. I have to take my time before speaking.

  Anxiously, she tugs.

  “You need me to come back with you?” I finally manage.

  She nods.

  I reach behind me to pull the door shut so that I can follow her. She keeps a hold on my hand, her fingers tightening as she navigates the steps in her too-big shoes. They clomp on the boards and I walk slowly at her side, careful that she doesn’t fall. It’s a bitterly familiar sensation, one I want to both revel in and turn away from.

  Only I can’t. This little girl needs me. Her mother needs me.

  As we walk across the street, my focus is torn. Part of me is wondering what I might find in the cottage up ahead, but another part of me is remembering why I never wanted to feel again. If I feel anything, I have to feel everything. The good and the bad. The peaceful and the painful.

  At her own porch, Emmy releases my hand, kicks off her shoes and bounds up the steps. She throws open the door and races through the house, sparing a glance back to make sure I’m following her.

  I toss her mom’s shoes, which I picked up on the bottom step, beside the door and make my way inside. Emmy runs to the bathroom and stands to one side looking in, still sucking her thumb.

  “Hello?” I call to announce my presence.

  “In here!” comes the harried response.

  I head to the bathroom, not knowing what to expect. What I find nearly buckles my knees. Holy mother of God! It’s Eden. In the bathtub. On her knees. Dripping wet. Covered only in a soggy towel that outlines her every curve in the most mouthwatering way.

  It takes me a second to speak. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. What is it about this woman that makes me want her so badly? After all this time, after all the women who’ve tried, why her? Why now?

  I don’t have the answers to any of those questions. I only know that my whole body is tight as a damn drum just looking at her.

  “Can you please shut off the water?” she sputters, drawing me back into thinking mode.

  Immediately, I turn and head back outside, around to the side of the house to the water main where it’s buried in the yard with the meter. I twist the handle to close the valve and turn to go back inside, leaving the cover off until I’m ready to cut the water back on.

  In the bathroom, I find that the flow is already tapering off and Eden is breathing a little more easily. The muscles in h
er thin arms are straining under her water-slicked skin. Her breasts are heaving behind the knot in her towel. It’s hard as all hell to drag my eyes back to her face.

  But her face…God, she’s beautiful! Her hair is jet black, like her daughter’s, and her skin is porcelain cream. Even when it’s not wet, it has a satiny sheen that makes my fingers itch to touch. Her nose is small and delicate and her lips are pink and lush. But it’s her eyes that get to me. The way she watches me, the look that shines from the hazel depths. It’s like she can see right through me.

  Even now, when she turns to me after the water has stopped and she has let her tired arms fall to her sides, her eyes draw me in. Hold me right where I’m standing. They won’t let me go. And part of me doesn’t want them to.

  Her lips break into an exhausted smile. “Phew! That was quite a bath.” Emmy giggles around her thumb and Eden winks at her. An odd contentment spreads through me, like the steamy warmth of the bathroom is heating my insides. My heart ties itself into a knot of a million emotions. And my stomach clenches around only one.

  Betrayal.

  Betrayal of my daughter. Her memory. I can’t be happy. Not without her. If she can’t be here and be happy, then neither can I. I made her a promise. And I intend to keep it.

  ELEVEN

  Eden

  FOR JUST A second, I thought I saw something flash in Cole’s eyes. Like ice thawing. Or resolve softening.

  But then it was gone. Almost like I’d just imagined it. Now he looks like the same heart-stoppingly gorgeous, aloof man that he always is.

  “I’ll need to get some things from Bailey’s to fix this. You’ll be without water for a while. If that will be a problem, you’re welcome to go across the street. It’s warm and the water’s on.”

  “I think we’ll be okay for a while,” I tell him, shivering without the hot water to keep me warm.

  Cole frowns as his eyes rake me. Despite his expression, my skin tingles hotly everywhere his gaze touches. “You’re freezing.”

  As if on cue, my teeth chatter, the coolness of the ambient air like ice on my wet limbs. “If you’ll give me just a minute to dress…”

  I don’t want him to rush off. I’d rather be freezing and without water for a few minutes than to let him go just yet. But that’s not to be.

  The crease in his brow deepens. “Oh. Sorry. I, uh, I’ll be back.” And with that, he’s gone, once again leaving Emmy and me watching after him.

  ⌘⌘⌘⌘

  An hour and a half of sitting on pins and needles later, I hear an engine roar up to the house outside and then shut off. Emmy runs to the window, but I make myself remain seated. He can knock and then I’ll go answer the door. I don’t want him to think I’ve been sitting here waiting on him all this time.

  Which is exactly what I’ve been doing. From the moment he tore his hot-and-cold blue eyes off my wet skin, I haven’t been able to get him off my mind.

  Who the hell am I kidding? I think about him too much all the time!

  “It’s Jordan, Momma,” Emmy informs me.

  My mood plummets. I don’t know how to take Jordan and I don’t really trust her, so any time spent with her isn’t exactly pleasurable. That’s doubly the case when I was expecting Cole instead. Not a fair trade. Not a fair trade at all.

  This time, I do get up and go to the door, peeking out before I swing it open. My stomach does a little flip when I see Cole walking along behind Jordan as they approach my door. I can tell by the exaggerated way she’s swinging her hips that she’s hoping he’s looking at her butt.

  When I open the door, she gives me a wide grin and a wink, as though she knows that I know exactly what she’s doing. “Is he looking?” she whispers when she stops in front of me.

  I glance past her to Cole. His eyes are focused squarely, disconcertingly on me. His ever-present frown is in place, but his blue gaze is blazing up at me. For a second, I have to work to breathe, to make my lungs expand and contract, expand and contract.

  “Is he?” Jordan hisses before Cole climbs onto the porch.

  I just smile and nod, trying hard to keep my eyes and my attention on her rather than the man coming up behind her.

  “I gave this handsome man and all his plumbing goodies a ride back here since he doesn’t drive.”

  Doesn’t drive?

  Although I’ve never seen him in a vehicle, it never occurred to me that Cole might not drive.

  “I told you I could walk,” he says flatly when he stops behind Jordan.

  Over her shoulder, she turns a million-watt smile on him. “And miss an opportunity to flirt with you? Not a chance.”

  When she faces me, she rolls her eyes and then mouths an excited Ohmigod! Based on the flush of her cheeks and her uncharacteristically bright eyes, I’d say she’s pretty happy today, with or without alcohol. If she has been drinking, as per her usual, it’s not obvious.

  “Can we come in?” Cole asks, his voice rife with irritation. I get the feeling he’s not too pleased about his predicament.

  I suppress a grin. “Of course.”

  I back up and open the door wide. Jordan wiggles in first, followed by a lagging Cole. My lips twitch as I look up into his scowling face.

  “Don’t you dare laugh!” he leans down and whispers to me as he passes. That only makes my mirth harder to contain.

  As I close the door behind him, I’m having trouble not smiling from ear to ear. Not because his reaction to Jordan is funny, which it sort of is, but more because I’m warmed from head to toe, inside to out, with how he shared it with me. Almost like a private joke. It makes me realize that I like sharing things with this man. And that I want to know him better.

  A lot better.

  I get the feeling that the number of people Cole trusts in his life are about as many as the ones I trust in mine–none. Well except Emmy.

  But something tells me that I can trust him. And that I want to trust him. I want to be able to trust somebody. It’s been so long…

  Cole makes his way straight to the bathroom. Surprisingly, my daughter is right on his heels, leaving me alone with Jordan, who doesn’t appear in any big hurry to leave. She has already made herself at home on the sofa, so I resign myself to spending time with her until she decides to leave.

  I curl up in the big chair facing her, tucking my cold feet up under me. Jordan notices.

  “Don’t you have heat in here?” she asks bluntly.

  “Yes, it’s just not a particularly warm house.”

  She shivers, rubbing her hands up and down her arms. “You aren’t kidding. And I didn’t even bring anything to warm us up,” she adds with a knowing wink.

  “That’s okay. I’m getting used to it.”

  “So, don’t you work?”

  I should’ve known that this woman was the type not to pull any punches, but wow! She just dives right in.

  “Ummm, not outside the home. I homeschool Emmy, so…” I trail off, hoping she’ll let this thread die.

  “Well that doesn’t make you money, does it?”

  I laugh uneasily. “No, but we have a little in savings.” And that’s true. She doesn’t have to know all the sordid details about how I came by that money or that what’s left of it is hidden beneath the false bottom that I tore out and sewed back up in the floor of my suitcase.

  Jordan eyes me as she nods. Not really suspiciously, but more…curiously. “Where’s the princess’s papa?”

  Oh, God! Is this what the whole morning’s going to be like?

  “I, uh, I don’t really talk about it in front of Emmy,” I reply in a low voice. That’s also true. In some ways, Emmy is an extremely perceptive child and she’s never really pushed me on the details of her father. I think in some strange way, she knows that she’s better off not knowing.

  “Got it,” she concedes amicably. “Well then let’s whisper about your hot plumber. So is there something going on between you two or what?”

  “Of course not. Why do you ask?”

>   Jordan gives me a withering look. “I might be a lush, but I’m not stupid. I pay attention to things that interest me. And, honey, that boy interests me.” Her smile is genuine. She doesn’t seem the least bit put out that he might be interested in me.

  According to her, that is.

  I don’t really see it, although I can’t say that the idea doesn’t give me a little thrill. I can only imagine what it might be like to be the object of something other than his frowns and his quiet, brooding ways.

  “Why have you two never, um, dated then?”

  I’m remembering Jason’s comment about her being the town “bicycle.”

  She sighs loudly. “No matter how much I might try to drag him out of his shell…and his clothes…” she adds with an impish wrinkle of her nose, “he keeps to himself. I know the guy’s broken and all, but I was beginning to think he was gay.”

  I think of what I know of Cole so far. Nothing, not one single thing, makes me think he’s anything other than 100% darkly delectable, manly-man straight.

  “But you don’t think so now?”

  She waves me off with her hand. “Nah, I don’t think I ever really did. I think it was just easier to understand than his rejection.” Her comment, unexpectedly insightful, takes me by surprise.

  “Oh,” I say flatly, not knowing what else to say.

  Jordan’s face takes on an uncharacteristic seriousness. “I’ve got more baggage than I can handle. I wouldn’t blame anyone else for keeping their distance. Still hurts, though.”

  “Why would you say that?”

  She stares hard at her fingers where they pull and tug and twist a loose string along the sofa cushion. It’s the first time I’ve seen her anything less than comfortable, confident and slightly inebriated, I think.

  “My husband left me three years ago. But not before he screwed half the town and told everybody about the problems I had trying to get pregnant. He was a real son-of-a-bitch. I’ll be the first to admit that he hurt me and that I haven’t been the same since. It’s just…it’s just…so humiliating,” she confesses a bit tearfully. I’m so shocked by her story and by her softer side that I just sit here staring at her. Thankfully she hasn’t looked up at me. After a loud sniff and a shake of her head, as if ridding her mind of bad memories, Jordan finally raises her glistening brown eyes to mine and smiles. “That’s when I started drinking. Haven’t looked back since.”