by Emma Scott
Sawyer
I soothed Olivia back to sleep. The thunder quieted so that she was nodding off on my shoulder within minutes. I held her for a long time, my eyes closed, feeling her little weight and warmth against my chest.
Is this one of the last times?
I fortified myself against the thought, but hope was draining out of me, minute by minute. It didn’t matter how much I loved her and that I thought of her as my own. The paternity test would read 0% probability, in black and white, and the judge’s ruling would be final.
The impassivity of the law I’d taken such great comfort in was now a faceless stranger turning its back on me, uncaring that my heart was breaking.
I set Olivia gently down in her bed and went out. Outside the living room window, rain was still falling in sheets and Darlene was out in it.
Her heart was broken too, and I’d broken it. Shattered it into tiny pieces when I’d taken Olivia out of her arms.
“Fucking asshole,” I muttered, but my voice cracked at the end, my throat thick.
I’d been holding on to anger at the revelation of her past; using it to keep the pain at bay, but it hit me hard like a heavy fist to the chest. Darlene wasn’t why I was going to lose Olivia, but—Jesus Christ—my life was infused with addictions. My mother, Molly, and now Darlene? Was I destined to lose her too?
The fear, anger, confusion all swirled in me like a tornado, and at its center, in the calm eye, was what I felt for her.
“What the fuck do I do now?”
I sank into the chair at my desk and pulled out my phone for the hundredth time. No messages or texts, but why would there be?
“There won’t be. Because I broke her heart,” I muttered and felt each syllable stab me.
I typed a text.
Tell me you’re okay.
I backspaced it away. She didn’t owe it to me to make me feel better.
Are you okay?
I deleted that too. Of course she wasn’t okay. I’d seen to that.
I’m sorry.
My thumb hovered over the send button but I was too chickenshit to push it. And too ashamed.
Another voice whispered in my ear, like the proverbial devil on my shoulder. What if she was doing hard stuff? What if she associated with felons or owed money? Maybe she moved clear across the country to escape bad people? You want that kind of stuff around Olivia?
My excuses about what I didn’t know about Darlene fell apart under the sheer weight of all that I did know about her.
And what I felt about her.
I hit ‘send.’
I sat at the desk, listening to the rainfall and waiting to see if she’d read the message. Waiting for her to answer. Waiting for her to tell me that she was okay. The thought flitted into my head that she might be doing something to herself that she shouldn’t, but I swatted it dead.
You know nothing about her situation because you didn’t ask. You shut down on her.
That was one truth. The other was that the image of Darlene, standing in a doorway, being held by another man, was an added layer of misery. Another crack in my stony heart that was already on the verge of shattering, and the emotions that seeped out weren’t any I recognized.
“That’s because you’re a fucking asshole,” I said, dully.
I tossed the phone on the desk and rubbed my face with both hands. The clock ticked the hours away. Olivia woke up from her nap. I fed her, played with her, read to her, cherishing each second with her and trying not to imagine the internal countdown in which she’d be taken from me.
Every other moment, I felt something different; the mind-numbing pain that I’d already lost her, followed by the red-hot anger that I’d fight for her until I didn’t have a breath left in my body.
And when I put her down for bed that night, I was wrung out, and my anguish turned back to Darlene.
“Jesus Christ,” I muttered, staring at my haggard reflection in the mirror after I changed into sleep clothes and brushed my teeth. “You’re a fucking mess. Pull your shit together, Haas.”
I made a pathetic attempt to study for the bar, and gave up after a minute. What was the fucking point?
I sat and stared at nothing. I was so exhausted I could hardly move, but my phone was still silent. My agonized mind wanted to know which would come home first: the blue and red silent sirens? Or Darlene, safe and well?
The rain kept falling but the wind quieted enough for me to hear the door shut below and footsteps on the stairs.
Panic and relief sent a jolt through my bones, and I bolted out of my chair for the front door. I threw it open just as Darlene went past.
“Darlene.”
She stopped and turned to me, and I hated myself even more for taking note of her eyes, that were clear and sharp. Rainwater dripped off the end of her nose, and her clothes clung to her lithe body as she looked at me, waiting.
“Come in,” I said. “Please.”
She shook her head, her damp hair falling over her face. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Please, come in. Please,” I said again, and the word was the start to every thought in my head.
Please don’t hate me.
Please forgive me.
Please.
“Please,” I said. “Stay. Talk to me.”
“No, I shouldn’t,” she said. “I’m cold and tired and it’s been a really long day. For both of us. I’m going to take a hot bath and get some sleep.” Her smile was gentle, sad. “You should try to, too.”
“Darlene,” I said, my voice thick and frayed at the ends. “It’s the paternity test that’s going to ruin me. Not you. I just…My mother…Molly. I don’t know what to do. Or what to think.”
“I know,” she said. “But the idea that I could, in some way, jeopardize your situation with Livvie makes me sick inside, and it was stupid to try to hide the truth. There is no hiding it. Not from you, the court, or myself. It’s on my record.”
“In black and white,” I muttered.
She nodded. “I thought about going to a bar to get drunk or high tonight, because if people are going to look at me like a drug addict, I might as well act like one. But the truth is, people will always look at me like that, no matter if I’ve been clean for one year, or two, or ten. It’s a part of my past and a part of who I am. Sliding backwards because I got hurt doesn’t solve anything. But being proud of what I’ve accomplished does.”
Tears filled her eyes, but there was a blue flame burning behind them I hadn’t seen before, and her tears didn’t douse it.
“I will always be an addict even if you put the word ‘recovering’ in front of it. I will always have to work ten times as hard to be trusted, to be trustworthy but that’s the price I have to pay for my mistakes.”
I clenched my teeth; tossed on a sea of emotions I had no idea how to navigate.
“I’m sorry I took Olivia away from you,” I said. “That was…a shitty, shitty thing to do.”
Darlene leaned against the doorframe. “I get it. I really do,” she said and even then, shivering with cold, she found a smile for me. “I totally understand, and it totally sucks. It’s amazing how two opposite things can be completely true at the same time, isn’t it?”
“I don’t know what to say,” I said. “Or what to feel. I don’t feel…anything. To keep myself safe. And when I saw you with Max…”
She drew her old man’s sweater, damp with rain, around her shoulders.
“He’s my friend. My best friend. And I’m sorry he showed up at your apartment. He jumped on a plane tonight to Seattle, which is too bad because everything I told you is what I said at my NA meeting tonight. I think he would’ve been happy to hear it, and know that I’m going to be okay. Because I am. I’m going to be okay for me.”
Darlene reached out and cupped my cheek in her hand. “If there is anything you need, tell me. I don’t know what I can do, but I’m here.”
I couldn’t speak; I only nodded, and it sent a tear sliding do
wn my cheek, to her hand.
“See?” she said with a quavering smile. “You feel so much, Sawyer. So much.” She wiped the tear into her palm. “I’m going to keep this,” she said, then turned and walked away.
Darlene
The hours of the weekend dragged me behind them. I didn’t see Sawyer at all, at least not up close. I watched from my upstairs window as the Abbotts came to pick up Olivia. Elena had told me they’d won supervised weekend visitation at the condo they were renting in the Marina.
I watched, my heart in my throat, as Sawyer helped them put Olivia in a sleek, white BMW SUV and drive off. He sat down on the front steps and was still sitting there long after they’d gone.
Every part of me ached to go to him, but after the other night, my mind felt as if it had been scrubbed free of the nagging whispers and doubts that always plagued me. I could think clearly. Sawyer had so much to contend with already. He didn’t need me adding to the storm of his turbulent emotions. If he wanted to talk to me, he knew to call or visit, and I’d be there for him.
He didn’t.
After work on Monday, I rehearsed with the dance troupe, dodging both Anne-Marie’s stink-eye and Ryan’s clumsy feet the entire time. But Greg loved my solo, even if he wouldn’t say it out loud.
“Saturday night, we open,” he said, as if we didn’t know that. “Take some of these flyers to pass out to your friends and family. “It’d be good if each of you brought at least two people to the show as your guests.”
“How many tickets have been sold?” Anne-Marie asked.
“We’re doing okay,” Greg said. “We could use a few more.”
Glances were exchanged among us. That was code for “hardly any” and my heart sank a little. I wasn’t doing the show for fame or fortune, that’s for sure, but it would be nice if someone other than Anne-Marie’s bitchy friends witnessed my first dance in four years. I took a handful of the Xeroxed papers and posted a few of them on my way home.
My phone rang after dinner, while I was curled up on my loveseat. I picked it up and a smile burst over my face.
“Maximilian,” I said. “Just the person I wanted to talk to.”
He told me about his new job at a Seattle hospital, and I told him about my emotional rock bottom and the NA meeting after.
“It was like taking a Silkwood shower,” I said.
“What does that even mean?” he asked with a chuckle.
“You haven’t seen Silkwood? That old movie where Meryl Streep works at a nuclear plant or something, and she gets irradiated? So these guys in Hazmat suits blast her with water hoses—in her eyeballs, gums, and everywhere—to decontaminate her?”
“That’s what your NA meeting felt like?”
“Yes. Being brutally honest in front of God and everyone feels like a Silkwood shower.” I smiled against the phone. “Put that in your Sponsor’s Manual.”
“Maybe, I will.” Max laughed. “Or you could put it in yours.”
I snorted. “Ha. I’m a long way from that.”
“Maybe. Maybe not,” Max said. “I’m so fucking proud of you.”
“Thank you. Me too. And I’m proud of you. Seen your folks yet?”
“Not yet. I have tentative dinner plans with Mom on Saturday. I’ll see how that goes before I tackle The Dad Situation.”
“Let me know how it goes. I’m always here for you.”
“Ah, and the student has become the master,” Max said.
I laughed. “Oh, stop.” My smile faded, and Max read my silence.
“How is Sawyer?” he asked gently.
I curled up on my loveseat, making myself into a ball. “Not good. He’s fighting for custody of Olivia and I’m scared he’s not going to win.”
“God, that’s awful. And what about you two?”
“There isn’t much to say,” I said. “I don’t want to add to his problems.”
“Darlene…”
“No, I mean that honestly. He has so much to contend with right now. I don’t want to pressure him and I told him if he needed me, I’d be there.”
“Sawyer the Lawyer, in the brief moments of our acquaintance, didn’t strike me as the kind of guy who goes around asking for help or comfort when he needs it.”
“Maybe not,” I said softly. “And he definitely doesn’t want it from me.”
The week felt as slow as the weekend, and yet was rushing up to meet me at the same time. Saturday was opening night. On Thursday, we rehearsed in the actual theater space for the first time. My heart sank a little at the shabby little place—the Brown Bag Theatre—with black walls and floors that needed paint, and fifty seats facing a tiny stage.
But my fellow dance troupers were getting excited. Anne-Marie was bringing a bunch of people, apparently.
“Who’s coming to see you?” Paula asked as we cleared out after dress rehearsal.
“Oh, it’s bad timing for me all around,” I said with a small laugh. “My family is in New York and can’t get over here, and my best friend upped and moved to Seattle on me, the bastard.”
I realized then, that my other best friends, Zelda and Beckett, would’ve dropped everything to fly out and see me, but I never asked. It had felt like too much. Now that I had begun to grow some semblance of a backbone, it was too late.
Paula gave me a gentle smile. “That’s too bad,” she said, and leaned in to whisper, “You’re the best part of this thing.”
I watched her go and stood in the black box, alone.
“If a dancer dances for the first time in four years and no one sees it, did she actually dance?” I murmured under my breath.
I wiped a tear away. I should’ve called Zelda and Becks, but I was too scared of coming off as weak and needy. Again. But I did need them, and I realized—too late—that being with the people who love you isn’t weak. It’s how you stay strong.
“See, Max?” I sniffed. “I still have a long way to go.”
Back home, I showered, changed, and set about to make another tuna casserole. It was the only thing I could think to do and I had to do something. Sawyer’s hearing was tomorrow, and Max’s words about him never asking for help wouldn’t leave my head. I could drop off the casserole and let him decide if he wanted my company.
A knock came at the door just as I was pulling the finished casserole from the oven. My pulse fluttered, and I took the oven mitts off my shaking hands.
But it was Jackson at my door, looking casually elegant as usual, in slacks and a dark sweater over a blue dress shirt. His handsome features were drawn together with worry and his dark eyes were heavy.
“What happened?” I blurted, my pulse hammering in my chest.
“Nothing yet,” Jackson said. “Can I come in? I told him I was stepping out to make a phone call.”
I blinked, shook my head. “Sorry, yes. Come in.”
Jackson was at least six-feet-three and seemed like a towering presence in my small space. I was suddenly glad Sawyer had this imposing and charismatic guy on his side.
“Would you like anything? Something to drink?”
Jackson shook his head.
I braced myself. “The paternity test…?”
“He and Olivia took it on Monday. The results are sealed until tomorrow at the hearing. Unless there’s been a miracle of science since he took the first test, it’s not going to go well.”
I sagged against the counter. “I don’t know what to do. I feel so helpless.” I waved a hand at the pan. “I made a casserole…”
“Come with us to the hearing.”
I jerked my eyes up. “What? No…I’m the drug addict neighbor, remember? I didn’t help his cause at all.”
“That was a low blow by their attorney,” Jackson said. “If the judge sees the real you and not the image Holloway tried to plant in his mind, it’ll help. And frankly, we need all the help we can get.”
“Can they really just take Olivia away?”
Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. “The system’s improved for fa
thers’ rights in the last ten years, and courts never want to pull children out of good homes. There’s a statute about Sawyer acting and providing for Olivia as if she were his own, which gives him some claim to her, but it’s all we have. I don’t know that it’s going to be enough. Especially since Molly gave the baby to Sawyer but never bothered to put his name on the birth certificate,” he added bitterly. “If she had just done that…”
He broke off and shook his head.
“I’ll go if you think it will help,” I said, slowly. “Of course, I will. But are you sure that’s what he needs?”
Jackson nodded. “Yeah, I do. Sawyer needs you. He needs…” He blew air out his cheeks. “God, he needs something and I don’t know what to do for him. He’s like a robot these last few days. Hardly talks except to Olivia and even then it’s like…”
“Like what?” I whispered.
“He looks at her like, inside his mind, he’s already saying goodbye.”
My hand flew to my mouth. “Oh no.”
“I know he’d fight for her with everything he has, but that’s just it. We don’t have much to fight with. At least not as far as the law goes.” Jackson put his hands on my shoulders. “Sawyer needs you. You do something for him I’ve never seen before. You make him happy.”
Tears filled my eyes. “I don’t know, Jackson.”
“I do. The judge needs to see Sawyer as something other than cold and stiff. I think you’re the only person who can bring that out of him.”
“I’ll try,” I said. “But what if Sawyer doesn’t want me there? What if…”
“He doesn’t have a choice,” Jackson said, his old smile coming back. “He has to take the advice of his attorney—me—and I say I want you there.”
I smiled and hugged Jackson. “Okay, I will.”
“Thank you, Darlene.” Jackson gave me a final squeeze and let me go. “I’ll have a car out front at nine o’clock.”
“I’ll be there. Oh, wait! Come here.”
Jackson followed me to the kitchen area and I put the oven mitts on his hands.
“Take the casserole to him. It has peas in it. For Livvie.”
