by Kennedy Fox
I’ll be the first to admit I have trust issues, but how could I not? From as far back as I could remember, he’d verbally abused my mother, and worse, she just took it. He’d drink and lie about it. I swore to myself, that no matter what if a man or anyone ever spoke to me or treated me the way he did her, I would stand up for myself.
And better—I’d fucking walk away.
That didn’t leave a lot of room for a meaningful relationship to form.
Many nights I buried myself in books hoping I wouldn’t hear him screaming. Reading saved my life. It helped transport me into a world that didn’t include my father berating my mother. In books, I found adventure and love and kindness, everything I was missing in my everyday life. Ultimately, reading later inspired me to become a writer and create worlds far better than my own.
As an adult, words became my escape as well, but in a different way. Though the world may be filled with loveless assholes and men who can’t give me a happy ending, at least in my books there’s always love and happily ever afters.
I stand up, realizing I’m hungry but too embarrassed to go back over to Ethan’s. Going to my suitcase, I dig for the extra protein bars I packed for this trip. Once I find one, I go to my laptop and turn it on. I’m in a bad mood. Inspiration has left, but I put my fingers on the keys anyway because these words aren’t going to write themselves. I go up one paragraph and read what I wrote before Ethan barged in and stole my breath away.
He looks at her across the small room and moves to her in one quick motion.
* * *
“I love you,” he whispers across the shell of her ear, causing her to shiver.
* * *
Smiling, she bites her bottom lip and whispers the words back to him. How could two star-crossed lovers find their way back to one another so easily? Knowing this might be her last chance to spill her heart before leaving, she goes to him, and presses her lips so softly against his and steals the words that were teetering on his tongue.
Is it possible to be jealous of fictional characters? I’m half-tempted to delete what I’ve written in this chapter and tear the two lovers apart, only to leave the reader as heartbroken and confused as I am. However, instead of doing something rash, I pick up my phone and schedule an Uber.
When I walk out of the cottage, I look up at the tower and see Ethan staring out the window on the other side. I’m glad his back is to me because I don’t think I could look him in the eye without feeling some sort of guilt or awkwardness.
He never mentioned having a daughter, so a nursery was the last thing I expected to see when I opened the door. Having a child means he got someone pregnant and knowing his record, it could’ve been from a one-night stand, or maybe it was from an actual long-term relationship. If it’s with an ex he loved, and they had a child together, maybe that relationship is strained, so he doesn’t have custody? Or maybe he only sees his daughter every other week? Different scenarios play in my head, wondering how he could’ve never mentioned it to me. I know it’s not as if he lied to me because we weren’t supposed to get personal, but I crossed the line the moment I opened the door that led to his daughter’s room. If I could take it back, I would. The look on his face is one I won’t forget. His furrowed brows, his intense stare, and his cold tone. He was furious, and everything about his stance and words told me he couldn’t trust me. That hurts the most.
Ethan’s a broken soul, and while I want to dig deeper, I can’t help but feel like I’ve worn out my welcome.
Dread washes over me as his body turns, and I rush through the garden and hop inside the car that’s waiting by the curb.
I don’t know where I’m going, but I need to get away and clear my mind.
The countdown until I leave for Chicago begins now.
14
ETHAN
She called me E, and it nearly destroyed me. I was seconds away from crumbling.
It’s been too long since I heard the nickname Alana used. Considering the anniversary of her death is upon me, waiting to destroy me from the inside out, it was too much to hear coming from Vada’s voice.
As soon as I tensed and turned to flick the lights off, I knew she could tell something was bothering me. She assumed it was what she said about getting used to this—us being together—hell, she even apologized for saying it, but I was too lost in my own head to speak.
She didn’t know that being called E was the nickname my late wife had for me; she couldn’t have, considering I haven’t divulged that part of my life to her. It was nothing more than a coincidence, and I wish I could go back and tell her my reaction had nothing to do with her and everything to do with my past, but I was caught off guard.
After Vada falls asleep in my arms, I slide out of bed, put on my clothes, and quietly leave. For hours, I sit in the tower and replay my life and all the events that led me to this very moment. I sit long enough to watch the sun barely peek over the horizon. Pink and purple hues paint across the sky in long painters’ wisps, and I feel like I’m smothering in my thoughts to the point where I need some fresh air.
Putting on my shoes, I grab the keys to my car because driving sometimes helps clear my mind. I head down familiar streets, but nothing looks the same. Though I have nowhere to go, I follow pavement until I’m driving under the Magnolia Cemetery archway. As soon as I pull in, a heavy weight presses on my chest.
Every year on this day I visit, even though it brings me back to all those memories and makes me miss them even more. It was hard to come here at first, especially that first year, but after a few times, it became a little easier. Though being here will never be considered easy.
Sucking in a deep breath, I park at the edge of the street and walk across the plush grass to the oak trees by the river. As soon as I see the black marble of Alana’s headstone, I almost fall to my knees.
No matter how much time passes, seeing their names engraved in stone always brings me back to the moment in the hospital when I found out Alana was gone. The only sliver of happiness I felt was knowing I had a piece of Alana in Paris until my sweet baby girl passed away soon after.
The pain in my heart is almost too much to bear as I read their names, Alana and Paris Rochester, together. Burying my wife and child made me second guess everything about life, especially the whys.
“My girls,” I whisper softly, tracing their names with my finger on the cool stone. It was never supposed to be like this. We were supposed to have a handful of kids and grow old and happy together in our house on the small hill by the creek. I was supposed to watch my daughter take her first steps, hear her say her first words, watch her play at the playground, and go to her first day of kindergarten.
So many things that were taken from me.
I’ll forever be robbed of those memories and of ones I’ll never be able to experience. Her walking across the stage to graduate high school, driving her to college, and eventually walking her down the aisle.
Covering my face with my hands, I try to get a hold of myself, but it’s a losing battle. The should-have-beens are enough to drive me crazy.
Sitting here under the oak tree is the only time I allow myself to fully give in to what happened. At the funerals, I was in a perpetual state of shock. Hell, for the last five years I have been. Most of the time, I try to keep my pain and loss buried deep. But being here, like this, there’s no escaping my reality. I’d give anything to be able to hold the two of them again.
The cool morning breeze brushes over my skin, and I wish it could take all the pain away, but it never does. When I’m here, it’s as if time stands completely still.
“Aunt Millie says you’d want me to be happy.” I wait as if I’m going to hear her voice speak back to me. Nothing but the wind rustling the leaves on the trees can be heard.
“I know deep in my heart you’d want me to be happy and continue living my life, but I don’t know if I can. Every day, I think about you. I think about Paris. I think about what we could have had. Where the three of
us would be right now at this very moment. The studio is everything you wished it would be. It’s doing so well, and I know you’d be proud.”
A single tear streams down my face and splashes on my hand. I didn’t even realize I was crying. I tell myself that out here, it’s okay to feel something. It’s okay to let those emotions take ahold of me. I close my eyes and find what I’m trying to say.
“I met someone.” I let out a stifled laugh. “And you’d love her. She doesn’t take my shit or let me say whatever I want. Aunt Millie met her too and basically gave her approval, but you know how she is—she likes anyone who isn’t afraid to call me out on my shit.”
Many times, Aunt Millie and Alana would gang up against me, and I find myself smiling about it now. I know it’s been five long years of trying to find a way to cope and heal the shattered pieces of my heart, but this is the first time I’ve ever spoken those words. Moving on—I’ve been against it. However, being here today, knowing Vada is back at the cottage waiting for me, feels different this time.
“I’ll always love you and our baby, Alana.” But I know she knew that. No matter what happens in my life, Alana and Paris will hold a special place in my heart—always and forever. Trying to pick up the pieces and move on doesn’t mean I’ll forget them. I have to remind myself this even though Mama has told me that a million times.
“I don’t know what to do,” I say, wishing she were here. “I just…I wish you could tell me that it was okay, that you’d want me to move on so I’d stop feeling guilty at the thought of it.” I sit and wait, but not surprisingly, nothing miraculous happens. After a while, the sun beams down on my skin, and I know it’s time to go. I look at the grave one more time before I walk back to my car.
By the time I make it home, I’m emotionally and physically exhausted. I sit on the couch and fall asleep thinking of her.
Alana walks through the kitchen with a smile on her face, leaning against the doorway. I rub my eyes, not believing what I’m seeing.
“I know I’m dreaming,” I say.
Walking across the room, she sits next to me. I glance down and see the wedding ring on her finger, and somehow mine is there, too. Though I wore it for years after her death, I stopped wearing it when I almost lost it while working on a piece. I wanted to keep it close to me still, so I keep it in the drawer of my nightstand along with Paris’ footprints.
She grabs my hand and gives me a wink. “Ethan,” she says, in that tone I was so used to hearing.
I look into her blue eyes, pulling her into my arms, never wanting to wake, never wanting to let go.
She leans back, pulling us apart. “Vada seems like she’s perfect for you. So what the hell are you waiting for, E? You have to live your life. You have to learn to be happy again, and you deserve to be.”
“But…” I try to protest.
She places her finger on my lips and stops my words though I have so much to say. “You have to take a leap of faith.”
I wake, my heart pounding rapidly in my chest. Sweat covers my brow, and I thought I heard her voice, here in the room with me. My throat is dry, and I replay the conversation so many times I feel like I’m losing my mind. I asked for a sign, or maybe my subconscious is playing tricks on me, but there it was, and it felt so real. This isn’t the first time Alana has visited me in my dreams, but it’s never been so vivid.
Needing a shower, I climb the stairs. As I round the corner, I’m shocked to see Vada in the hallway, staring into Paris’ room. At first, I don’t know what to say or do, so I stand there stunned. I’m not ready to talk about it just yet, not when I’m in this fragile state of mind.
As soon as the words fly out of my mouth and she turns around, it’s obvious I took her by surprise. I slam the door shut and she immediately begins to apologize, but I shut her out and go to the tower. Closing myself tight doesn’t solve anything, but I need this time to think. I need to find my words and tell her the truth, as hard as that’s going to be, but I feel like she deserves to know. The only problem is, where do I even start?
Most people in the area know my backstory and how I was a widower before I turned twenty-five. Most of the women I bring home don’t mention it or even allude they know. I was the talk of the town for a while, especially after Paris Pottery & Studio opened. It was my way of honoring my baby girl and wife. It was how I kept and continue to keep their spirit alive. People loved Alana’s pottery, and before her belly got too big, she was quickly becoming a hometown sensation. Between Millie and Mama peddling Alana’s mugs out of their trunks after church, the news of her work traveled quickly, but not as fast as her death. It rocked everyone who knew her.
It destroyed me.
After I have time to myself, I realize I acted like a complete asshole to Vada and guilt washes over me. Not that it’s an excuse, but visiting the cemetery left my wounds freshly cut open, but that’s not her fault. She has no idea how broken I’ve been over the years, and how she may be the glue that can put me back together. I feel that deep in my heart, so strongly, that it almost knocks me down. Vada came barreling into my life with that smart mouth and sass, and soon she’ll be leaving to go back to Chicago. Time is running out, and like a dream, she’ll be gone, too.
Just as I’m about to head to the cottage and apologize, I see Vada leave in a rush, and it wears on me. I don’t want to seem crazy and call her since I have her number from the booking, so I wait. This is something that needs to be discussed in person anyway.
While she’s gone, I take a shower and try to get some much-needed sleep. Once I’m rested, I brew some coffee then go back up into the tower, turn on some music, and busy myself in my work for hours.
Before dark, I hear a car door slam, and from the tower I see Vada walk across the sidewalk with a Starbucks cup in one hand and shopping bags in the other. I watch her go straight to the cottage, shut the door, and close the curtains. Feeling nervous, I wash the extra clay from my hands and find an ounce of courage as I go to her. Once I’m at the cottage door, I knock, but she doesn’t answer.
“Okay then,” I say, turning around and heading back to the house.
“Ethan?” I immediately turn around and notice a towel wrapped tightly around her body, accentuating her curves. The late summer breeze carries the smell of her strawberry soap, which causes me to smile.
I walk toward her, but she stands in the doorway with her arms holding the towel. Water drips from the tips of her hair, and she smells so damn good. Vada looks me up and down, noticing the clay on my pants and shirt, and she almost takes a step back.
“I’ve got a lot of explainin’ to do,” I tell her, hoping she’ll hear me out.
“You don’t owe me anything, Casanova. I was the one who violated your space,” she says, timidly, and I hate I’ve made her feel that way.
“Well, I do owe you an apology. I’m sorry, Vada. I hope you forgive me for being a total and utter asshole today. There’s a lot on my mind, but that’s no excuse for how I treated you. You don’t deserve that—ever,” I reassure her because it’s the truth.
Her shoulders relax, and she slightly smiles. “Apology accepted.”
“Do you have plans tomorrow night?” I slyly ask.
She looks at me like I’ve lost my mind. “Other than trying to write a book, my schedule’s wide open.”
“I’d be obliged if you’d accompany me on a date tomorrow night around seven,” I say over insinuating my drawl and tipping my imaginary hat in her direction.
Now she’s really looking at me like I’m crazy. “Seriously?”
“Yes, ma’am. Serious as eating ribs on the 4th of July.”
Her laughter echoes through the garden. “Actually, I think I might need to wash my hair tomorrow night around that time.”
I take a few steps closer; our bodies are almost touching. “I’m not the type of man to beg…”
“Bad boys never beg,” she says right before our lips softly meet.
As she kisses me, the worry melts
away. The anxiety of everything swirling in my head temporarily disappears. In this moment, it’s just me and Vada, and I’m thankful she’s able to rescue me, even if she has no idea.
15
VADA
“I haven’t been on a real date in years. I don’t know what to wear,” I tell Nora over the phone because she’s my go-to in situations like this. Actually, she’s my only person considering I don’t have anyone to ask.
“Go sassy with a touch of slutty. Guys love that,” she says matter-of-factly.
“Oh my God. How do you know that?” I let out a laugh, emptying my suitcase on the bed. Nora doesn’t do dates, and the only time she gets out of the house is to go to the grocery store or visit her best friend. Considering the woman is in her mid-sixties, I imagine her version of slutty and mine are two totally different things.
“I watch a lot of television shows. I’m sure it’s the same in real life,” she tells me, amused with herself.
I roll my eyes, and I’m glad she can’t see me because she’d totally call me out for it. “Okay, well hug Oliver for me, and tell him I’ll see him soon. I’ll call you in the morning and let you know how it goes,” I say, trying to piece clothes together to make some sort of outfit that doesn’t look like I’m going to bed or to the gym.
“You already know how I feel about him. And you better call me. You know I’ll be up all night worrying about you otherwise.”
“I’m sure you will. I promise I’ll call.” And I will. Nora cares about my life more than my own mother, and I’m happy someone does, even if she pretends to hate Oliver. Usually, my life is monotonous, and I live the same schedule over and over. To have some sort of action has got to be entertaining for her.
We say our goodbyes, and I throw my cell phone on the bed, right next to a sundress I bought on a whim yesterday while I was out. Slipping it on, and seeing how it fits in the full-length mirror, I know I’ve found a winner. Considering it’s late summer in Charleston, the evenings are still warm so this will have to do. Pinning my hair to the side and putting on a hint of makeup, I sit down at my computer and am able to type a few pages before a knock echoes through the cottage, pulling me away.
