The two could not be more opposite. For all Carmen’s energy and vitality, Hannah is far too serious and perceptive for a nine year old. Cursed with her father’s nearsightedness, she has square, black-framed glasses that just won’t stay perched on her nose. She’s constantly pushing them up. But that’s where the similarities end. Everything else about Hannah is a carbon copy of me: medium brown hair, green eyes, a little pug nose, and a mouth that’s a little too puffy and wide to be delicate. She’s beautiful, but it’s a quiet beauty. Understated, and not obvious unless you look closely.
Carmen, however, has a more classic prettiness. Her features are sharp and defined, bringing attention to her round eyes. She has chocolaty brown eyes and dark blonde hair, just like my dad. And she sparkles. No matter who it is, everyone who meets Carmen is charmed by her, blown away by the joy with which she approaches everything.
I laugh and grab Carmen’s arm to jerk her into bed with me. She squeals and playfully struggles as I tug her against me to snuggle. I open one eye to watch Hannah, hoping to coax a smile out of her, and let out a loud snore against Carmen’s hair.
Hannah smiles, but only slightly. Her smiles are hard-won lately, and anything other than a somber frown is a victory. Carmen giggles and tries to squirm away.
“What are we doing today, Mom?” Hannah takes two steps forward when she asks and pushes her glasses back up her nose.
“Well,” I answer, still holding a giggling Carmen prisoner, “I’m working the late shift, so we have all day. What do you guys want to do?”
Hannah shifts back and forth on her feet and I recognize the motion. She wants to ask something, but thinks the answer will be “no.” Carmen has no such hesitations, however, so I turn my question to her.
“How about it, squirmy wormy? What do you want to do today?”
She flops over in my arms and sparkles up at me. “Can we go to the pool?”
I lean up and look out the window to make sure the sky isn’t grey with an impending storm. It’s a beautiful, sunny morning, and I can’t think of anything I’d like better than to spend the day in the water with my girls. Especially if it will bring another smile to Hannah’s face.
“I don’t see why not. Let’s have breakfast and get ready. We can have lunch there.” Carmen hops up with an excited screech and leaps off the bed. “Ask Grampy if he wants to go!” I call after her as she darts from the bedroom.
“He said he’d like to go too if you’re going to take us,” Hannah says from the doorway, pushing her glasses up again.
“Come here, sweetheart.” I hold my arms out and wait for her to crawl into bed with me, my little Wednesday Adams. She snuggles into me and I hold her, enjoying the rare moment of affection. Far too often she prefers solitude. After the divorce I took her to see a child psychologist, concerned that her already quiet nature was masking depression. The doctor had smilingly informed me that Hannah is not depressed; she simply has a studious nature and prefers to keep her thoughts and feelings private. Both girls still see him twice a month, though I could probably end the visits. But I worry about the impact of their father’s behavior as well as the divorce. They’ll go until the doctor refuses to see them or at least as long as they have to see their father once a month.
I tickle Hannah lightly, since she doesn’t really like to be tickled. Sometimes I think she tolerates childhood for my benefit. She giggles and presses her face against my neck.
“Stop, Mom!”
I stop and give her a squeeze. I want to tell her not to grow up so fast, but she’ll just roll her eyes at me. I let her go when she fidgets, and watch as she climbs off the bed and straightens her glasses.
“Thanks, Mom,” she says, her eyes big and round.
“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” I reach out and rub a lock of her silky hair between my fingers before she turns and leaves my room.
I sit up and push my hair out of my eyes before getting up and heading to the kitchen to make breakfast. When I get there, Dad’s already flipping French toast and microwaving turkey bacon, which is my preference, not his.
“Mornin’!” He greets me with a bright smile, pressing a kiss against my temple. “Hear we’re going swimming today.”
“Yeah, thought we’d all enjoy it.” He nods and soaks another piece of bread. “I thought maybe we could just have lunch there and come back around three so I can get ready for work.”
“Sounds good,” he says, plopping the soggy bread into the pan. I nudge him aside and take over. “Guess we’re going to The Swimming Hole, instead of Tom’s?”
I nod absently. The Swimming Hole is a local park, built and maintained by the county and open only to residents. It’s the best thing Corybelle has going for it. It has two indoor pools for swimming lessons, four outdoor pools, a floating river, and two kiddie pools. For those who don’t want to leave, there’s a snack bar that sells hamburgers and hot dogs. The first year the park was open, there was a problem with people getting immediately back in the water. So they put up a gate and a lifeguard, and started giving tickets stamped with the time to people who ordered food. When people started leaving the park to eat, they built a playground and shaded picnic tables to keep people there.
Tom Canton, on the other hand, is Dad’s neighbor. He dug an in-ground pool a few years ago, and last summer told Dad to bring us all over anytime. I don’t like the way the creepy bastard looks at my kids in their swimsuits, so I have no intention of ever going back unless it’s with a shovel and an alibi.
We finish cooking and eat in near silence, the girls too excited about going swimming to stop chewing and speak. When we’re done, Dad and I clean the kitchen while they go get ready.
“The girls asked me about the car,” Dad says quietly, drying a plate next to me.
I’m not surprised. “What did you tell them?”
He puts the plate away and reaches for the next. “I told them that you have a friend who wants to help you.” He gives me a stern look. “And that you were going to let him.”
For a while, anyway. I nod and keep washing. Dad didn’t tell them anything I wouldn’t have.
He clears his throat. “And Hannah was really excited that it’s electric. She’s been reading about renewable energy lately.”
“I’m not surprised. She’s expressed an interest in it before.” She’s been pressuring us to go green for a while now, has even started a vegetable garden and compost heap in the backyard.
“Yes,” Dad drags out, almost hesitantly. “But this is the first time she’s brought up Gabriel O’Malley and Green Wind Energies.”
I freeze for a moment, my hands sunk into the hot, soapy water. “What?” She can’t know, I chant over and over. There’s no possible way my too-intelligent-for-her-age little brainiac knows her mother is sleeping with him. She doesn’t even know what sex is yet, so she can’t possibly know.
Dad pushes me gently and takes over washing. “She got the paper this morning and saw the car on her way back in. The license plate frame says GWE. She recognized the name and Googled it.” He hands me a cup and I dry it numbly. “She idolizes him,” he says quietly. “If she finds out that you know him, she’s going to want to meet him.”
I go limp with relief. She doesn’t know. Then the rest of Dad’s words hit me. “I’m not ready for him to meet my children. He might never get to meet them.”
Dad nods. “I understand. Why do you think you never met anyone I dated?”
I pause, a little confused. “Dad, you don’t date.”
He gives me a wry look. “Really, Eluned? You think I left you with your grandmother every other weekend so I could watch football?”
I shake my head. No, I’ve never thought that. “No, Dad. I know you…I mean, you’ve seen women, but…not just one. Not for very long anyway.”
He turns to face me and leans his hip against the sink, his lips turned down in a scowl. “I see. It’s not that you think I don’t date. It’s that you think I date too much.”
&n
bsp; His eyes bore into mine, a little hurt and angry. I don’t know how to fix this because…yeah. I’ve always thought that. Dad’s a manwhore. Right?
“Let me tell you something, young lady.” Uh oh. Dad hasn’t called me “young lady” in years. He reserves it for times when he’s really pissed off. “And you better listen well, because I’m not going to defend myself to you again. I do not, repeat do not sleep with just anyone who comes along. You’ve never met any of the women I’ve dated because I said from the beginning that if she couldn’t be at least a little bit of a mother to you, then I wasn’t letting her near you. Now it’s not just a mother to you that I need, but a grandmother to those two angels. I stand by that, just like I have for the past thirty-one years. I’ve dated damn near every woman for three counties trying to find just one that was even remotely qualified to be your mother and their grandmother. And yes, line up the firing squad, I’ve even slept with a few of them. But not all, and certainly not as often or as cavalierly as you seem to think.”
He clenches his teeth and turns back to the sink, washing the dishes with jerky movements. I hurt him with that assumption, by believing what everyone else in Corybelle has thought for years. Dad isn’t a manwhore, not at all. He’s just a single father whose standards are a little high. He’s still the king of awesome dads everywhere, and I lean my head against his shoulder.
“I’m sorry, Daddy. I just…I knew you were lonely and I guess…” I sigh and wrap an arm around his waist.
He slides his arm around my shoulder and gives me a squeeze then a kiss on top of my head. “It’s all right, squirt. I know what reputation I have. But I didn’t think you bought into it.”
I shrug. “Dad, you never brought a woman home, but I knew you had dates. What else was I supposed to think?”
He lets the water out of the sink and watches the suds sink as it drains. “I don’t know. I guess I did you a disservice by keeping the few serious relationships I had from you.”
“You were perfect,” I assure him. “And I really am sorry.”
He gives me a sideways grin and says, “It’s all right.” He pats my back and nods toward the kitchen door. “Better go get ready. Those two monsters are going to be ready in less than two minutes.”
I peck his cheek and just as I turn my back, he cautions, “Hannah’s going to want to take the Tesla.”
I figured as much.
* * * *
The stupid car is the smoothest driving, quietest, most wonderful vehicle I’ve ever had the pleasure of plopping my ass in. I absolutely love it, and the thought of plugging it in at night instead of paying for gas makes me want to weep with joy.
Then I remember that I have to give it back and I just want to weep, period.
I get strange looks from other pool goers, since a seventy-thousand-dollar electric car does not go unnoticed in Corybelle. I know eventually someone’s going to work up the gumption to ask how I manage to afford it, since it’s well known that I wait tables at Sammy’s. What the hell am I supposed to say? “Oh, my sugar daddy got it for me.”
Shame claws at my gut and I stand glaring at the car as we climb out, only moving when Carmen shrieks back at me to hurry. I snap out of it, and try to shove it back into my subconscious so I can enjoy my day with the girls and Dad.
The Swimming Hole isn’t crowded yet, despite how hot it is. It’s a weekday, and even though school is out, people still have to work. We get our hands stamped to match the girls’ as a protection against child abduction and twist through the turnstiles. Dad waves to a few teachers lounging around with their kids as we make our way toward an open umbrella table surrounded by lounge chairs. We spread towels on four of the chairs to ensure everyone knows they’re taken, and start smearing on sunblock.
“Mom, can I go down the Aquifer?” Hannah stands in front of me, hands folded, waiting patiently for my answer.
“Did you bring your pass?” Before being allowed to go down the tall, curvy slide that ends at the deepest part of the pool, guests have to earn a pass. In order to get one of the green rubber armbands, a lifeguard has to determine swimming strength. The girls took swimming lessons here last summer, and Hannah earned hers. Carmen learned to swim, but not well enough to earn more than a yellow band, which allows her to go down some of the smaller slides.
“Yes, ma’am.” Hannah holds out her armband to show me.
“Go ahead then.” She waves as she runs off, prepared to take advantage of the short line. I glance at my watch and at the large clock in the center of the park. Every ninety minutes everyone has to get out of the water and find their family in what they call a “buddy check.” There are another twenty minutes to go. The security measures were put in place just six months after the park opened, when a child was found on the other side of town, molested and beaten. He’d been with his parents at The Swimming Hole, and was abducted from there. After that, the entire town went a little overboard with protecting children.
And I couldn’t be happier about it. The psycho that kidnapped the little boy might be rotting in prison, but I know there are plenty of others out there, so I love the extreme measures they take to make sure kids are safe. It’s comforting.
“I think Carmen and I are going to float down the River.” Dad hands Carmen a float and grabs one for himself.
“Sounds fun. I’m going to hang out here and wait for Hannah to get off the slide.” I slip sunglasses onto my nose and wave as they leave, Carmen skipping to keep up with Dad’s long strides.
I settle back, watching across the pool as Hannah advances in line for the Aquifer, and Dad and Carmen bob and giggle in the slow moving current of the River.
My phone dings and I dig through my oversized beach bag to pull it out. It’s an e-mail alert, and from an unfamiliar sender. I open it, expecting Dan. I’m not disappointed.
Luna,
Thank you for the recommendation. Did you know the Mayans drilled holes in their teeth and filled them with jade? No worse than our practice of piercing every body part we can poke a needle through, but still…I shudder at the tackiness of tooth jewelry.
Another fun fact, dear girl, is that my brother swore off women seven years ago. You were only the second woman he’s expressed a desire for (and dare I guess, an interest in?) since his divorce. The first was hardly noteworthy and not worth mentioning. Let that pickle a while.
Ciao baby,
Cupid Extraordinaire
P.S.—If you tell him I told you, no other interesting nuggets will be forthcoming.
I stare at the tiny screen for a full minute, letting the information sink in. I want to focus on the fact that Dan’s safe and having a good time. But my mind keeps doing an about face to the fact that Gabe was married. I don’t mind…it would be hypocritical of me to care one way or another since I’m divorced. I can’t even say he lied about it, since I never even bothered to ask if he was married. And in seven years, only one other woman? Does that mean he only slept with one other woman, or dated? What the fuck Dan?
Supremely irritated with the little bastard for teasing me with information, I type out a response.
Cupid,
You, sir, are an ass. Although I want to be mad at you and tell you not to spread your brother’s business…spread it like butter, baby.
Do you mean he only has one-night stands, or doesn’t do anything at all? Don’t be a tease.
I guess you made it all right. I’m glad you took my advice. The Mayans also intentionally tried to make their babies eyes cross and strapped boards to their faces to flatten their foreheads. Try to picture a flat faced, cross-eyed kid with green teeth. Now also realize they were better at star charting than we are today. Insanity, right?
Anyway, take care of yourself and send me more tidbits, you tease.
Via con Dios,
Luna
I put the phone back in my bag and return to watching the girls with a big, stupid smile on my face.
* * * *
The rest of the week tr
udges by in much the same fashion, except I pull a couple of double shifts to earn extra money for a new car. The Tesla draws looks everywhere I go and it makes me uncomfortable. Because I know the questions are there, bubbling up just beneath the surface of every Chatty Cathy in town. I’ve either got to get rid of it, admit my sugar daddy bought it for me, or lie about hitting the lottery.
Of course, there’s always the fourth option, which is to tell the nosey busybodies to go fuck themselves, it’s not their business. Which is what I want to do. But this is southern Alabama. I can’t just tell someone to fuck off here. The correct phrase is either “bless your heart,” or “isn’t that nice.”
Most people have the good taste to mind their own business, even at work. Jess barely notices and Deshawn just looks at it, then back at me before shaking his head. I know I blush, which is fucking irritating. I’m too old to blush. But for the most part, no one questions it until Saturday.
When Phil comes in with the lunch crowd on Saturday, sweating his balls off and spreading what he believes is cheer but is really just an annoying odor, I’m working what we’ve dubbed the “kids section.” The kid section is where we try to sit families with small children. Odds of flying food are high with two or three children under the age of eight, and we’ve found that other parents are a lot more understanding than the elderly or childless.
I only barely see Phil strut in as I sweep up a pile of chicken nuggets and fries from beneath a recently evacuated war zone…er, table. By the time I’ve got it clean and another family seated, I barely have their drink orders before Phil corners me just outside the kitchen.
“If you’re making enough in tips to afford that we’re going to start tip sharing.” He wants to crowd me because that’s his way of intimidating people. But I warned him long ago about my personal space and sexual harassment suits. He took the hint. He’s a greedy asshole, but he’s neither stupid nor perverted.
His confrontation and the threat to start combining tips and divvying them out evenly throws me off, and I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind. “It was a gift.”
Luna Exposed Page 13
