Another Yesterday

by Angela Christina Archer

  By the time I pulled into my driveway, my eyes misted with tears. Not from sadness, but from a sense of comfort and a sense that for the first time in a long time, I found just what I needed.

  I climbed the stairs of the porch, pausin’ just a moment at my front door before turnin’ the knob and walkin’ inside.

  James slept on the couch with Rachel lyin’ on his chest. The two were so peaceful, so perfect, and without thought, I tiptoed into Nancy’s bedroom to fetch her camera. After takin’ a couple of shots, he stirred, and his eyes opened.

  “Were you just taking a picture of me?”

  My cheeks flushed hot. “Um, well, I guess I was. Ya two were just so cute.”

  He smiled with half of his lips as he stretched then he laid one hand on her head and one hand on her back, holdin’ her tight to him as he sat up, rose to his feet, and shuffled down the hallway toward her bedroom.

  I made my way into the kitchen, exhausted, and yet, not ready for sleep, butterflies fluttered in my stomach as I fetched the teakettle and filled it water.

  “Nancy told me when I got here to tell you she was stayin’ at Evan’s tonight,” James said, enterin’ the kitchen. He rubbed the sides of his face then ran his hands through his hair as if the motions would help wake him up.

  “I’m sorry to make ya stay so late.”

  He waved off my apology as he yawned.

  “I don’t know how I’m going to this. We just have more and more guests and . . . I don’t know how I’m gonna keep up with this business and take care of Rachel.”

  “It’s not like I’m doing anything and can’t be with her.”

  “But all day, every day?”

  He shrugged. “Why not?”

  “That’s a big commitment for a child who isn’t your daughter.” As soon as the words left my lips, I regretted them, and his shoulders hunched while his brow furrowed. “I’m sorry.” I said, “I didn’t mean . . . that was awful of me to say.”

  “It’s all right.”

  “No, it’s not. Ya are so kind to us and to her and I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

  His lips twitched and he folded his arms across his chest. “Have dinner with me.”

  “Now?”

  He chuckled. “Not now. Tomorrow night. Nancy said she would help Helen with dinner.”

  “Oh, she did, did she? I take it ya already asked?”

  “Of course. Her and Evan both agreed they would handle the dinner and the guests, and they would watch Rachel.” He moved across the kitchen, steppin’ closer and closer to me. My heartbeat kicked up and my breath drew shallow. “You have a lot of people to help you in this town, so let us, and come have dinner with me at my cabin.”

  I bit my lip for a moment, tryin’ to come up with a reason—anythin’ I could think of—to say no. Nothin’ came to me, though. The honest truth of it all was, not goin’ to dinner with this man standin’ in front of me would be nothin’ short of utter stupidity.

  “I promise this time I won’t just get Moe’s. I will actually cook you a proper dinner.”

  I laughed, givin’ into my mind and, if I dared to admit, my heart. “What time do ya want me there?”

  TWENTY-FIVE

  My knuckles rapped on James’s door, and within minutes he opened it, flashin’ me a big smile as he motioned me inside.

  “Welcome again,” he said, leadin’ me back into the kitchen. “Dinner’s not quite finished yet. Although, it should be. My sauce has been simmering all darn day.”

  “It smells amazin’. Spaghetti?”

  “Lasagna. Everything is homemade—noodles, sauce, even the ricotta cheese, I made it all myself.”

  “Ya made your own cheese?” I cocked my head to the side. “Consider me impressed.”

  “Good.” He winked. “So how was your day?”

  “Fine up until this afternoon.” I cradled my forehead in my hands, blowin’ out a deep breath.

  “What happened?” He grabbed a few bunches of basil leaves and laid them on a cuttin’ board before he slid one of his knives from a block of wood and began choppin’ the herbs.

  “Trouble with a couple of guests—the Thompson’s. They are nice people, but they have an odd relationship. I can’t tell if they actually love each other or just love to make each other miserable.”

  “What did they do?”

  “They got into a rather large fight in their room, and it somehow made it out into the hallway. Then Mr. Thompson stomped inside the room and locked Mrs. Thompson out. Of course, Helen has a spare key to all the rooms, but Mr. Thompson was not havin’ lettin’ his wife come back inside. Said he would call the police.”

  “Wow.”

  “I know!”

  “So how did you resolve it?”

  “I sent Mrs. Thompson to Riley’s Beauty Parlor with the promise of a manicure, pedicure, and a hairstyle on me if she’d let her husband calm down. Nancy is gonna try to settle them down over a bottle of wine with dinner.”

  “Well, hopefully it works.”

  “I hope so too. We might actually have to cancel their reservation and send them on their way. Fight or no fight. I don’t understand why people stay married if they are so unhappy. I know divorce isn’t pretty, but neither is shoutin’ at one another in front of dozens of strangers in the middle of a hotel hallway.” I heaved a deep breath as I set my purse on his kitchen counter. “Of course, I shouldn’t judge either, or I shouldn’t say things like that. I know not everyone holds the same opinion.”

  “I do. I don’t think it’s bad for a couple to divorce if they are unhappy.” He paused then added. “Even if there are children involved. I don’t think it makes for a great environment to grow up in.”

  I stared at him, ponderin’ his tone. He seemed as though he was tellin’ me this for a reason, like it was somethin’ he wanted me to know—a reassurance of some sort.

  “Well, I just hope Nancy can handle it.”

  “I think she will. She’s so full of love right now it’s hard for it not to rub off on people.”

  I chuckled. “Yeah, she is.”

  “I noticed she’s hasn’t been at the house much. She stays with Evan a lot, doesn’t she?”

  “Yes, she does. I’m afraid I will be without a roommate a lot sooner than I expected.”

  “I can’t believe they got engaged so quickly. Although, I guess if you know, you know. Why waste the time if it just means you can begin your lives together that much sooner.” He nodded as though agreein’ with himself but didn’t look at me.

  “I suppose so.”

  “What? Don’t you believe in quick courtships?”

  “No, I do. I have nothin’ against them.” Seeing as how Rachel’s dad and I met and were married within a month, I would be a hypocrite to say otherwise. “Of course, she still has to appear to live with me. If her mother found out . . . I don’t know what she’d do. Call the National Guard probably.” I threw my hands up. “I don’t know.”

  “She really is old-fashioned, isn’t she?”

  “Highly, and she doesn’t like me much. Maybe she’d be glad Nancy was out of the house. Even if it meant her daughter was sleepin’ with a boy before marriage.” I snorted then shook my head. “Maybe.”

  “Why doesn’t she like you?”

  “Because of Rachel. She sees me as a young, unmarried girl with a kid.”

  He gave me a sideways glance as he finished choppin’ the basil. Without a word, he set the knife down and poured a glass of wine, settin’ it in front of me.

  “But I’m not old enough.”

  “You’re a business owner and a mother, you are also in a private residence and I will drive you home if you want. I’m only giving you a glass though, not a whole bottle.” He winked.

  The red-velvet liquor swirled in the glass as I brought it to my lips. Robust, and yet smooth, the grapes mixed with a hint of berries hit my tongue with a crisp tartness.

  “So that’s wine?” I asked, smackin’ my lips.

&nbs
p; “Yes, that’s wine.”

  “Interestin’.” I set the glass down, starin’ at it for a moment.

  “What’s the matter? Don’t you like it?”

  “No, I do. Very much. I’m not sure I know what to think about that.”

  “It’s just wine, Mags, it’s not drugs.”

  Mags.

  My late husband used to call me that—the only one who did. To my friends and parents, I was always Maggie. But to him, I was Mags. I hadn’t heard the name in so long, it’s sudden pitch in my ear caused an itch in my skin. My shoulders hunched slightly, and I dropped my gaze to the ground.

  “Did I say something I shouldn’t have?” James asked. His brows furrowed as he held the knife in mid-chop.

  “No . . . I . . . ya called me Mags.”

  “And you hate it when people do?”

  “No, it’s just . . .”

  He inhaled a deep breath, holdin’ it for a moment before lettin’ it out slowly. It was as though a lightbulb flicked on over his head. “It’s what he called you.”

  I nodded.

  “I’m sorry. I won’t do it again.”

  “No, no, it’s fine.” I exhaled a short breath, straightenin’ my shoulders. “I guess I hadn’t thought about how much I missed hearin’ it.”

  He continued choppin’ and after a few slices, he picked up the cuttin’ board and dragged the knife across it, shovin’ the herbs into the steamin’ pot. He stretched across the counter and grabbed a wooden spoon, plungin’ it into the sauce and givin’ it several stirs before he spooned up a bite and motioned me to come over to him.

  “Taste it,” he said as I slid from the seat and moved around the counter.

  He fed me the bite. Perhaps the most delicious sauce I’d ever tasted, I closed my eyes. “Mmm.”

  “Good huh?”

  “Very good.”

  He stared at me for a moment before he set the spoon down and folded his arms across his chest. “So, I think it’s time we do this.”

  “Do what?”

  “Have the conversation I know we’ve been skirting around for months. How long were you married?”

  “Oh,” I inhaled a deep breath, exhalin’ it before I answered. “Not long. Just a little over a year.”

  “And how long had you been together before you got married?”

  I snorted, archin’ one eyebrow as I reached back over the counter and grabbed the glass of wine.

  “That long, huh?”

  “Long enough to make Rachel.” I laughed again and took a sip.

  He shrugged. “It happens. Just think about it if she wasn’t here. The world would definitely be a worse off place.”

  “Ya really do like her, don’t ya?”

  He set the spoon down and rested both his hands on the counter, leanin’ on them. His gaze met mine. “I know I’m not supposed to say that as you said in not so many words last night.”

  “And for that I’m sorry.” I brushed my hand against my chest. “I really shouldn’t have said I did.”

  “But I have to say, I’m growing rather fond of your little girl.”

  He paused as though waitin’ for me to say somethin’.

  Although words sat on the tip of my tongue, I didn’t say any of them. I couldn’t. It wasn’t that I was shocked to hear what he said. It wasn’t that I was angry, either. I wasn’t even sad.

  It was that I loved hearin’ it.

  I loved that someone else, besides me, loved my daughter.

  He wasn’t her daddy, wasn’t related to her at all. He had no connection to her, no responsibility. He was just a stranger who became a friend, and now . . .

  Tears misted my eyes and I spun away from him, dartin’ for the door.

  “Maggie? Maggie, wait!” he called after me as I fled outside.

  I ran across the front yard toward the beach. The sand lodged in my sandals and I kicked them off, leavin’ them behind as I trotted down to the water. The waves rolled in, one after another in a steady beat. Like a heartbeat, and yet, they were slower than the one poundin’ in my chest at the moment. I clutched my throat.

  “Maggie?”

  I spun to face him, knowin’ he was already right behind me because of the warmth from his body.

  “I didn’t know if I should have told you what I did,” he said. “I’m sorry if it bothers you. But I had to say it. I had to tell you.”

  “Why do you think it would bother me? Did you think I would get mad?”

  “No, that’s not why.” He waved his arms for a moment, blowin’ out another breath as he glanced toward the sea then back at me as though he needed a second to find the right words or find the courage to say the ones he already knew he wanted to say. “It’s because I fear Rachel’s dad is going to just show up one day and . . . you’ll be gone and she’ll be gone, and another man—who should by right—will get to . . . watch her grow up.”

  I shook my head. “That’s not gonna happen.”

  “How do you know? I mean, he can’t possibly be all right with walking away and never seeing you or her ever again. He’s got to wonder. He’s got to want to know.”

  “It’s not gonna happen because he’s dead.”

  As soon as the words left my lips, tears streamed down my cheeks. I couldn’t control them, nor could I control how the meanin’ of them hit me, bringin’ back pain I hadn’t felt in months because I hadn’t allowed myself.

  James wrapped his arms around me, drawin’ me into his body. His embrace was so warm, so tight, it eased the pain and I buried my face in his chest.

  “I’m so sorry,” he whispered. “I didn’t . . . I didn’t know. I just thought you two got a divorce.”

  “It’s not your fault. I never told ya.”

  “How long ago did he die?”

  “Um, about seven or eight months ago.”

  “Wow.” He exhaled a deep breath. “That’s not that long ago.”

  “No, it’s not. But it feels like forever at the same time.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking, that is.”

  “He was killed in Vietnam.”

  “Marine? Navy?”

  “Army.”

  He nodded and blinked several times. “I tried to join the army.”

  “Ya did?” I leaned back away from his chest and looked up at him, keepin’ my arms still clingin’ to his waist.

  “They denied me because of arrhythmia, and I’ve held so much guilt about it for so long.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t be over there fighting with the rest of the young men. It’s not easy being told you’re useless.”

  “Ya are far from useless. I mean, ya have done so much for my daughter and me. If ya were over there, then who would be here with us?”

  Without a word, he leaned into me and kissed me. Strange and unknown, and yet, somethin’ familiar, I’d almost forgotten how it felt to kiss someone. I kept my eyes closed, and for a moment, I pictured the last kiss I shared with my late husband in our house on base. How his lips moved with mine, and how he had touched me. As quickly as the thoughts of him came, they left, however, replaced with the notion of the man holdin’ me right now, and how I had longed for him to take me in his arms. Whether or not I loved him, I didn’t know, but what I did know was I wanted him. I wanted him to keep kissin’ me. I wanted him to touch me.

  I wanted him to make love to me.

  As if to read my mind, he bent down and scooped me into his arms, carryin’ me back into his cabin and back into his bedroom where he set me down near his bed and removed his shirt, exposin’ his strong chest and thick arms.

  I bit my lip.

  It’d been a long time since I saw a man naked, and a long time since I touched one.

  I closed my eyes, takin’ several deep breaths as my fingers traced over his shoulders and down to his waist.

  He kissed me again, his hand slid up my neck to my cheek. His palm was rough from hard work, but also soft against my skin. He leaned in closer
, and with more passion behind his kiss, he laced his fingers into my hair.

  We both moved in closer, pressin’ our bodies together as both of our arms wrapped around one another. His lips pulled away from mine and moved down to my neck while his hand fumbled with the buttons of my shirt.

  With my shirt open, he slid the material off my shoulders, lettin’ it fall to the floor as he unclasped my bra, discardin’ it, too, while his hands wandered my breasts and then moved to the buttons of my pants. With a few simple tugs, all my clothes lay discarded on the floor and his soon followed.

  I laid down on the bed and he followed me, lyin’ on top of me while I wrapped my legs around him, drawin’ him into me—the feelin’ of him inside rushed through my gasped breaths.

  “Wait,” I said.

  He stopped. “What’s wrong?”

  “What about your sauce? I don’t want it to burn.”

  He smiled, lowerin’ his mouth to my ear before he whispered, “Damn the sauce.”

  My eyes fluttered open to the ceilin’ above the bed. The early mornin’ sunlight shined through the space between the curtains of the window, creatin’ light and shadows along the popcorn-like material, dippin’ and risin’ like it had mountains and valleys. I rolled over. James slept beside me, and as I laid my hand on his cheek, he stirred awake.

  “Good mornin’,” he whispered, openin’ one eye then shuttin’ it.

  “Mornin’.”

  He moved his hand over my hip and down my rump, grabbin’ the side closest to the mattress before he yanked me toward him, my small frame at the mercy of his strength.

  I laughed, liftin’ my leg over him. “Again?” I whispered.

  “Has it been too much?” he asked, openin’ his one eye again.

  “No, I don’t think so, but I should be gettin’ back to the inn.”

  “What time is it?” He rolled on top of me, pressin’ my back into the pillows as we both glanced at the clock on his bedside table.