Pocketful of Sand

Maybe Cole will just be good. For both of us. Only time will tell. And time is something we have plenty of.

TWENTY

Cole

I EXPERIENCE A collision of emotion when Emmy steps cautiously out of her mother’s arms and walks toward me. At first, every feeling is the soft kind, the kind that decent people feel toward a child. But when she puts her thumb in her mouth, knowing what causes her to do it brings on a fresh stab of rage. It cuts through my sternum and goes straight into my heart like a sharp spear. In this moment, if I could find him, I would gladly rip apart the man who did this to her. I’d tear him limb from filthy, disgusting limb.

But then another shift happens. When Emmy reaches me, she curls her tiny fingers around mine and pulls me with her toward the kitchen. Rage is immediately forgotten, replaced by the soothing comfort that this little girl brings to the battered parts of my soul. Looking down at her, it’s almost like having Charity back. At least a little bit. And I can’t help thinking that maybe I can do right by Emmy, that I can somehow make up for what happened with my own daughter by saving someone else’s. But it will never undo what I did. It will never bring back the life I stole.

I’m aware of Eden’s soft gaze on us as we walk together into the kitchen. It’s a warm feeling, as though her happiness and security shine out from her like rays of heat from the sun. I glance back over my shoulder when Emmy steps in front of me and points up to a cabinet. Eden’s smiling, like I expected she might be, but even from here I can see the tears in her eyes. It makes me realize that I never want to see any pain or sadness in them. Never again. Only contentment. Or desire. Or love.

Turning back to the task at hand, I open the cabinet and pull out the bread before squatting down in front of Emmy. She takes a step back, but just one. I figure that’s probably something like progress.

“Do you wanna help? Be my mini sous chef?”

She looks shyly from me to her mother and back again. She doesn’t answer; she just takes off running toward Eden. She tugs on Eden’s hand until she bends so that Emmy can whisper in her ear, and then she races back to me.

“When Emmy and I cook together, we always listen to music,” Eden explains as she flips on the television and finds a music station.

“Then let’s get to it,” I say to Emmy, slapping my hands together and then holding them open. “Can I put you up here so you can help me better?” I ask.

At first Emmy just looks at me, her little lips pursed around her thumb. Music begins playing softly in the background as she watches me. I’m just about to make an excuse to let her off the hook when she slips her thumb out of her mouth and spreads her arms.

Something burns in my chest when I reach for her, cupping her gently beneath her arms and hefting her up onto the countertop. She’s light as a feather. So small and delicate. Fragile. How could anyone even think of hurting her?

I push the thoughts away. They don’t belong here with us. Not today.

Emmy doesn’t smile until she looks back at her mom. And when she does, her grin is enough to melt the coldest of hearts. I guess as long as she can see her, she feels safe.

I glance back at Eden again. She’s dancing for her daughter, head bouncing, eyes closed. When she opens them and finds me watching her, she blushes ten shades of red. After a few seconds she starts laughing, though, and then I hear an answering giggle closer to me.

Emmy’s eyes are lit up as she watches her mother. It hurts to see it, but more in a good way this time. It makes me incredibly sad, but not the hopeless kind of sad I’ve felt for so long. More like the feeling that I wish my own daughter could be here, enjoying a breakfast like this. But this little girl needs it as much as mine did. And at least I can be here for her.

TWENTY-ONE

Eden

I FEEL LIKE acting silly. I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever. My parents were never the fun kind. Their work was always more important than me. Giving me attention was never a priority.

Then, when they sent me to Lucy’s, I got all kinds of attention, only it was attention that no girl ever dreams of having. I promised when I had Emmy that she’d never know the kind of childhood that I had. She’d have all my love and attention, and she’d never doubt how precious she is to me. I promised myself that we’d laugh and act silly and enjoy every day. I swore to myself that she’d have a million good memories of her childhood to compete with her horrible ones. And today will be one of those good memories for her. Since Ryan, she hasn’t let a man touch her, even in the most casual way, not even the doctors.

Until now.

Until Cole.

She seems to sense something in him. Brokenness? Gentleness? Sadness? Safety? I don’t know, but it puts her at ease with him in a way she hasn’t shown anyone in two years.

But today, Emmy’s happy. Her smile is music to my soul like the song playing behind me is music to my ears. And Cole…watching him interact with her, seeing the expression on his face when he looks at her…this day couldn’t be more perfect. And it’s only just begun.

It started with talk of the worst time of my life. Maybe it will end with laughter from the best.

“Come on, Emmy. Dance like you do in your car seat,” I call across the room to my daughter. I raise my arms and pump them to the beat like I’ve seen her do so often.

Emmy shakes her head, her eyes flickering quickly to me then to Cole and back to me again.

Cole notices. “You mean like this?” he asks, shaking his hips and shoulders. Even though he’s goofing off for Emmy’s sake, I can see that he has rhythm, and for some reason that is a huge turn-on for me. It makes me think of his rhythm in other activities, thoughts of which have no business being in my head when my child is near. But still, all in all, I just feel warm and happy. And…hopeful.