Beneath the Scars

“I know we have a lot to work out, but I can’t stop thinking about you here. Being able to touch you anytime I want. Knowing you’re downstairs while I’m painting. Falling asleep with you.” His head fell to my shoulder. “I slept so well with you beside me.”

I curled my fingers into the hair that fell over his collar. I felt a deep rumbling sigh in his chest. He lifted his gaze to mine, his eyes bright with emotion. “I want a life with you, Megan. In this house, or somewhere else, if that’s what you want. Wherever you want to be, I’ll follow—anywhere.”

I knew what he was saying. If I went back to Boston, he’d give up his private life here, to be with me—to be with us. I blinked away fresh tears.

“I want to stay here.”

“With me?”

The two small words were spoken with so much want. He showed his vulnerability in both his actions and words. He created this room for his child. He wanted me to stay with him.

He was handing me his heart, unsure how I would receive it, and willing to take the chance of being rejected.

Despite what happened, and the pain we’d both gone through, I still loved him.

I would always love him.

“With you.”

Zachary’s eyes filled with tears. “I’ll take good care of you and our son. I won’t ever leave you again.” He stroked my cheek. “Nothing will ever take me away from you. I love you, Megan.”

The feeling I’d been missing so much welled up inside me. It seeped into every molecule and settled deep into my skin, blooming and taking hold. The feeling of being complete.

With Zachary I was complete.

“I love you.”

His smile was brilliant, and I gasped as he swooped me up into his arms.

“Let’s go get your stuff.”29MeganA light breeze pushed through the curtains, the gauzy fabric billowing in the air as I stepped out of the shower. I heard the sounds of laughter and barking, the noise drawing me to the window. Below, on the beach, was my favorite sight in the world. Zachary, tall and strong, standing ankle deep in the water, holding a small figure in his arms. Our son’s tiny fist clutched the material of Zachary’s shirt while his other hand gestured toward something in the water he wanted. I knew Matthew would be talking a mile a minute in his daddy’s ear, directing him to pick up whatever stone, seashell or piece of wood that had caught his eye.

Sure enough, Zachary lowered Matthew down to the watery sand and bent low to capture whatever treasure from the sea our son had demanded. He crouched down, the two dark heads touching as Matthew crowed in delight at his find. Both heads were so similar you couldn’t tell where one began and the other ended. When he stood up, I chuckled. Even standing, they were alike. Both clad in jeans and long sleeved, white shirts, their pant legs rolled up, feet bare and submerged in the cool water. Like his father, Matthew loved how the water felt against his skin; I’d given up trying to keep shoes on his little feet and losing them to the surf as they got carried out to sea.

Behind them, Dixie, Elliott, and Rex, our newly adopted dog, chased each other around on the sand, tails wagging, excited barks filling the air. After a minute, Matthew pushed his new find into Zachary’s hand for safe keeping and joined them in their game of tag. Soon his happy giggles were added as his favorite playmates welcomed him with enthusiasm. Not to be left out, Zachary joined the group and more laughter and shouts rang out from the beach.

I rested my head to the glass and gazed on in wonderment. It never ceased to amaze me how Zachary had changed. Not even a shadow remained of the angry, bitter man I met on the beach over three years ago. The last of his former self had fallen away the day our son was born. His newfound joy was reflected in every aspect of his life. His paintings were filled with light, exploding with color and brilliance. His eyes only reflected trust and love when they met mine. His hair-trigger temper rarely ever showed and on the odd occasion it did, it burned itself out as fast as it ignited. There was a peace about him now, one that permeated every aspect of our life.

Watching him with our son was wonderful. His patience and capacity for play was boundless, his desire to teach and encourage, endless. His favorite times were spent with his son beside him in the studio, tiny fingers clutching a brush that dabbed and jerked on the paper as Zachary praised and cheered him on. Many of Matthew’s “masterpieces” hung on the walls all around the house. My parents and Auntie K were also gifted with many for their homes. The post office in Cliff’s Edge was well used to sending out tubular packages containing rolled up works of art, and greeted Zachary and Matthew with enthusiasm when they walked in.