Pocketful of Sand

“Emmy, get Mr. Danzer and bring him over here, okay?”

She nods and then turns to run.

“Emmy!” I yell. I sigh in relief when she appears in the doorway again, cheeks already flushed. “Hand me two towels,” I say. She grabs one from the sink where I left it and another from the cabinet underneath and hands them both to me. Water leaks copiously from around my fingers when I ease back to wind one around my front, half of it dragging in the water, and then stuff the other one on the pipe to staunch the flow of hot water. “Okay, go, go, go!”

She races off and I pray that sending her after him was the right thing to do. This would be a terrible time of year to have to find alternative accommodations. But if anyone can fix this, I bet Cole can.

I snatch the plug out of the drain again and listen to the water in the tub gurgle away, my stomach twitching with anxious anticipation.

TEN

Cole

PART OF ME is glad that Eden isn’t at her window anymore. It’s hard enough to keep my mind off her as it is, but when I can see her…when she stands so still in her kitchen and watches me…

I close my eyes and grit my teeth against the unwanted sensations that tear through me. I don’t want to feel anything for her. I don’t want to think about her or imagine what her soft lips would feel like against mine. I don’t want to lie awake at night and wonder what she’s doing, what she wears to bed, or what she looks like when she sleeps. I don’t want any of this.

Not that it matters. I’m getting it anyway. No matter how hard I fight it, she’s all I can think about. Accept on beach day.

I almost don’t hear the knock at the door. I’m too deep in thought and the sound is too soft. I stop hammering for a second to listen, thinking I might’ve mistaken some other noise for a knock. But then I hear it again, hesitant but insistent.

I lay down my hammer and walk to the door, cracking it to look outside. Standing on the porch is Eden’s daughter, Emmy. Her eyes are as big as saucers, her thumb is stuck snugly in her mouth and she’s wiggling one foot where it’s being swallowed whole in what looks like her mother’s shoe.

A searing streak of panic blazes through me. I fling open the door and drop to one knee in front of her. “Emmy, what is it? Is your mom hurt?”

She shakes her head slowly, eyeing me suspiciously, like I might try to grab her and run away. Relief washes through me and I drop my head for a second. I shouldn’t care. I shouldn’t care more than in the polite way that people care about what happens to someone they hardly know. But that’s not what this is. This relief…the panic that I felt initially…it’s much more than just polite. It’s a helluva lot more.

And I have no idea why.

I think again, briefly, vaguely, What the hell is she doing to me?

Emmy raises her arm and points back to her house. Her message is clear.

I would’ve responded, but the words get stuck in my throat when she surprises me by reaching out and curling her small fingers around mine. Something in my chest seizes. The world becomes uncomfortably emotional for a few seconds. I have to take my time before speaking.

Anxiously, she tugs.

“You need me to come back with you?” I finally manage.

She nods.

I reach behind me to pull the door shut so that I can follow her. She keeps a hold on my hand, her fingers tightening as she navigates the steps in her too-big shoes. They clomp on the boards and I walk slowly at her side, careful that she doesn’t fall. It’s a bitterly familiar sensation, one I want to both revel in and turn away from.

Only I can’t. This little girl needs me. Her mother needs me.

As we walk across the street, my focus is torn. Part of me is wondering what I might find in the cottage up ahead, but another part of me is remembering why I never wanted to feel again. If I feel anything, I have to feel everything. The good and the bad. The peaceful and the painful.

At her own porch, Emmy releases my hand, kicks off her shoes and bounds up the steps. She throws open the door and races through the house, sparing a glance back to make sure I’m following her.

I toss her mom’s shoes, which I picked up on the bottom step, beside the door and make my way inside. Emmy runs to the bathroom and stands to one side looking in, still sucking her thumb.

“Hello?” I call to announce my presence.

“In here!” comes the harried response.

I head to the bathroom, not knowing what to expect. What I find nearly buckles my knees. Holy mother of God! It’s Eden. In the bathtub. On her knees. Dripping wet. Covered only in a soggy towel that outlines her every curve in the most mouthwatering way.

It takes me a second to speak. I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. What is it about this woman that makes me want her so badly? After all this time, after all the women who’ve tried, why her? Why now?

I don’t have the answers to any of those questions. I only know that my whole body is tight as a damn drum just looking at her.

“Can you please shut off the water?” she sputters, drawing me back into thinking mode.

Immediately, I turn and head back outside, around to the side of the house to the water main where it’s buried in the yard with the meter. I twist the handle to close the valve and turn to go back inside, leaving the cover off until I’m ready to cut the water back on.

In the bathroom, I find that the flow is already tapering off and Eden is breathing a little more easily. The muscles in her thin arms are straining under her water-slicked skin. Her breasts are heaving behind the knot in her towel. It’s hard as all hell to drag my eyes back to her face.