Pocketful of Sand(31)

“Are you scared?”

I close my eyes and lean into her warm palm. “No, baby. Are you?”

“I’m only scared of leaving you.”

“Well then you shouldn’t be afraid. You won’t ever have to leave me.”

“But what if I do? You’ll be sad and no one will make you happy anymore.”

“You’ll always be here to make me happy, sweetie. And you’re all I’ll ever need.”

I need to get past this Cole thing and get back to just Emmy and me against the world. We never needed anybody before. We don’t need to start now.

Once Emmy is dry, I start stuffing her quickly into her clothes.

“Do you think he’s still sad because he doesn’t have a little girl anymore?” she asks, holding onto my shoulder as she steps into her panties.

I don’t have to ask who she’s talking about, but I’m very curious to know why she’s thinking about him. It seems that Cole has a hold on this household.

“He’ll probably always be sad, but that’s not her fault. That just means that he loved her sooo much.”

Emmy grins at me. “You make him stop being sad.”

“Why do you say that?”

“He looks at you different, Momma. He wants to kiss you. I can tell.” She giggles, all little girl now. “Momma and Cole sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g,” she sings.

“I don’t think Momma and Cole will be kissing any time soon,” I tell her as I pull her pajama top over her head.

“But you want to.”

“No, I don’t.”

She giggles again. “Maybe if you kiss him, you’ll be happy, too.”

“I thought boy kisses were gross,” I say, reminding her of her opinion of the stronger sex thus far in life.

“Not for big girls. For big girls, they’re magic.”

I sweep her up into my arms and she throws her arms around my neck. “The only magical kisses I know of are these.” I rain kisses all over her face and hair until she lets the subject drop.

I hope, unlike me, she’ll just be able to put it from her mind. Put him from her mind.

?????

I envy Emmy’s ability to go straight to sleep. I pray it means that, despite all her worries and questions, her mind is for the most part worry-free. Unlike mine, which is keeping me wide awake. I’m still sitting in the dark, staring at the empty fireplace, covered in a blanket, thinking. That’s why I hear the soft knock. Had I been anywhere other than a few feet from the door, I’d never have heard it.

My stomach clenches and I turn toward the offending sound, debating whether to answer it or pretend I’m already in bed. I tiptoe to the door, pressing my ear to it so that I can hear if my late-night visitor leaves. I hear a subtle scraping sound, as though a rough palm is rubbing the wood between us.

“Eden,” comes the sandpaper voice. I don’t know how he would expect me to hear him. Maybe he doesn’t. Maybe he knows he shouldn’t be here and he’s regretting coming.

Or maybe he’s sober tonight. And maybe this is the Cole I thought I knew.

“Please be awake.” There’s a quiet desperation to his plea. It punches through the door and into my chest like a fist. “I need to talk to you.”

I shouldn’t even consider opening the door. I should write him off as a lost cause and move on with my life. Go back to the way I was before I met him. But there’s a part of me that wants him to make this right, wants him to clear things up. Tell me I was wrong. Tell me he was wrong. To promise he’ll never do that again.

Something in me wants that badly. So, so badly.

It’s that part which shushes all the other voices and pushes my hand to reach for the lock.

I crack the door and peek out just enough to see Cole pulling his palm away–the soft rasping I heard. His eyes find mine and, even in the dark, I can see the cornucopia of emotions in them. Right now, they aren’t hooded. Right now, they aren’t hiding his thoughts from me. Right now, they’re open.

He’s open.

And that’s why I let him in.

I step back and he slides past me, not moving beyond the entryway. I close the door, crossing my arms over my chest as we stand watching each other.

“I know it’s late, but I wanted to talk to you. Alone.”

“Well, here I am. Talk,” I say, unable to keep all the bitterness from my tone.