So Much More(87)

Miranda was cleared of any wrongdoing in the accident, and though I was urged by outsiders to take back full custody, I couldn’t do it. Because not only was it an accident, it was also a wake-up call for her. Miranda has been a loving parent lately, I won’t take that from my kids because of an accident. She’s finally trying. My kids need that. They deserve it. We signed the revised custody arrangement this week, it was a long time officially coming—the kids spend the school week with me and weekends with Miranda as planned. Everyone’s happy.

The kids are with Miranda this weekend. It’s the first time they’ve been out of my sight, and I’ve been alone, for a few weeks. Which means I made good on my promise and invited Faith out on a date.





The sand is warm under my palms and coarse between my fingers. I’m sitting on the beach, resting back on my hands, watching Faith walk out into the water and thinking about all the different ways there are to be attracted to someone. She’s wearing a simple, ivory, cotton sundress, holding the bottom in her hands mid-thigh to keep it from getting wet. The bright colors have been erased from her dreadlocks, and though I loved it because it was bold like her, the white blond that remains is transcendent. She glows like she’s illuminated from within, her personality shining through like rays of sunshine and fire.

When she returns to me, she reaches down and spreads my legs at the ankles. Then she sits down between my legs facing me, her legs bent, inner calves brushing my sides, dress pooled around us providing cover.

“I know I told you this before, but my heart really likes your heart, Seamus.” The way she says it pinches and twists, heartfelt tainted by heartache, and she drops her chin.

“Hey.” I tip her eyes up to meet mine, and I ask softly, “What’s going on?”

“Every day when I wake up, I remind myself that the present is possibility, and the past is a lesson.” It sounds like a fragile confession that I want to hold in my hands and protect from the world.

I run my fingertip across the writing on her collarbone peeking out from beneath her dress and pull the strap down her shoulder to read it, Life blooms in second chances. “Is that what this is about? Possibility and lessons?”

She nods.

“It’s good advice,” I whisper before I kiss the script.

She’s nodding when I pull back and look at her. I watch her eyes scan my face, pausing on my mouth, before locking her gaze with mine again. “I love the way you look at me, Seamus. No one’s ever looked at me like you do. Your eyes speak to me. When I say something funny, your eyes laugh before your mouth does. When I need encouragement, your eyes tell me I’m good enough. When I’m scared, your eyes hold me. And when you’re about to kiss me, your eyes undress my thoughts.” She pauses and looks away before her eyes dance back to mine. “I don’t want any of that to change.”

“It won’t,” I promise her with words while I hold her in a stare.

She’s not convinced. There’s a look resonating in her eyes, but every few seconds it changes slightly or mixes with another emotion. There’s lust and pain and fear and shame.

“Faith.” I never knew one word could hold so much hope, but her name does. I can’t explain it, but I feel like my future depends on it. My sanity depends on it. My heart depends on it. “Please talk to me. You can tell me anything.”

She pinches her lips together painfully until their rosy shade blanches the color away and she shakes her head. “Not this, Seamus. My past is hideous. I made bad choices and bad things happened.”

“Everyone makes bad choices. You don’t think I’ve made bad choices? Jesus, I was married to a bad choice for twelve years. Enough said. I hold an advanced degree in bad choices and oversight.” I’m calmly pleading with her. “Close your eyes,” I say as I close mine.

“Why?” she questions.

“I’m turning off my judgment and your filter,” I’m whispering. “Are they closed?” I ask from behind closed lids.

“Yes.” Her voice. That voice. So close. So trusting. So soft in the darkness.

“Tell me anything. Tell me everything. I want all of you.” I do. So much.

I’m met with drawn out silence, but it’s not threatening. I can feel her resolve building and apprehension fading in front of me.

“How about we both share?” I coax. “You tell me about your past, and I’ll tell you how I feel about you.”

“Do I want to hear it?” I feel her warm words on my face, there’s a faint glimmer of a smile in them.

I’m nodding, even though she can’t see me. “Probably not as much as I need to say it.”

She begins and if it’s possible her voice is even softer and raises goosebumps on my arms. “I was raised in foster care. You already knew that. The last family took me in at sixteen. I left when I was almost eighteen.” She pauses. “Your turn.”

I don’t know if my heart can take the story she’s about to unfold in the air around us, but I wait because that’s all that my life is at this moment, words suspended in darkness. Words I’m determined to make count. “My life is easier when you’re in it,” I offer, “and harder when you’re not. Your presence eases a tension inside me that I’ve carried all my life. You make me hurt less, physically everything’s more tolerable when you’re near.”