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We pass by a couple walking their dog. I tighten my grip on Kona’s leash. “He’s been out of town lately.”
She thinks about it, her brow pulled together. “Is he my daddy?”
My stomach dips. “What made you ask that?”
“We both have freckles.” She shrugs. “My mommy and daddy died. I want to pick new ones.”
Are you crying? I am. She swings my arm, carefree, sunshine on her dark hair. I kneel, and Kona licks my face. It’s River I’m focused on. “They’re still your mommy and daddy. They always will be.”
She nods, her eyes bright like the sky. It hurts to look at her when she shares his eyes. “I know. They’re my heaven mommy and daddy. Can I pick new ones for earth?”
When she puts it like that, it’s hard to tell her she can’t. “If you want to.”
She smiles and twirls purple strands around her fingers. “I pick you. And Tiller.”
I pick him too, but he didn’t pick us, baby.
I don’t say anything, but I reach for her hand, leading her to the mailboxes. She lets go when we’re near, rushing toward the park next to them. Kona runs with her, trailing along beside her like the protector he’s become.
I watch for a moment, then place my key into the lock, digging through our mail. Knowing he was in rehab, I wasn’t expecting to hear from Tiller, but when I open the mail that warm fall afternoon and see the book, I know in my heart this is the old Tiller. The one who cared.
On the inside cover of Beauty and the Beast, there’s Tiller’s handwriting, and I’m not sure who the message is meant for. Me or River. Probably both.
Are you crying? I am. Oh hell, of course he’d do something like this. I keep his sweet words locked inside my heart, knowing I may never hear them again. I know his touch, his kiss, and how warm his heart can be. He’s not all bad. No one is all evil. We all have good and bad inside of us. Light and dark that coexist within the person, and while it’s sometimes ugly, it’s sometimes beautiful. He asks for my vulnerability and every time I surrender my heart willingly.
River spots the book, even from where she’s at and comes running. “Is that for me?”
I nod and hand it to her. “Is it from Tiller?” Again, I nod and hold back tears. She smiles, flipping it open. “He misses me.”
It’s not a question; it’s a statement. One I can’t deny because I know it’s true. Tiller may not have wanted a child, but here she is, and even in the state he’s in, he couldn’t ignore that.
I can’t say the last three weeks have been easy without him. They’ve been exceptionally hard, but we’re learning to live on our own and I’m giving her what Ava and Cullen would have wanted. A stable, loving home full of spontaneity and life.
I wouldn’t say we’re on good terms, my parents and I, but I don’t deny them the right to see River.
Alexandra, marriage seems to be calming her, but not nearly as much as pregnancy has been. I know, crazy thought there, huh? Alexandra as a mother. Maybe that’s all she needed in the beginning.
Since the DNA results were confirmed, my parents let it go with Tiller and the custody battle. Maybe because he wasn’t in the picture, or maybe because he went to rehab. I don’t know for sure, and I haven’t questioned it. I still think of Tiller and hope one day soon, he can share this with me.
When I think of him, I’m just as breathless as the day I left him at the house. It was only a week ago that I stopped waking up crying and hating myself for missing him. Because I do. I miss him every day. I miss the man who knows me better than anyone else.
He still pays for my apartment with River in Pasadena, and because he’s her father, the courts demanded he pays child support. I rip up the child support check, and called the three grand a month apartment he pays for good enough. And even then, I feel incredibly guilty for taking that from him. What I want is him.
Do you see that guy standing outside a long building scowling at it?
That’s me. I’m never stepping foot inside that hell-hole again. Worst thirty days of my life.
I’m just kidding. It wasn’t the worst. Two years ago, I spent a week in a jail in Tijuana. I have no idea how I got out, just that I did. But just so we’re clear, there is absolutely no difference between criminals and cops in Tijuana other than the cops have badges and can do whatever they want without fear of reprisal. That’s a story for another day though, and as a matter of a fact, probably one I won’t tell you.
Grunner finds me. “It’s about time you left, asshole.”
I smile and run my hand through my hair. “You’re gonna miss me.”
He turns, raising his middle finger in the air. “The fuck I will.”
A horn honking draws my attention to the pull-thru drive.
I’m released on a Thursday. I was born on a Thursday and for a while, I hated Thursdays. Maybe I still do, but it all comes back to one woman. Do you know who I’m talking about? I don’t mention her much, if at all, because my mind wants to forget.