Page 91 of All I Have Left

Like it or not, Shane was a weak spot for me. A part of our lives I wasn’t sure I could ever completely bury. But at what cost? My marriage? My family? They’re my glue. They’re the ones I filled that crack with.

Lying back on the bed, I stare up at our ceiling and the fan circling slowly. The blades dance a flicking shadow over my face, like a slide show snapping through images. I lie there for over twenty minutes before I remind myself I’m acting like a goddamn pussy.

Time for a grand gesture.

Peeling myself from the bed, I make my way downstairs. Evie is in the kitchen with Stevie on her hip. She doesn’t look at me, but Stevie lunges for me. “Daddy!”

Daddy. That’s what I have to be thankful. I take Stevie in my arms, kissing her hand she holds out to me. She thinks she’s a princess and we let her believe she is.

Evie tries to move past me but I trap her between the kitchen island and the stove, our baby in my hands. She can’t ignore me now.

I wait for her to look at me. “What?” she snaps, but then adjusts her tone. “We’re late. We’re supposed to be at The Point already.”

I promised Taliyah a concert for her fifth birthday.

She didn’t want a party with friends. No, not my little music obsessed little girl.

She wanted a concert with me singing about as badly as she wanted that Fender guitar we were giving her tonight.

I could do all of that, but looking at my wife now, I couldn’t help but feel like I’d ruined the day already.

“Don’t be mad,” I whisper, shifting Stevie to my other hip so I can kiss Evie’s temple.

She nods, as though she’s working through it. “Jameson is still outside.” I turn to look in the backyard where Jameson is swinging a bat around in circles. The last time he did that he knocked himself out. “Can you get him? Taliyah is already in the car waiting.”

I watch Evie’s face, her eyes, the pale expression and reminder of the bat.

Told you trauma doesn’t just go away. It stays.

Forever. Some days it doesn’t hurt as bad, but others, it’s a slap to your face.

And I made it worse. “You take the girls.” I hand a wiggly Stevie back to her. “I’ll get him and I’ll meet you there.”

Her eyes hold mine. “Don’t be a minute late. This means a lot to her.”

“I won’t.” I motion to the backyard. “I’m going to get him now. I’ll be right behind you.”

She leaves with the girls and I head out back to get Jameson.

He puts up a fight but I carry him inside by his ankles, his laughter filling the silent house.

I set him on the counter, reaching for a wet rag in the sink to wipe the dirt off his face.

It’s useless. Ten minutes in the field tonight he’s going to be caked in dirt and more than likely, half naked.

He kicks his legs and I scoot back before he nails me in the balls again, his hands on my wrists. “Stop it. I’m clean, Daddy.”

“You’re not clean, little man. You’re covered in dirt. Look at you.” I gesture to his white t-shirt that’s has a thick layer of brown flakes on it.

He smiles, sparkling green eyes that match his mama stare back at me. He just turned four and is a mirror of Evie. Facial expressions, attitude, all of it. He tolerates me, but his mother, she hung the moon and stars in his eyes. “I gotta go,” he tells me, trying to get down.

“Where ya goin’?”

I set him down on the floor and he yanks on his shirt and reaches for his cowboy hat he’d been wearing. “To find my mama.”

I grab him before he can take off again and get him into my truck. “It’s sissy’s birthday. Don’t you want to see her? ”

He sighs, as if this is exhausting to him. “I see’d her before.”

Smiling, I buckle him up. “Well you get to see her tonight too.”

The fifteen-minute drive to The Point is spent with Jameson crying. The entire time. As soon as I pull into the parking lot, he stops. Instantly.

“Where’s Ethan? He here? Where is he?”

My son likes his uncle better than me. I manage to get him out and Taliyah’s guitar without her noticing a thing. She’s in the field with Frankie and Kelly, both tending to her every need and making her feel as special as she deserves.

Though Taliyah didn’t want your standard kid’s birthday party, looking at stage and the field in front of it, I’d say this is more extravagant.

Everything is covered in pink and silver balloons, ribbons and twinkle lights.

I know one thing. I’m dreading getting that credit card bill in the mail.

I should have known not to give Frankie my card.

Speaking of Frankie, she’s standing next to me with a flannel in her hand. “Put this on.”

I stare at the flannel offensively. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?”

“It’s a t-shirt,” she deadpans.

“So?”

Jameson smacks his hand to the shirt. “Why he gotta wear it?”

Most of Jameson’s clothes are hand me downs from Wesley.

He refuses to wear most of it and I can’t blame him.

Frankie dresses her son like a douche. I’m sorry, Wesley’s not a douche, but his clothes, designer jeans at six and color coding his Converse shoes…

no thanks. We’re lucky if Jameson’s pants are on and his shirt is clean.

And forget shoes. He hates them. Which is why he’s barefoot right now.

I roll my eyes at the flannel still hanging in front of me. “I’m not wearing that. ”

“Yes, you are. It’s your daughter’s day and this matches her dress.”

I rip the shirt from her hand. “Stop dressing me up.”

She eyes me up and down, like she’s offended by my presence here. “You need all the help you can get.”

I wish I had brothers. Not sisters.

I slide the flannel over my not good enough T-shirt and push Frankie away from me. “Go away.”

Jameson takes off toward the field after hanging on Ethan for a good ten minutes. I tune my guitar and hide the present for Taliyah behind the stage until later. I notice Evie on the stage, holding Stevie again who’s fallen asleep in her arms.

My mom approaches, taking her from Evie and into the bar where it won’t be so loud.

As I watch my wife, her white summer dress blowing with the subtle wind, I smile and remember a time when this image was the only thing that kept me alive.

Ethan nudges me when he notices Evie won’t look at me. “How’s that grand gesture going?”

I strap my Gibson over my shoulder. “I’m working on it.”

“Same set list?” he asks, reaching for his Fender, a replica of the one we bought Taliyah.

“Yeah, but let’s open with “Into the Mystic.”

He smiles, shaking his head. “You’re a pussy.”

I roll my eyes, climbing the stair riser to the stage. “Let’s not forget the time you forgot Frankie’s birthday….”

He snorts. “I don’t see how celebrating on your actual birthday is such a big deal. Pick a day in the year and live it up.”

Though I agree with his logic, Frankie does not. Her thirtieth birthday will always be remembered as the time Ethan got blackout drunk and forgot.

On the stage, the crowd, pretty much everyone and their kids who live in our small town, cheer.

I eye my baby girl now in Evie’s arms. “Happy Birthday, Taliyah,” I say into the microphone, smiling down at her, center stage, grinning from ear to ear.

Her princess crown is crooked on her head, her cheeks flushed with shimmer sparkles and equal parts dirt.

A perfect presentation of what she is, sugar and not so nice at times.

I adjust the microphone in front of me, the bumpy metal warm against my lips. I stare down at my baby girl, smiling. “I know you made the set list for us tonight but is it okay if I play your mama’s favorite song first?” She nods eagerly, her eyes bright as she clings to Evie with both arms.

Evie sighs, a smile on her lips, as if she knows what I’m doing.

“This one’s for my wife. I’m not perfect, but I love you. Thank you for giving me three beautiful children.” I wink and move my guitar around the front of me.

Ethan begins the opening riff of Van Morrison’s “Into the Mystic” and then me.

I press my lips to the metal again, my eyes on my wife and sing to her.

It’s all I can do because my sorry means nothing.

Me being here, for her, listening to what hurt, that’s where the forever comes in. That’s how you make an effort.

Sure, I used our daughter’s day to say I’m sorry but by the end of that song, the tension has eased from Evie’s face and I see a glimmer of hope that we’re okay. We’re still healing, still working at the happy ever after.

We play for over two hours. Every song Taliyah loves. Even fucking Taylor Swift to which Ethan sings pretty damn well. It’s because his balls are constantly in Frankie’s purse, waiting to come out for the day.

While Taliyah is cutting her birthday cake and Jameson is throwing an absolute shit show of a fit on the floor, Evie finds me. “Your son is losing his shit tonight.”

I bring the beer in my hand to my lips and lean into her as she wraps an arm around my waist. “At least he’s wearing his pants again. Most of the night he was buck ass naked.”

She frowns. “It’s always the middle child that’s a monster.”

My eyes slide to hers, and then Frankie who is organizing a very elaborate present display complete with that guitar in front. “There’s a lot of truth in that statement.”

I press my lips to Evie’s temple and then turn her to face me. “I’m really sorry about earlier.”