Crossing Oceans (16 page)

Craig chuckled.

“So,” I continued, “she starts crying in her swing. I’m in the kitchen and decide I’m not going to get her right away this time. And so I watch the clock, listening to her scream her head off for the longest five minutes of my life. Finally I go into the living room, and . . .” I paused as my stomach clenched and shame filled me. “She had slipped down under the tray. The straps had caught under her armpits and she was being swung from the outside of the swing.”

Craig let out a bray of laughter, but I did not.

He looked at me. “Oh, c’mon. That’s funny.”

I understood how he found humor in it, but I still couldn’t. “The strap could have just as easily caught her throat,” I said. “I could have killed my daughter just like that.”

He stopped laughing and laid his arm across my shoulder. This time I leaned in and laid my head against him, taking in his warmth and familiar smell.

“Jenny, we all make mistakes. Not a single one of us is perfect.”

I noticed then that, though more muted than normal, the lake’s symphony was indeed playing. The frogs’ baritone voices spoke to each other, the crickets softly chirped, and I thought I could even hear the cattails whistling in a distant breeze. I wondered if it had been there all along and maybe my anxiety had managed to drown it out.

“What time do you have to get Bella ready?” he asked.

I turned to him in surprise. “I didn’t say she was going.”

He gave me a perplexed look. “Why wouldn’t she?”

I realized then what had taken place. He’d managed to get me to admit I was no better a parent than David. I wondered if it was by design and if there was any way to undo the conclusion now hanging in the air as blatantly as the moon. It was obvious that I could no longer use the pool incident to justify myself. Craig’s expression told me I had come to the conclusion he had wanted me to.

“Clever boy,” I said without humor.

“Clever man,” he responded with a wink.

“I hate you.”

“No, you don’t. You love me.”

“
Love
’s a little strong.”

Wriggling his eyebrows, he said, “It’s a lotta strong.”

He leaned into me again. I felt his breath on my lips as he stared at me for the longest time. Hazel eyes hypnotized me as the anticipation of our kiss sent an unexpected thrill through me. The longer we paused, the more intense my desire grew. Finally I could stand it no more. I parted my lips and met his. A wave of longing washed over me so strong it stole my breath.

His lips made their way from my mouth to my throat. I leaned my head back, reveling in his attentions. He devoured me and I wanted him to. I wanted to wrap myself around him. To be as close as humanly possible. I wanted him and it was obvious by the passion in his kiss that he wanted me too.

As his hand softly traced my neck, I realized that I had faced a moment just like this one once before—and just like then, I had the choice to either succumb to temptation or flee. Without giving myself a chance to justify my weakness, I pushed him away and bolted up.

The bewilderment and disappointment on his face was unmistakable. “Jenny, stop running from me.”

I hugged myself. “I have to run. You should be running too.”

He grabbed my hand. “Why don’t you want me?”

I tried to smile but couldn’t. “I do want you. Wow, do I want you.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My flesh is weak. I’m so very weak, Craig.”

He stood and cupped my cheek. “Marry me.”

My breath caught. “What?”

“It’s not a sin if we’re married.”

A strange combination of alarm and amusement came over me. “I’m not going to marry you just so we can—”

“It’s not just for that. I’m falling in love with you, Jenny.”

His words hung in the air for an uncomfortably long time while I tried to regain my senses. “I like you a whole lot, but—”

“I’ll take it.” He sank to one knee and reached for my hand.

This was too much. My brain was already overloaded with everything else. I simply didn’t have room for another issue. I said as gently as I could, “This isn’t going to happen.”

Undaunted, he continued as if I hadn’t already refused. “Genevieve Lucas—”

“I’m not marrying you.”

With a look of dejection, he stood. “What are you afraid of, divorce? If we can’t keep it together for the time you have left, we’ve got serious issues.”

“Oh, we have serious issues all right,” I said.

He sat down and put his feet back in the water. “Well, I tried. There are worse places to die than in my arms, you know.”

Relieved by his good-humored tone, I laughed. “On the toilet, for one.”

He reached up and took my hand, encouraging me to sit again. “Yeah, that would be worse, but just slightly. Behind the wheel would be a worse place too. Think of all those pedestrians and other motorists, not to mention your passengers.”

Biting back tears I could never let him see, I took my place next to him and rested my head against his shoulder.

Again he put his strong arm around me. “Are you letting Bella go with her daddy tomorrow morning?”

I sighed. “I guess it’s the right thing to do.”

“It is,” he said. “I really think so.”

* * *

I’m not sure how long Craig and I sat there or when we made the ill-fated decision to lie down and close our eyes. I only know that the next morning it felt muggy and uncomfortable. Mosquitoes had made me their breakfast and the hard wood of the dock pressed against my side. Craig’s chest rose and fell under the weight of my head.

I squinted, disoriented when I saw not my ceiling fan, but the sun glaring back at me. I heard two quick blares of a car horn. By the time I registered where I was and what the sound meant, it was too late. David’s car was peeling out of the driveway.

Chapter Twenty

When I called David’s house to explain, I was met with an arctic “I’m done playing with you,” followed by the receiver slamming in my ear. My hand trembled as I set the phone back in its cradle and leaned against the kitchen counter.

Craig watched with a pensive expression, his hair bending to the left like grass in the wind. His shirt lay half-tucked in and half out. A five-o’clock shadow darkened his chin and cheeks. “He’ll get over it once he realizes you overslept.”

I ran my tongue over gritty, unbrushed teeth. “I don’t care if he does.” My words rang false even to me. Of course I cared. My daughter’s future was at stake. “This just proves why he shouldn’t be a father.”

Craig opened the fridge and pulled out a carton of Tropicana. He gave it a quick shake, then set it on the counter next to an empty glass. “Jenny, remember the conclusion you came to last night. Nothing’s changed.”

But it had. I’d been reminded of the Preston family’s cold, unyielding nature. This anxiety eating a hole in my stomach was not a feeling I wanted Isabella to live with for the next twelve years. “Let us have our day in court if that’s what he wants. I doubt he’ll win anyway. Friend of the family or not, no judge is going to take a child away from a dying mother.” I hoped to God I was right as I looked out the window and watched Mama Peg and Isabella taking turns smelling a stalk of lavender.

Craig glanced at the wall clock. “I can stay if you need—”

“Go,” I said. “I’ve made you late enough.”

He touched his forehead to mine. “For the record, that was the best night of my life. It would have been even better if you’d accepted my proposal.”

Feeling an overpowering urge to kiss him, I picked up the carton of orange juice, filled the glass, and handed it to him.

He swallowed it down and set the glass in the sink. “Anything I can do for you before I go?”

“Say a prayer.”

“Already have.”

* * *

Lying on the couch, I transferred my worries about Isabella’s future and my own onto the pages of my journal. The squeal of the front door opening was echoed by my daughter’s familiar shriek. With a basket overflowing with garden flowers swinging from her pudgy arm, Isabella ran to me, leaving a trail of petals and leaves. Rolling her oxygen tank behind her, Mama Peg followed, stopping every few feet to pick up debris.

“Look, Mommy!” Bella thrust her basket onto my belly. I set my journal on the coffee table and examined her bounty. An orange flower with petals outlined in lemon rested on top. I picked it out and held it before her. “This is called a—”

“Marigold,” she blurted.

“Wow, little miss smarty-pants.”

“Mama Pig already told me.”

My grandmother gave Isabella a strange look as she went into a coughing fit.

“
Who
told you?” I asked just to hear her say it again.

She spoke slow and loud as though I were old and deaf. “Ma-ma Pig.”

I gave my grandmother a smug grin.

Mama Peg furrowed her bushy brows at my daughter. “For the last time, it’s not
pig
; it’s
Peg
.” She turned around and motioned to her polyester-clad bottom. “Do you see a curly pink tail here?” Her milky eyes moved from Isabella to me.

I chuckled. “I don’t see a tail, but your panties do appear to be in a bunch.”

Mama Peg turned back around. “Keep it up and I’ll sic Sweet Pea on both of you.”

“You’re the one who wouldn’t let her call you Cowpa. You brought this on yourself, pork chop.” I tucked the flower behind Isabella’s ear, placed a hand on each of her shoulders, and made a show of admiring her. “There. Now you look just like a fairy princess.”

Her eyes widened as she looked to Mama Peg for affirmation. My grandmother nodded.

A grin spread across Isabella’s lips. “I wanna see!”

My heart swelled with love for her. “You’ve got a mirror on your dresser.”

After a half second of consideration, she tore up the stairs.

Mama Peg pointed to the afghan across my legs. “It’s at least eighty degrees. You can’t be cold.”

I fingered the multicolored crocheted yarn, feeling unreasonable shame. “I am.”

She waved her hand as though she could shoo my chill away. “Well, no wonder. You don’t have an ounce of insulation on them skin and bones of yours. Why don’t I make us some eggs?”

My stomach turned. “I already had a can of Ensure.”

She adjusted the tubing around her ears. “You can’t live on that.”

Tired of having this conversation over and over with her, my father, and Craig, I sighed loud enough to get my point across.

She wheeled her tank toward the kitchen. “Well, at least eat a banana.”

I mentally test-drove the fruit on my lips and found it didn’t make me want to hurl. “I’ll try.” I pushed back the blanket and, feeling less than enthusiastic, followed her.

She pulled an unblemished banana from the wire basket and handed it to me. “You want some coffee with that?”

I worked the peel. “I don’t think I could keep it down.”

She cradled my cheek with her soft, quivering hand. “Jenny, it’s my job to fuss over you since your mom isn’t here to do it, but only you know what you need. It’s your job to stand up for it.”

She withdrew and hit the Start button on the coffeemaker. Steaming brown liquid trickled out, along with the aroma I used to love and now could barely tolerate.

My eyes narrowed at her. “Is that decaf?”

She thrust her chin up defiantly. “Depends.”

“On what?”

“On whether or not you’re going to give me a hard time if it isn’t.”

“Naughty girl.”

“Don’t tell Warden.”

“Hey, it’s my job to ask since your mother isn’t here to do it, but only you know what you need.”

A small bulge moved under her closed lips as she ran her tongue across her teeth. “Someone’s full of herself today.” After a few minutes, she pulled the glass pot out and the brown stream stopped flowing. Glass clinked against ceramic as she poured herself a cup.

Mug in hand, she turned around, made her way to the table, and sat beside me. “It’s nice to see your smile again.” She dipped her spoon in the sugar bowl and withdrew a heap. “I heard David’s infamous two-horn beep this morning while you and Romeo were asleep on the dock.”

I nodded but said nothing.

She stirred her coffee. “He peeled wheels out of the driveway.”

“I know.”

“You should also know that he’s not going to let this go. You sure you don’t want to reconsider letting him raise her?”

I broke off a piece of banana and popped it into my mouth. “I’m not sure about anything.”

“I can’t say I think you’re making the right decision.”

I broke off another piece. “I’m not asking.”

Her eyes didn’t leave me as she sipped from her cup. “Fair enough.”

We sat in silence a moment, I finishing my banana and she sipping on java. Finally she asked, “What happened with you and Craig out there, or don’t I want to know?”

A smile besieged my lips. “He proposed.”

She peered up from her coffee.

“Why don’t you look surprised?”

She set her mug down on a closed book of crossword puzzles. “That boy’s clearly in love with you. Too bad he didn’t realize it a few years ago.”

“It wouldn’t have mattered anyway,” I said.

Her face scrunched up in obvious disgust. “Of course not. You were so blinded in love by Horny Horn Blower, you couldn’t see the forest for the trees.”

“Horny Horn Blower?”

Her laugh, even mixed with hacks, was a melody to my ears. Always had been.

“So what did you say?”

I reached across the table and cradled her warm cup in my hands. “I said no.”

“Why?”

“It wouldn’t be fair to make him a widower, for one.”

She opened her mouth to say something, but I kept on. “Besides, I like him a lot, but love takes time, which of course I don’t have.” I let go of the mug. “And anyway, look at all the confusion over Bella’s custody. If I married him, he might be able to throw his hat in the ring. The waters are murky enough.” I paused. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

“I’ve never seen your face turn the same shade as a pomegranate before, that’s all.”

I had nothing to say in my defense, so I simply oinked at her.

She shook her head and pried her cup from the flimsy book cover. It left behind a ring of brown.