Crossing Oceans (8 page)

I picked at my cheese. “Don’t be rude, and not everyone needs to be married, Bella. Not everyone needs that to be happy.”

“You’re not happy.”

I faked a cough. “I’m happy, silly.”

“No, you’re not. You cry too much.”

I dared not look at Craig as Isabella exposed me. “Hey,” I said, keeping my tone light, “we’re going to be leaving in about twenty minutes. Do you want the rest of your coins?” She shoved the last bite of her crust into her mouth and held out her hands. I dumped the remaining tokens into her palm. “Put them in your pocket with the others.”

Isabella hurried away as Craig studied me with a load of pity that was nearly unbearable. “I really don’t cry all the time.”

“You want to talk about it?”

“You ask that a lot.”

His pinkie touched mine. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I’m dying,” I whispered.

His impassive expression told me he already knew. Oddly enough, I felt no betrayal, only relief. “She told you.”

“She was really broken up. She needed to talk to someone.”

Until then I hadn’t imagined how hard the secret must have been on my grandmother. “How did she take it?”

“It brought her to her knees.”

I closed my eyes.

“That’s okay, Jenny. That’s where we all need to be anyway.”

“You sound just like her.”

“Thanks. So are you going to let me take you out somewhere nicer next time?”

His question left me speechless.

“Well?”

“Have you lost your mind? I’m dying, Craig. I have a year max, probably much less.”

“Have you gotten a second opinion?”

“Yes. A second, a third . . . a fifth. The cancer’s already spread to my liver, my bones, and my lymph system. There’s no cure at this point. They could prolong my life by a few months, but I’d just spend the extra time flushing the contents of my stomach and clogging the drain with gobs of my hair.”

He glanced at the braid draped over my shoulder. “Is it the same kind of cancer that took your mom?”

I smiled bitterly. “You’d think so, but nope. She had a brain tumor. Mine started as skin cancer. I ask the doctor to check out a mole on my shoulder and suddenly I’m getting biopsies, blood tests, bone scans, and being told I won’t live to see another birthday. No, Mom’s and my cancers are completely unrelated, like two members of the same family getting hit by bolts of lightning on opposite ends of the world. Lucky, eh?”

He leaned in so close I thought he intended to kiss me. His breath warmed my lips. “Do you like sushi?”

My heart beat double-time. “Listen, Craig, I appreciate the pity date, but honestly the only thing on my mind now is making sure Bella’s going to be taken care of after I’m gone. The last thing either of us needs is to complicate anything. What’s the best that could come of us seeing each other? We fall in love and then your heart gets broken when I die? Is that what you want?”

“You falling in love with me? I can think of worse things.”

“I’ve got a rule against dating masochists.”

He leaned back. “Hey, I’m not talking about complicating anything. I just like your company. I always have. None of us knows how much time we have, Jenny. If you want to get out of the house now and again, I’m not a bad guy to hang out with. Make hay while the sun’s still shining; that’s all I’m saying.”

When I glanced down, I noticed his thumb stroking his knuckles again. His emotions were easier to read than a children’s picture book. I didn’t want to hurt his feelings, and if I weren’t dying, I’d go for him in a heartbeat, half a heartbeat, but—

Before I could finish the thought, he sprang up as though something had bitten his behind. He ran over to Isabella, who was swinging frantically, trying to hit the heads of plastic moles. She always swung a second too late, just missing them.

Craig took her hands in his, winked at her, and guided her into smashing every artificial rodent that dared show its face. Isabella squealed in delight as tickets churned out at the end of the game. I sat watching them, a smile playing on my lips, letting myself imagine what life could have, should have, been for us.

Chapter Nine

Isabella and I lay in bed, nestled against one another under several layers of blankets. I wore light flannel and she, a long cotton nightgown. The evening temperature felt more fall than summer, so my grandmother and I decided to give our Freon reserve a break and open the windows.

The coolness of the room reminded me of childhood camping trips—the way the crisp mountain air made the warmth of my sleeping bag a sanctuary I never wanted to leave.

Isabella laid her palm on my cheek. “Mommy, thank you for taking me to Chucky Cheesits.”

“You’re welcome, Bells. Glad you had fun.”

Raising her finger before her eyes, she admired the trinket she’d cashed her tickets in for—a purple spider ring. She looked up at me through long lashes. “Next time I’m going to save for something bigger.”

She said that every time, but the temptation always proved too great when it came time to choose. “I know you can do it.”

She hugged me tight. “Beautiful Mama.”

I kissed her forehead. “Beautiful Bella. I sure do love you.”

“More than anything?”

“So very much.”

She bent her neck to look at me, her eyes now little more than slits.

I hugged her middle and pulled her closer. “Bella, do you like Craig?”

“Uh-huh. Maybe I’ll marry him ’stead of Jimmy.”

“He’s really nice, isn’t he?”

She nodded. “Is he my daddy?”

“No, sweetness, not your daddy.”

“He might be.”

“Trust me on that.”

“Do I have a daddy?”

“God.”

“I mean a people daddy.”

“Yes.”

“Does he love me?”

I closed my eyes and buried my face in her curls. “He would if he knew you.”

“I’d love him too,” she whispered in a tone so vulnerable it was all I could do not to cry.

My conscience pointed its judgmental finger at me once again. I had deprived the person I loved most in the world of the one thing she wanted more than anything—a daddy. Until now, I hadn’t understood why the Bible said the sins of the father were visited on the son. I thought it unjust of God to charge the innocent for their parents’ sins. Now I realized it wasn’t a threat, but a warning.

“How about if we read a story?” I managed around the lump in my throat.

She reached up and rubbed my earlobe between her thumb and pointer finger just like she had done as a toddler. “
Goodnight Moon
.”

I leaned over the side of the bed, pulled the backpack from underneath it, and retrieved our worn copy of the classic. A strip of silver duct tape ran down its spine, loose threads poking out like a well-worn hem.

I pulled the blanket up and tucked it around her shoulders. She pushed it back down to just above her waist and laid her cheek against my breastbone. My heart pulsated against her as I opened to the first page and read.

As soon as I said “two little kittens,” her eyelids fluttered like butterflies, then closed. I shut the book quietly and recited the rest from memory, pausing where I knew the pages would turn.

As I did, my mind wandered to David, replaying that morning’s awful events. He had overreacted, no question about it, but then so had I. The difference was that I had known what was at stake—or rather who—and still I took the low road. He, at least, had been walking blind.

As Isabella drifted deeper into slumber, I crawled out of bed, onto the carpet and my knees. I rested my forehead against the mattress and waited for divine advice regarding my dilemma.

* * *

Eight hours later, I awoke shivering, with a sore neck and stiff legs in lieu of an answer. On Isabella’s side of the bed lay a crumpled afghan. I made my way down the stairs, following the melody of her laughter. As I came to the landing, I found her riding Craig like a horse, kicking her heels into his side and yelling for him to giddyap.

I wondered how long his poor knees had been enduring the hardwood.

Isabella waved at me, causing her to lose her balance and tumble to the floor. Her face scrunched into an angry ball. “You made me fall!”

“I
made
you?”

Though her anger was often misdirected, it never burned longer than it took to blow out a match. Instantly her scowl evaporated. “Did you see me, Mommy? I’m a cowgirl!” She ran to me and hugged my legs.

Her enthusiasm made me smile. “I saw.”

Craig stood and brushed off his legs.

My gaze glided over his flannel shirt, half-tucked into faded Levi’s. “Thanks for entertaining her.”

My father emerged from the kitchen, coffee mug in hand, and stood beside me. He took a sip, wrinkling his nose, apparently no more pleased with the decaf than was Mama Peg.

I gave him a weak smile. “Hi, Dad. Feeling better?”

He sighed and glanced at Isabella. “I tried to give her a ride like I used to give you, but my knees are shot, I’m afraid.”

“I don’t remember you ever doing that.”

He jerked his head back. “Are you kidding me? From the age of five to eight, I was your one-man rodeo. Funny how the mind stays parked while the body hightails it down the fast lane.” He took another sip. “Your dad’s getting old, Jenny.”

Isabella went to him and took his hand in hers. “It’s okay, Cowpa. I still love you.”

He lifted her up and she straddled his waist. They looked so familiar, as though she’d spent her whole life in his arms, and I knew at that moment she’d be okay. He did love her and she loved him.

From my periphery I caught Craig watching me. “You’re doing it again,” I said.

He blushed. “Sorry. You’re a hard woman not to look at.”

Isabella wiggled in my father’s arms, wanting to be let down. When he lowered her, she ran to Craig. “Can we go now?”

I gave him a questioning look. “Go where?”

“Swimming.”

“Why don’t we let your mommy get some breakfast first,” my dad said.

These days, nothing held less appeal for me than the thought of eating. On those rare occasions when I did have an appetite, it was usually accompanied by nausea. “Forget breakfast. Let’s swim.”

Deep lines of concern creased my father’s forehead as his gaze traveled down me. “Jenny, you’re getting way too thin.”

My stomach sank. I was thin, but not terribly so. If my size-five frame worried him now, how much more would my size two, six months from now. “I’m okay, Dad.” Maybe after church I’d swing by the supermarket and pick up some Ensure. If I was going to feel sick every time I put something down my throat, I might as well get the most nourishment and calories for my buck.

“Are you turning anorexic?”

Shock and embarrassment stole my words. I couldn’t believe he just blurted that out in front of Craig and my daughter. I was thin, had always been thin, and yes, in the last few months my lack of appetite had cost me another ten pounds, but I was hardly a skeleton.

“I’m fine,” I said coldly. “C’mon, Bells, let’s get ready for church. We’ll swim this afternoon. Promise.”

* * *

Isabella in a polka-dot one-piece and I in a less flamboyant solid black stood side by side on the patio, looking out at the most beautiful piece of real estate to be had in Duncan County.

Centuries-old pine, oak, and sycamore trees framed Lucas Lake on three sides, with the fourth being cleared to serve as our downward-sloped backyard. A fifteen-foot dock parted the water. Tied to one of its posts bobbed a weathered canoe.

The streams of sunlight cascading over the rippling water brought to mind golden scarves fluttering in a breeze. In the distance, hazy blue mountain ridges stretched along the horizon.

When I was younger, my father and I had argued about whether the body of water in our backyard was really a pond or a lake. We never did come to a solid conclusion, which resulted in our referring to it alternately as Lucas Lake and “the pond out back.”

I inhaled a lungful of the fresh valley air, while Isabella wiggled her pink toenails and bit her bottom lip. Her eyes were wide with anticipation. “We’re going to swim in that giant pool?”

“That’s a lake.”

Without another word, she took off running. Her beach towel, which had been draped over her shoulder, hit the ground as her curls bounced against bronzed shoulders. I threw mine on top of hers and raced after her. Two summers of swimming lessons had made her fearless but had just the opposite effect on me.

Before I could reach her, she splashed into the water, getting only to her shins. I tried to call out, but her name stuck in my throat. She shrieked, turned toward me with alarm, then ran back out.

I hurried to her, heart thumping. “What’s wrong?”

She looked on the verge of tears. “Something icky’s in the pool.”

“Did something touch you?”

She pointed down. “On the bottom. It’s all yucky, like melted ice cream.”

I relaxed. Rocky Road, no doubt. “Honey, this isn’t a pool; it’s a lake. It has a mud bottom, and fish and other creatures live in here.”

Her cold, wet arms became a tourniquet around my leg. She looked at the water as if she’d just learned it was the home of the Loch Ness Monster.

“It’s okay. Everything in there is harmless. They’re God’s creatures.” Her grip became tighter. “It’s just like swimming in a giant aquarium.” I rubbed her back, wishing I could always be there to comfort her this way.

Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, and I knew tears were soon to follow.

I looked over at the porch, where Mama Peg and my father were rocking. The screen door squealed open, and Craig stepped out wearing a pair of aqua swim trunks. I tried to keep my eyes off the muscles in his shoulders and the hair on his chest. Wow, he had changed.

“Hey, ladies, watch this!”

Isabella jerked her head up as Craig ran full speed down the yard. He grabbed the rope hanging from the thick oak branch stretching over the lake, swung Tarzan-style over the water, and let go.

A loud splash filled the air and a swell rose where he’d gone under.

Isabella’s mouth dropped open. “Did you see that?” she asked without taking her eyes off the ripples.