“I’ll take her with me. She’s my daughter; I’ll take care of her.”
Oh God. What have I done now?
He gets up, turns on the Cat’s engine and we are slicing back toward shore, the remnants of my sanity shredding.
The minute he ties us to the dock, I am off the boat and racing to my phone, which I left in his car. I want to get out of here. My fingers become boneless as I fumble with the screen, jabbing uselessly. I dial a taxi service and tell them my location. I am shivering despite the heat. My God, what was I thinking telling him that? I can barely breathe as I see him walk down the dock and toward where I am perched against the hood of his car. Even in lieu of our current situation, my heart stirs at the sight of him. I love him so much my heart aches. He won’t look at me. I don’t know what this means, but thinking is never a good thing. Thinking stirs up a dangerous maelstrom of emotion. My emotion almost drowned me once. I don’t want to go back there.
The gravel shifts beneath his feet as he walks to where I sit. My arms are wrapped around my waist as I try to press my sanity back into my torso. He stops a few feet away. He’s coming to check on me. He hates me at this moment, but he’s coming to check on me. “I called a cab,” I say. He nods and looks out at the water, which is just visible beyond the copse of trees where he parked his car.
“I’m going to stay here,” he says. “I’ll call you when I’m back so I can pick up Estella.”
My head snaps up. “Pick her up?’ Oh yeah, that.
“I’m going to take her to stay with me for a while at my condo.”
I breathe through my nose, grappling with my emotions, trying to rein back control of the situation.
“You can’t take her from me,” I say through clenched teeth.
“I’m not trying to. You don’t want her, Leah. I need some time to think, and it’s better if she stays with me.” He rubs his forehead while I calmly panic.
I want to scream — Don’t think! Don’t think!
“What about work? You can’t take care of her with your work schedule.”
I’m trying to buy time. I messed up, but I can fix this. I can be a good mother and a good wife…
“She’s more important than work. I’ll take some time off. I have a trip next week, after that, I’ll come get her.”
My thoughts drag. I can’t come up with excuses for why he can’t do this to me. I can use the baby as leverage — threaten him — but that would screw me in the long run. If he wants to take some time, maybe I should let him. Maybe, I need time too.
I nod.
He presses his lips together until they burn white. Neither of us says anything for the next twenty minutes. He waits with me until the dingy looking cab pulls up, spraying gravel at our ankles until it comes to a stop. I climb in, refusing to meet his eyes. Perhaps he is waiting for me to turn around and tell him that it was all a lie. I look straight ahead.
The drive from the Keys back to Miami is taken across narrow patches of land that stretch out over deep blue water. I refuse to think … all the way home. I just can’t do it. I focus on the cars we pass. I look in their windows and judge their passengers: sunburned families coming from vacation, blue collared workers with bored expressions, a woman crying as she sings along with the radio. I look away when I see that one. I don’t need to be reminded about tears.
When I get home, Sam has just put the baby down for the night. He studies my face and opens his mouth, the questions ready to pour out.