“Then let’s get to it,” I say to Emmy, slapping my hands together and then holding them open. “Can I put you up here so you can help me better?” I ask.
At first Emmy just looks at me, her little lips pursed around her thumb. Music begins playing softly in the background as she watches me. I’m just about to make an excuse to let her off the hook when she slips her thumb out of her mouth and spreads her arms.
Something burns in my chest when I reach for her, cupping her gently beneath her arms and hefting her up onto the countertop. She’s light as a feather. So small and delicate. Fragile. How could anyone even think of hurting her?
I push the thoughts away. They don’t belong here with us. Not today.
Emmy doesn’t smile until she looks back at her mom. And when she does, her grin is enough to melt the coldest of hearts. I guess as long as she can see her, she feels safe.
I glance back at Eden again. She’s dancing for her daughter, head bouncing, eyes closed. When she opens them and finds me watching her, she blushes ten shades of red. After a few seconds she starts laughing, though, and then I hear an answering giggle closer to me.
Emmy’s eyes are lit up as she watches her mother. It hurts to see it, but more in a good way this time. It makes me incredibly sad, but not the hopeless kind of sad I’ve felt for so long. More like the feeling that I wish my own daughter could be here, enjoying a breakfast like this. But this little girl needs it as much as mine did. And at least I can be here for her.
TWENTY-ONE
Eden
I FEEL LIKE acting silly. I’m happier right now than I’ve been in a long time. Maybe ever. My parents were never the fun kind. Their work was always more important than me. Giving me attention was never a priority.
Then, when they sent me to Lucy’s, I got all kinds of attention, only it was attention that no girl ever dreams of having. I promised when I had Emmy that she’d never know the kind of childhood that I had. She’d have all my love and attention, and she’d never doubt how precious she is to me. I promised myself that we’d laugh and act silly and enjoy every day. I swore to myself that she’d have a million good memories of her childhood to compete with her horrible ones. And today will be one of those good memories for her. Since Ryan, she hasn’t let a man touch her, even in the most casual way, not even the doctors.
Until now.
Until Cole.
She seems to sense something in him. Brokenness? Gentleness? Sadness? Safety? I don’t know, but it puts her at ease with him in a way she hasn’t shown anyone in two years.
But today, Emmy’s happy. Her smile is music to my soul like the song playing behind me is music to my ears. And Cole…watching him interact with her, seeing the expression on his face when he looks at her…this day couldn’t be more perfect. And it’s only just begun.
It started with talk of the worst time of my life. Maybe it will end with laughter from the best.
“Come on, Emmy. Dance like you do in your car seat,” I call across the room to my daughter. I raise my arms and pump them to the beat like I’ve seen her do so often.
Emmy shakes her head, her eyes flickering quickly to me then to Cole and back to me again.
Cole notices. “You mean like this?” he asks, shaking his hips and shoulders. Even though he’s goofing off for Emmy’s sake, I can see that he has rhythm, and for some reason that is a huge turn-on for me. It makes me think of his rhythm in other activities, thoughts of which have no business being in my head when my child is near. But still, all in all, I just feel warm and happy. And…hopeful.
Grinning over at Cole, Emmy raises her hands, just a little, and thumps them to the beat. “Go, Emmy! Go, Emmy!” Cole cheers when she starts to wiggle her shoulders. Her face is lit up like the fourth of July and I’ve never seen a more wonderful sight. Even as gorgeous as the man at her side is, seeing her make this small bit of progress is breathtakingly beautiful.
From the living room, I direct Cole in supply procurement as he gathers a bowl and fork, takes eggs, butter and milk from the fridge, grabs cinnamon from the cabinet and gets a skillet from under the stove.
He moves like he’s comfortable in a kitchen. I guess he has to be. I mean, he’s a bachelor. It’s that or starve.
“Think I can crack this egg with one hand?” he asks Emmy. She watches with wide eyes as he does exactly that. I can tell she’s impressed, but not nearly as much as when he dances his way to the trashcan to throw the empty shell away. She watches his every move, a smile playing with the corners of her lips the whole time. It occurs to me that she probably finds him just as incredible as I do.