There’s a knock on my bedroom door. It’s Benito with a cup of coffee.
“Hi.” He hands it over with a smile. His other hand that usually holds his cup is empty. “I’m headed to work, but I thought you could use this.”
“Headed to work? It’s late.” He never works on Sunday nights, he usually goes to mass at the Catholic Church down the street.
He shrugs. “Miranda will be out for a while with Kai, there are things that need to be tended to in her absence. We’re all a team and family always comes first. It’s no trouble at all.”
Of course it’s not. It’s Benito. He helps everyone. I nod to the coffee in my hand. “Thanks for this.”
“You’re welcome, my dear. Well, I just wanted to say hello and make sure you’re doing well.”
I smile. “I’m good. Really good. Thanks.”
He nods his fatherly nod. “Excellent. I’d better get going.” He walks to the stairs and stops like he so often does. “Faith?”
I take a sip of my coffee. “Yeah?”
“He knows,” he says wisely.
I tilt my head and wait for him to continue.
“He knows what an unbelievably beautiful circumstance he could be in with you,” he adds with a smile.
I smile remembering our discussion from weeks ago and quote him in return, “Sometimes, it isn’t that hard.”
He winks and disappears up the stairs.
Life blooms in second chances
present
Kai was released from the hospital last week. He’s confined to a wheelchair for the next two weeks due to the cast on his leg, after which he can use crutches. He’s not happy about that, but it doesn’t stop him from getting outside with his basketball and shooting some hoops every afternoon. I thought the stairs at the apartment would be an obstacle, since I can’t carry him, but he navigates up and down them from a sitting position on his butt faster than I can on my feet. The kid is unstoppable. And other than some wicked scarring on his abdomen and legs, and special dietary concerns, he’s back to normal. It’s amazing how resilient kids are.
Miranda was cleared of any wrongdoing in the accident, and though I was urged by outsiders to take back full custody, I couldn’t do it. Because not only was it an accident, it was also a wake-up call for her. Miranda has been a loving parent lately, I won’t take that from my kids because of an accident. She’s finally trying. My kids need that. They deserve it. We signed the revised custody arrangement this week, it was a long time officially coming—the kids spend the school week with me and weekends with Miranda as planned. Everyone’s happy.
The kids are with Miranda this weekend. It’s the first time they’ve been out of my sight, and I’ve been alone, for a few weeks. Which means I made good on my promise and invited Faith out on a date.
The sand is warm under my palms and coarse between my fingers. I’m sitting on the beach, resting back on my hands, watching Faith walk out into the water and thinking about all the different ways there are to be attracted to someone. She’s wearing a simple, ivory, cotton sundress, holding the bottom in her hands mid-thigh to keep it from getting wet. The bright colors have been erased from her dreadlocks, and though I loved it because it was bold like her, the white blond that remains is transcendent. She glows like she’s illuminated from within, her personality shining through like rays of sunshine and fire.
When she returns to me, she reaches down and spreads my legs at the ankles. Then she sits down between my legs facing me, her legs bent, inner calves brushing my sides, dress pooled around us providing cover.
“I know I told you this before, but my heart really likes your heart, Seamus.” The way she says it pinches and twists, heartfelt tainted by heartache, and she drops her chin.
“Hey.” I tip her eyes up to meet mine, and I ask softly, “What’s going on?”
“Every day when I wake up, I remind myself that the present is possibility, and the past is a lesson.” It sounds like a fragile confession that I want to hold in my hands and protect from the world.
I run my fingertip across the writing on her collarbone peeking out from beneath her dress and pull the strap down her shoulder to read it, Life blooms in second chances. “Is that what this is about? Possibility and lessons?”
She nods.
“It’s good advice,” I whisper before I kiss the script.
She’s nodding when I pull back and look at her. I watch her eyes scan my face, pausing on my mouth, before locking her gaze with mine again. “I love the way you look at me, Seamus. No one’s ever looked at me like you do. Your eyes speak to me. When I say something funny, your eyes laugh before your mouth does. When I need encouragement, your eyes tell me I’m good enough. When I’m scared, your eyes hold me. And when you’re about to kiss me, your eyes undress my thoughts.” She pauses and looks away before her eyes dance back to mine. “I don’t want any of that to change.”