‘Joseph has taken them to the driving range. We’ve got lots planned – surfing, crabbing, fishing.’
I smile as I sip some caffeine down. ‘Thanks, Elizabeth. I really appreciate you doing this.’ I don’t think I’ve ever sounded so sincere when speaking to my motherin-law.
‘Oh, Jesse.’ Her voice cracks under the pressure to remain strong, and for the first time in my existence, I wish she were here so I could give her a hug.
‘Listen to me,’ I say as sternly as I can muster. ‘You’ve known me for twelve years, Elizabeth. So you should know that I’m not going to let those years slip away like they were never there.’
She coughs over a little laugh, sniffling. ‘I know we’re both terribly silly with our bickering, but you do know I adore you, Jesse Ward.’
On the inside, I’m toasty warm with appreciation, and yes, I did know that deep down. But at the risk of breaking down, too, I’m forced to pull my arrogant self back to the surface. I can’t cry on Ava’s mother. She’s depending on me. I can’t cry on anyone. ‘Yeah, well, my heart belongs to another.’
‘Oh, stop.’ She laughs, and it’s so good to hear. ‘You’re still a menace.’
‘And you’re still a pain in my fucking arse, Mum. Look after my babies.’
‘Okay.’ She doesn’t argue, doesn’t even question my order. ‘Keep in touch, won’t you?’
‘Every day,’ I assure her, hanging up and sliding my phone onto the counter, my shoulders immediately dropping. The energy to be strong is draining me. How long can I keep this up?
On a sigh, I wander over to the fridge and pull it open, snatching down some peanut butter from the shelf. I remain where I am, just set on having a couple of scoops, something familiar and comforting in this foreign world.
A few minutes later, I’m halfway through the jar.
‘Morning.’ Her soft, unsure voice hits me like a cricket bat in the back of the head, and I whirl around with my finger in my mouth to find her at the entrance to the kitchen, her hands playing nervously where they’re linked together at her midriff. The lace nightwear has been covered with a cream satin dressing gown, her dark hair fanning her shoulders. She’s a vision. And I can’t touch her.
I suck my finger clean and swallow, quickly screwing the lid back on as she frowns down at my hands.
‘Peanut butter?’ she questions. Is that humour in her tone? Would now be a good time to tell her that one of her favourite pastimes is smothering her boobs in it and letting me indulge in my two favourite things all at once?
‘It’s a vice.’ I put it back in the fridge and grab some orange juice, pouring her a glass, nervous and shaky in my movements. ‘Did you sleep well?’ Not once in twelve years of marriage have I ever had to ask that question. Because I’ve always been right by her side, aware when she’s sleeping peacefully or when she’s fidgeting because something is on her mind.
‘Not really.’ She pads towards me and takes the glass from my hands, smiling a little, before settling on a stool at the island. ‘It felt like something was missing.’ She looks away, as if ashamed to admit it. ‘I’ve concluded that it must have been you.’
What? Hope flourishes within me again, and I’m not sure whether to welcome it or not. With no hope, there can be no disappointment. But I can’t help it. Moving to the stool beside her, I take a seat. ‘Ava, you should know that—’
‘Once I’ve had you, you’re mine.’
I nearly fall back off my stool. To hell with disappointment. Nothing could hold back the joy surging through my veins right now. ‘You remember?’
With her lips on the rim of her glass, her brow furrows a little. ‘I don’t know where that came from.’
‘Inside you, Ava.’ I take her juice and place it on the counter, taking her hands in mine and squeezing tightly. ‘Way deep inside you.’
She looks at me, tears in her eyes building again. Damn those fucking tears. ‘This is so frustrating.’ She squeezes my hand in return, wanting me to understand. She has to trust me. I do. I really do.
‘I just stood in two children’s bedrooms for fifteen minutes, demanding to remember them. I smelled the sheets of their beds and went through their drawers. Nothing.’ A lone tear rolls down her cheek, and I catch it with the pad of my thumb. It’s no good. I lift her onto my lap, my body enveloped around hers. There’s no resistance from her whatsoever. ‘I just want to bang my head repeatedly against a wall until it all comes back.’
‘You’ll do no such thing, lady.’ My nose in her hair, I inhale, appreciative that she’s letting me comfort her once again. Whether she wants it or needs it isn’t something I’m wasting my thoughts on. Because I need it.
Sighing, she shuffles from my lap, forcing me to hold my breath and talk down my dick when she innocently rubs against me. There will be none of that, and I never, not ever, thought I would say that in my lifetime with her.
‘What did you do to your hand?’ she asks, running a light fingertip over the tops of my knuckles.
I shake my head and remove my hand from her touch, my silent way of telling her to leave it. I can see by the wariness in her eyes that she knows full well what happened to my hand. She must have seen the mirror. Or maybe she heard it shatter last night.
She doesn’t push it. ‘What are we doing today?’ she asks instead.
Yes. Back to the important business.
I get up and offer my hand, grateful when she takes it. ‘I’ve found all the photographs on the computer. I thought you could spend the morning going through those.’
‘The whole morning?’ She lets me lead her into the study and help her sit at the desk.
‘We have a lot of photographs.’ I wake up the screen, and we’re immediately greeted by a picture of the four of us. It was in Paradise. The twins were toddlers. I was forty-two, and Ava a vision of stunning perfection at thirty. Maddie’s in her arms, Jacob in mine. And we’re kicking water at each other on the seashore, all of us laughing. It’s a beautiful moment captured in time, natural and real.
I watch as she reaches forward and touches the screen lightly, her finger drifting across all four of our faces. ‘We’re a really good-looking family,’ she muses to herself. ‘He looks like you. And she looks like me.’
I say nothing, just kiss the top of her head and leave her to go through the endless shots of our happiness. I won’t be able to watch her do that without breaking down.
*
Agony. It’s pure fucking agony for the whole five hours she’s in the office looking at pictures. I wonder constantly if anything has spiked any memory. And then I finally hear her crying and know that it hasn’t.
I look up to the ceiling, squeezing my eyes closed, anguish settling deeply in my gut. Then I pull myself together and follow her cries to the family room. I find her on her knees at the foot of my Ava Wall. Her head is in her hands, her fists clawing at her temples as if she’s trying to physically yank the memories free. Shit, she’ll open her wound.
‘Ava, baby.’ I run across the room, my heart tugging painfully as I gather her up. Every inch of the wall above us is covered with photographs and captions written by me, Ava, and the twins now, too. There have been days when I have come in here and chilled out on the couch and just stared at it all day, taking in the sheer magnificence. Nothing ever makes me smile harder than finding a new photograph and reading the words either Ava or one of the twins has put with it. It’s one huge homage to my family, one of the most precious things in my life. And now it’s a factor of my wife’s desolation.
My eyes fall to the most recent picture, the one Jacob and Maddie put up nearly two weeks ago. It’s me, my face moody as Ava kisses my cheek. The caption in Maddie’s handwriting reads:
It’s Dad’s birthday. And he’s real grumpy about it!