“That’ll do it,” Juliet says. “I’ve missed you.”
“I’ve missed you too! I’m glad you’re back from Italy.”
“Me too. You coming in? Does your dad know you’re over here?”
“He knows, but he said to tell you and Lulu that we have too much pizza,” she tells Juliet before lifting her head to me. “Wanna come over for dinner?”
“I’d love to,” I answer.
“You look different,” she says, her head tilting as she studies me.
“My bruises are gone.” I tenderly brush a finger under my eye where she once placed a bandage.
“No, that’s not it.” She shakes her head. “You have a pretty smile.”
With that, she flies out the door as quickly as she came in, running back to her dad next door.
A couple of hours later, full of pizza and Paige’s favorite pink lemonade, Grady and I sit in Adirondack chairs in his backyard. The ocean wrestles with the sand as Paige and Juliet lie on a blanket nearby, staring up at the darkening sky. They tell stories made up from the shapes of the clouds that dance past.
Calm settles over me. Truly and fully. Not only a balm but a cure. Stowaway has become an antidote. The fresh sea air, the slow pace, the quiet. The kindness. The dose of authenticity I didn’t realize I had been missing.
It’s been a long few weeks of pain, anger, and depression. But just now, I feel none of that. Instead, I feel that foreign, dangerous thing called hope. There’s a light, now, where there hasn’t been for a long time.
The depressing thoughts will creep back in. They always do. Hopefully, with each passing day, and every step further away from Pierre, the less deep the darkness will penetrate. Until it’s gone. A memory that instead of clearly playing like a cinematicthriller in my head, it will be something I have to actively try to recall the details of.
I won’t always remember how it feels for a man to plant his foot in my abdomen. Or the acute sharpness of a handful of hair being pulled out of my head. One day, I’ll have hands on me that I enjoy. Ones that only want to love and pleasure. Not harm.
I pull my knees up to my chest and then turn my cheek to look at the man next to me. There is a storm of emotions drenching his features. It’s a reminder that I’m not alone with problems. It’s a reminder that I’ve taken more than I’ve given.
It’s a reminder.
“Are you happy to have Paige for the summer?”
His face turns to mine, his jaw relaxing some. “Fucking ecstatic. I try not to show it, but it kills me to send her back to her mom. I miss her too much when she’s gone.”
“You’re a good dad,” I say.
I can see it in the way they light up around each other.
“I hope to be. I worry all the time that I’m not.”
“Better than not worrying.”
“My mom says something similar,” he tells me, and sadness crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
“What is it?”
He looks surprised by my question. As if he didn’t expect me to catch the shift in demeanor. He doesn’t know how much I pay attention. To everything. To everyone. To him.
“They were supposed to come out today. My parents,” he clarifies. “They were going to pick up Paige and drive out fromPortland. Stay a few weeks, relax, get some grandparent time in.”
“But?”
“My mom’s last test results were slightly suspicious,” he says. “Those are the words she used. She didn’t want to clarify. She went in for a new scan a few days ago. Dad doesn’t want to come out until the results of that are back.”
“I’m sorry, Grady,” I tell him, wanting to reach out. To twine my hand with his. Rub my thumb in his palm. Be the same balm to him that this place is to me. I want to wrap my arms around him. Crawl into his lap, atop those strong thighs, and curl around him like comfort. To smell his scent at the base of his neck. Is it salty like the sea? Musky or sweet?
What would his scruff feel like against my cheek? Or my thigh?
