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“Most moms are.” Or so I’ve heard. I really didn’t have one. Not one with a vagina. I did have two loving parents, though. The absolute best.
“It was nice of your parents to come here.”
I lay a hand on my belly. “They’ve been there for the births of all my children. Well, not actually in the delivery room, but still…”
“Laura and I weren’t going to have anyone in the room with us. We wanted to share it. Just us.” He snorts. “Guess that got all messed up, huh?”
I ignore his jab at his ex-wife. “That’s what Jeff and I did. Well, when he was home. He was deployed when Trixie was born.”
“Who was with you then?” He starts to sort through some tackle.
“Gabby was with me. She was nine and I couldn’t have beaten her out of the room with a big stick.”
He points down toward the area below his waist. “She watched the whole gruesome process?”
“Giving birth isn’t gruesome. It’s wonderful.”
He makes a rude sound in his throat. “I’ve seen it. It was pretty disgusting.”
“You just think that because you didn’t get to experience the moments afterward, when you hold that baby in your arms and promise to protect it and love it and care for it until the day you die. When you count all the fingers and toes while they wipe the blood off, or that second when you wait to hear that first cry. There’s always that moment when your heart stops, when you’re waiting for the validation of life, for the noise. Then it happens and the vise around your heart eases. If you’d experienced that part of it, you’d find it wonderful.”
His voice is quiet. “Yeah, I never got to do that.”
He throws something out of his tackle box and it clanks on the floor. It’s a knife. “Why did you take that out?” I ask him.
“Because you don’t like to kill the fish you catch.”
A grin tugs at the corners of my lips. “You remember that?”
He looks into my eyes. “I told you. I remember everything.”
“I do too.” Suddenly, I can’t swallow past the lump in my throat.
“Are Alex and Trixie with your parents?” he asks.
I nod.
“Let’s go fishing,” he says. He picks up a handful of fishing poles and grabs his tackle box.
“Okay.” I follow him to the golf cart. Suddenly he turns to face me. I take a step back.
“You’re wary of quick movements, and I want to know why.” He stares at me. “Do you think I’d hit you?”
“No.” I wring my hands together. “I know you wouldn’t hit me.”
“I don’t know what he did to you, but I want to kill whoever terrifies you so much.”
So do I.
28
Katie
I was a city kid. I rode my skateboard at an indoor park and danced ballet in an upper loft. I’d never fished before. So when Jake invited me to go fishing with him, I wasn’t completely sure I wanted to go.
“Do I have to touch the worm?”
Jake quirked one brow at me, and I nearly spat my soda in his face.
