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“No.” Why would he ask that? “He was, but now he’s in the fiftieth percentile for height and weight. His doctor is really pleased with his growth rate. And he’s a great eater. He loves fruit, he’ll try any vegetable, he even eats fish.”
“It’s good to know he’s doing so well.”
“Yeah, between the complications and him being a few weeks premature and all, it was a rough go for a while there. I can still be overly cautious to the point of being neurotic, but I’m getting better.”
“I bet you’re a great mother.”
I can’t accept that compliment from him. It floods me with too much emotion, both good and bad. I keep rattling off facts to keep myself from saying something like:How the hell would you know?
“So yeah, for now he just has to see his cardiologist regularly and there’s a chance he’ll have some restrictions later on, like with contact sports and that kind of thing.”
“Charlotte.”
I get that he wants me to look at him, but it’s hard. It’s so hard to be around someone you’ve been pining for, someone you’ve cried over. He’s been like a ghost haunting my dreams for nearly four years, and now he’s right here sitting beside me. His presence feels massive. His voice, his scent—it’s sensory overload.
“Hey.”
He reaches over and rubs a thumb across my cheek. When did I start crying? It takes everything in me not to turn into his touch. I’m desperate for his affection, even after all this time. But I won’t make a fool of myself, not now. I straighten my posture and reach for a paper napkin to dry my eyes.
“I’m all right.”
“Ok,” he whispers, withdrawing his hand.
He looks up and I follow. It’s getting dark. The night sky is beautiful here. There are no streetlights or lit up buildings to compete with the stars. But nightfall means a new day is coming, and I need to get busy preparing for that day.
“Simon, are you planning to be a father to Ethan in some way?” I start to say, “It’s all right if you—”
He grabs my wrist. “Don’t.” The ensuing silence prompts me to face him. “Don’t give me an out, don’t tell me it’s fine if I just want to meet him and then go on my merry way. There's nothing about walking away from my son that’s all right.” He practically spits fire repeating those last two words back to me. His eyes are stony when he asks, “Do you want me to be in his life?”
“What kind of question is that? I wouldn’t have reached out to you if I didn’t want you in his life.”
“Why now?” I shake my head, confused by his question. “What brought on this sudden urge to reach out to me now?”
“You can be such a jerk sometimes.” I wrench my hand from his grasp. “You think this was a sudden urge? You think I didn’t agonize over telling you when I was pregnant, when they told me he might not survive, when I gave birth, when he finally took his first steps? You think I haven’t thought about you and what was best foryouevery damn day since?”
He nods and lets out a cheerless laugh. “You did this for me, huh?”
“Are you seriously getting sarcastic with me right now?”
I stand without waiting for an answer and walk the trash over to a waste can, the paper sac with the cinnamon toast smashed in my hands and discarded, even though it’s the only damn thing I like out of everything I bought tonight. When I turn back, Simon is laid out flat on the grass, the heels of both hands pressed into his eyes. I don’t know if he’s angry, suffering or sad. I’m all of the above, so I stop and slowly inhale a calming breath as I lower myself onto the grass next to him again.
“I want you in his life. I always did.” He goes to speak but I stop him, placing one hand on his shoulder. “When I went back home last year, I also stopped by your trailer. I drove all around town. I told myself I was just reminiscing, but the truth is I wanted to run into someone, your mother or Garth or someone…anyone who might tell you they saw me.” He folds his arms across his chest. He’s listening. “I met the people who live in your trailer now. Your mother moved?”
“She’s in North Carolina with her boyfriend. She left a few months after Timmy’s funeral.”
I nod, remembering those words:There’s not going to be a service, Charlotte. There’s no mahogany casket, no priest, no flowers.
“It looks different now. They don’t keep it up the way you did.”
He smirks. “So you’re saying it fits right in?”
I ignore the remark, get to what I’m really trying to tell him. “The people who live there now are poor. They’re young, but they have that look that ages you, like life has been one trial after another. They had a little boy and she was pregnant with another baby on the way. The man had a hard edge, like he was filled with contempt. And she…I don’t know, she looked apologetic on his behalf even though he hadn’t said or done anything. It was no more than a minute or two that I was there, but that moment has stayed with me. I can’t forget him. The way he looked, it was as if love and hate and misery had wrapped and tangled themselves around him like a sick vine.”
He’s still flat on his back, eyes turned skyward. “What are you saying?”
“I guess that if I had to do it all over again, I wouldn’t change a thing.” I watch one tear escape from the corner of his eye. “I never would have trapped you there, Simon.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
