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I blink back hot tears. Then slowly shake my head. “I really don’t. I don’t know what a good man looks like, I don’t know what being protected feels like…” I hide my face in my hands. “Fuck!This is why I can’t—I can’t—I?—”
It’s suddenly harder to breathe. I don’t realize I’m rocking back and forth until I feel Bambi’s hand start to rub gently on my back.
When I suck in a deep breath to force the calm, it’s shuddering and raspy. “I’m such a fucking mess. I’m dirty and disgusting and… and… Willow deserves so much better. Better than me, better than all this shit she’s been through, better than?—”
“I’m gonna stop you right there.” Bambi pries my hands from my face. Her brow is arched in thatdon’t-even-argue-with-melook I’ve seen her give Demyen plenty of times. “You don’t get to decide what Willow wants. Yes, you are her mother and you will always decide what’s best for her. But you don’t get to decide if you’re worthy of her.Shedoes.”
I want to argue, but it kind of makes sense. I think. “She’s so little…”
“Yeah. Which means she doesn’t know the details of what’s been going on, and she probably will never find out. Not entirely. What little she does learn will happen when she’s much older and able to come to her own conclusions.”
Like I did with my own mother. My beautiful, amazing mother who endured hell to give me as close to a slice of heaven as possible. What would she think of me now?
What would she do, if she were in my shoes?
Bambi pulls out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and slowly opens it. “She’s a tough kid. Smart as hell, and one of the sweetest, most compassionate children in the world.” She lays the paper down on the bed next to me with a pat. “She’s also a little girl who misses her mommy.”
It’s a crayon drawing; I recognize Willow’s artwork immediately. A smiling sun shines above a field of grass and flowers, all scrawled around abstract etchings of her and me holding hands.
“My mommy loves flowers. I love my mommy. I miss her, too.”
“Demyen helped with the spelling,” Bambi says softly. “We’re working on the basics with her handwriting, but her teacher says she’s excelling for her age level.”
My eyes flood again, but this time, these are happy tears trickling down my face. My sweet baby girl is so smart! So talented, and so perfect. I don’t want to ruin her. I don’t want to steal the sunshine she loves by clouding it out with the darkness that seems to constantly fill my life.
But I miss her. I miss her so much.
“You have every right to be pissed at me. And Pavel. You have every fucking right to beat the ever-living shit out of Demyen. Shun us, throw us out of your room, whatever you need to do to get your space while we grovel for your forgiveness.” Bambi taps the drawing with a finger. “But are you really going to punish your little girl?”
My jaw drops open. “No! She didn’t do anything!”
“So why are you keeping her from seeing her mommy?”
I hug the picture to my chest as if it can somehow transform into Willow. Through my tears, I see Bambi slowly rise and move to the bedroom door. She turns to say something more, then decides against it and leaves.
This road to recovery is going to be incredibly long, if I ever do reach that destination. I’m covered in scars, visible and invisible alike, and I’m so scared that I’m going to somehow harm my little girl.
But if everything is true?
I’m realizing that Willow is safe. She’s safe, and she’s protected by people who love her almost as much as I do.
And maybe, just maybe…
I’m finally safe, too.
8
CLARA
I take another shower. Not because I feel dirty, just because I needed to feel the warm water gently cascading down my skin.
There’s definitely something to be said about those rainfall showerheads.
After sneaking back to my room and slipping on a clean sundress, I decided it’s time to soak up the remaining summer sun before the days start melting into autumn. Not that there’s much difference out here in the Mojave, but those of us who have lived here our whole lives can feel the shift in temperature.
I try offering Gloria some help cleaning the kitchen. She shoos me away with a wink and a smile, and at the last second, suggests I go relax by the pool.
A few minutes later, after settling into one of the lounge chairs, one of the bartenders quietly sets a small tray next to me. Grapes, gourmet crackers with aged cheese, and a huge glass of blended sangria make up the ensemble. I pretend to take a sip of the sangria before I set it out of arm’s reach.
