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Ah. Peace and quiet.
I watch Leah hold her pose for about a minute. Then she slowly drops her hips. Her legs straighten and move apart, her feet going over the edge of the mat. She moves her arms away from her sides and closes her eyes.
If I hadn’t seen her from the start and known she was doing yoga, I’d think she was napping.
She stays still for a minute. Then she gets off her mat. She rolls it and puts it under her arm as she stands up. Her gaze meets mine and she smiles. Her blue eyes sparkle.
I still can’t believe she’s that blue-eyed waitress who drove me mad, and yet now that I know, it makes sense. She has the same fighting spirit as that waitress, the same childlike wonder, the same feminine allure, magnified by the fact that she’s carrying my child.
Who would have thought the woman I bought at the auction was already mine?
“Has anyone told you it’s rude to stare, especially at pregnant women?” Leah asks as she stops in front of me.
“I wasn’t staring at you,” I tell her. “I was staring at the scenery. You just happened to be a part of it.”
She sticks out her lower lip.
“A big part of it.”
“Hmm.”
She drops her mat and wraps her arms around my neck as she looks into my eyes. I set down my mug on the nearby table so I can clasp my hands on the small of her back.
“Fine,” I admit. “I was staring at you.”
Leah grins.
“But only because I was admiring you. Nothing rude about that.”
“Well…” Leah’s shoulders bunch up. “So long as you don’t stare at other women.”
“What women?”
She brushes her lips against mine. I pull her closer to me and kiss her firmly. She kisses me back as her fingers become entangled with my hair.
As she pulls away, her hand rests on my nape. Her fingertips trace the scar.
“You know, you haven’t told me what this scar is from,” she says. “And I still don’t know what the T on your handkerchief stands for.”
I touch her nose. “So many questions.”
“Just two.”
I let out a deep breath. I guess there’s no harm in telling her now.
I grab my mug and sit on the couch. Leah sits beside me.
I touch my neck. “This scar is from when I was a child.”
“Yes, you said that.”
“It’s a burn scar from a cigarette.”
Leah clamps a hand over her mouth as her eyes grow wide in horror. “What?”
“It was my mother’s boyfriend’s doing,” I explain as I put my hand on my lap. “He came home drunk and smoking. I’d fallen asleep on the couch and he wanted to sit. So he woke me up.”
“By burning your nape with a cigarette?” Leah shakes her head. “That’s just mean.”
“Well, he wasn’t the best of men,” I say. “Which my mother thankfully realized after what he did to me. She dumped him and never had another boyfriend.”
Leah nods. “That’s good.”
“The T stands for my mother, by the way. Her name was Marie Therese but everyone called her Tess. I have her initial embroidered on my handkerchiefs because she taught me most of the things I know about life, because she raised me by herself, because I want to carry her memories with me. Just because my life changed doesn’t mean I have to leave them behind.”
“That’s sweet,” Leah says.
I look at her. “You’re the first person I’ve told that to, you know. The reason why I carry handkerchiefs with her initial and not her picture is because I don’t want others to know about her or about my past. They’d use it as a weapon against me.”
She places her hand on my knee. “I won’t. And I’m honored that you told me.”
And I’m actually glad I told her. It’s another burden I’ve been carrying secretly.
“Did she pass away when you were a child?” Leah asks me.
“When I was fifteen,” I answer. “From cancer.”
“What about your sister? What did she die of?”
“It was an accident.” I suppress a pang of pain at the memory. “She borrowed my bike and was run over by a car.”
Leah gasps.
“It was my fault. I shouldn’t have left my bike out there. I should have taken care of her like I promised I would.”
“Shh.” Leah takes my hand and squeezes it. “It wasn’t your fault. If it was anyone’s, it was the fault of the man who ran her over.”
“Not just him,” I say. “She would have lived if only she’d had surgery, but it was complicated and expensive and my mother didn’t have the money. If my father was around, Kristen would have survived. But of course, he wasn’t. He wasn’t there when both of them needed him.”
“I’m sorry,” Leah says.
I look at her. “You feel sorry for me now, do you?”
“No.” She shakes her head. “I’m sorry because all this time, I thought you had a much better childhood than mine.”
