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Mason
The next night, Mason drained the last of his glass of scotch as the room tilted. He stumbled down the hall, a half-empty bottle in his other hand. He pressed Aspen’s bedroom door open. The night-light by her bed made her fair skin glow, or maybe that was the copious amount of alcohol he’d consumed after he’d gotten home from work. He walked closer. Her reddish-blond hair was spread out over her pillow like wisps of fire. She looked so much like Amanda.
Pain lanced his chest. He staggered back out of the room, managing to close her door quietly before making his way to his bedroom. He set the glass on the side table and drank straight from the bottle this time. Tomorrow was Saturday. He didn’t have to worry about being sober at seven to bring her to school.
Falling apart was a luxury parents didn’t have, especially single ones. He leaned against the headboard, not bothering to turn on the light. He didn’t need it to know he was alone, like he’d been for over a decade.
A wailing child screamed. Mason jerked up. Again, the child screamed. Setting the scotch on the side table, he wandered through the house. He opened Aspen’s door again, but she was sleeping soundly.
Where was that coming from? He followed the screaming downstairs, senses alert.
Silence.
He peered out the front windows.
Nothing.
Again a scream, only this time it was behind him. He spun around, stumbling to the back door. He ripped it open, searching the backyard as the motion-sensor light flicked on. Cold grass and a crisp chill brushed against his heated skin.
Sweat beaded on his forehead. Where was she?
“Ahhhh!”
He jerked around. His wife sat on the porch holding a screaming baby Aspen. Tears dripped down Amanda’s face. “I can’t get her to stop crying. I tried everything.”
Mason blinked. This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. Aspen was a teenager. His wife was dead.
A man walked by. No. A younger version of him. And Mason was no longer in his backyard but a bedroom they’d once shared, states away.
“Let me have her,” younger Mason said, grabbing Aspen from her mother. “See? She just needed her daddy. Why don’t you take a break, go meet your friends for coffee or something? I’ll take over here.”
She nodded, getting up and going out.
That was the first of many times Amanda had left him with Aspen. Until it became an everyday occurrence. When he was home, she wasn’t. They’d gotten into countless fights over it. She’d said taking care of Aspen was too much. And she always came home smelling like a brewery. His marriage was hanging on by a thread by the time Aspen was three. He hadn’t had sex with his wife in more than a year. The only time she wanted him was when she was drunk. And he didn’t want her like that.
“Mason, I need help,” Amanda said, sitting beside his duffle bag.
Younger Mason set a three-year-old Aspen on the bed before handing her one of her toys to play with. He packed his things to leave for his mission. “So hire some help. Take a yoga class. Take a trip to New Hampshire and stay with my dad. He’d love to have Aspen.”
Amanda’s shoulders slumped. Mason had worried about leaving Aspen with her, but she was always sober when he got home from work. She’d never gotten drunk when she was caring for their daughter.
Mason’s phone beeped with a reminder for his flight. His team needed him to be focused. He’d deal with this when he got back.
“I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
“Don’t go,” older Mason shouted. “Don’t leave her. Get her help.”
Younger Mason didn’t make a move to acknowledge he’d heard him—he dissolved into the air, leaving only Amanda and little Aspen.
Amanda locked eyes with Mason. “Take care of our little girl. Because I can’t anymore.”
Blood dripped down the side of her head, staining her white shirt.
Mason reached for her, grasping nothing but the cool night air on the porch. “No, wait. Don’t go. She needs you.”
Amanda shook her head. “No. She has you.”
“I’m sorry. Mandy, I’m so sorry.”
