He sighs, falling back against the swing, causing it to rock and peers around me into the living room to check on his daughter. I turn as well, looking over my shoulder, and note she’s still fast asleep.
“I married her.” My head quickly turns back to Jess, and he shrugs. “She wanted to hold off on children. It was fine with me. We weren’t . . . stable, and I was busy. Grad school. Internship with General Motors and then a job in R&D. I was working on the electric vehicle. Life was good, but my marriage wasn’t.”
He exhales again and looks down at his fingers splayed over his thighs. “Then she got pregnant. She didn’t want the baby and told me she might not be mine.”
Oh my God.
“I wasn’t certain she was mine either, but I couldn’t turn away a pregnant woman who happened to be my wife. Thankfully, a simple blood test proved Katie belonged to me, but I hated Deb for what she’d done. She’d cheated on me, but I kept her close because she was my child’s mother.”
He shakes his head and gives a bitter laugh.
“Then one day when Katie was almost four, I came home and found my baby girl alone. No mother. No note. No clothes remaining in the closet. Gone.” His eyes drift back to his sleeping child, and I sit still, horrified at the thought of abandoning that sweet baby resting on my grandmother’s couch. “She wouldn’t talk. She could before, but she no longer did, and we’ve never known why. A psychologist, social workers, child neurologists, they all said the same thing. She was choosing not to speak. Selective mutism, they call it. The pieces are all there for her to vocalize. The only thing we don’t know is the reason she’s not.”
His eyes meet mine, sad, somber and full of questions I can’t answer. The loss he’s experienced is on a level I’ll never comprehend.
“The doctors told me she’ll talk again on her own timeline. We had a rough go of it at first, and eventually, I decided to come home to be near family.” He stops, and I can sense there’s more to his story, but I know this is as much as he’s going to give me tonight, or maybe ever.
“I don’t know what it is about you. You look nothing like Debbie. Your hair is golden. Your eyes bright.” His eyes lower to my lips, and his voice drops as he says, “Your lips a rosy pink.”
I fight the flutters in my belly over him noticing my features.
“Are you still married?” I question.
“Fuck no.” He laughs bitterly. “She went to Chicago, and that’s the only connection I can make between the two of you.” He pauses for a second, his brows creasing like what he just said isn’t exactly true, but he adds nothing further. “When she sent me divorce papers, I learned where she was. She relinquished her parental rights to Katie.”
“She disowned her?” I gasp, astonished by the possibility. How do you give up a thing as sweet as that little girl?
“I have sole custody, guardianship, and any other thing. She practically claimed Katie wasn’t her offspring, which is ridiculous because I witnessed Deb give birth to her.” He snorts, a crack of acidic laughter mixing with the sound. Two hands cover his face, scrubbing at his cheeks before he swipes downward, flinging his hands aside and then gripping the edge of the swing near his knees.
“Is there something I said or did that caused her reaction earlier?”
Jess shakes his head. “Besides simply leaving, who knows? I’m baffled by the whole thing.”
His voice turns bitter like the first time I met him.
“She’s grown attached to you for some reason.” He looks over at me. “Don’t know what it is about you, Emily Post of Chicago, but the idea of you leaving just freaked her out.” He shrugs, still uncertain himself and frustrated with the situation. The shrug does not downplay his feelings.
“Are you upset that she might like me?”
“Upset? Why would I be upset? My own child doesn’t speak to me. She hardly even smiles at me, but she offers one to you, a total stranger.” His hand waves in the air.
Okay, he’s upset.
“I’d like to help.” I don’t know why I offer. I don’t even know what I could do for them, but I feel a sense of purpose here I’ve never felt before. I reach out for his hand holding the swing edge, and his eyes lower to where my fingers cover the back of his fist. Immediately, I pull back, sensing my touch is not wanted. There’s no zing or zap, only a small crackle, like a fizzling spark. As I retract my hand, he reaches for it, slipping his palm against mine and entwining our fingers, bringing our grasped hands to his thigh. His hand is warm, and his eyes focus on our interwoven digits. His heavy breathing is the only sound besides the creak of the swing chains.
“I think . . . what’s best is . . . if you stay away from us.”
What?
Instantly, I pull back at my hand, but he doesn’t relinquish it. He shifts to face me, and I stare at him. The pain in my chest might hurt less if he’d actually stabbed me.
“I can’t have her growing attached to you, especially given you aren’t staying. She doesn’t need another wayward woman in her life.”
“Wayward?” I snap.
“I mean . . . someone who won’t stick.”
I tug again at my fingers, but he doesn’t release them. He holds on tighter, in direct opposition of what he’s saying.
“Fine,” I mutter, easily acquiescing as he’s her father, and I’m assuming he knows best for her. Still, it hurts that he won’t let me help and doesn’t want me near his child, who I’ve just as quickly grown as fond of as she seems to be attached to me. I unfold my leg, removing my foot from under my knee, and attempt to stand even though he’s still gripping my hand like a lifeline. With a huff, I jut my hip to the side as I stare down at him. His eyes remain where our fingers meld together.
“I’m not trying to be cruel.” Slowly, he lifts his head, those denim eyes as dark as the sky just before dawn blooms. The pain in them nearly splits me in two, but I’m equally raw. Another hand joins the first, wrapping around our collective fingers as if begging me to understand.
It isn’t you, Emily, it’s me.
“I understand,” I retort even though I don’t. I didn’t do anything wrong, so why do I feel guilty? “You’re welcome to sleep on my porch or take the couch opposite Katie. Do what you wish. I’m going to my room.”
And I do just that, feeling worn out and unwelcome and totally worthless.
Rule 6
Whispers in the library can still be heard.
[Jess]
I’m a little unfocused as I stand in the children’s department of the public library. Once the home of a founding family to Elk Lake City, it was willed to the town for use as a library and sits on top of a hill with a perfect view of Lake Michigan. The enclosed front porch is the fiction section, and I’d much prefer to take a seat in one of the rocking chairs than stand here next to the shelves, holding myself up.
I’ve been puzzled over the function of Mrs. Parrish’s radio—how to restore it so it makes music again. Emily mentioned its malfunction when she brought it in last Friday, and I want to make it sing once more. For Elizabeth, I tell myself. The old lady deserves to hear her big band sounds once more on that thing. But I’m stumped over the radio, just as I’m stumped over her granddaughter.