Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
Casey
Paul was here again.
I had Tommy down at the beach. Paul sat on that bench not too far off, wearing a washed-out gray T-shirt, an old bicycle leaning against his legs. He'd rest a book on his knee, eyes drifting our way, then duck his head back down whenever I looked over.
How many times had this been now? I'd lost count. All I knew was that since that day, he'd started showing up everywhere in my life. Sometimes it was outside the hospital. I'd finish a night shift, and there he'd be, leaning against that beat-up bike, holding out a hot coffee.
"Paul, you don't have to do this." My voice stayed cold. "That bike... it doesn't suit you."
He glanced down at the rattling secondhand thing and gave a self-deprecating smile. "Actually works pretty well. For the grocery store or coming to the hospital, it's easier than driving. Don't have to worry about missing you getting off work because I couldn't find parking."
I'd be at the supermarket picking up groceries, staring at a heavy five-liter jug of water, and a hand with distinct knuckles would just take the bag from me.
"This brand's on sale today, but the taste is just okay. That one up front from the local source is better." Paul stood beside me in a simple gray long-sleeve, pushing a shopping cart, moving like some neighbor who'd lived here ten years.
Tommy ran around in the shallow water, chasing little fish left by the retreating tide, his laughter drifting over in waves. I sat on the sand, knees drawn up, arms resting on them.
I glanced at the bench. He'd unstrapped the cooler bag from the back of his bike and set it next to him. Hadn't opened it.
He'd been coming for days now, showing up in different ways, bringing things, watching from a distance, never pushing forward. What the hell did he want? Didn't he know this made it harder? Or was he planning to just keep this up indefinitely?
Tommy ran back over and plopped down next to me, breathing hard. Mommy, I'm thirsty. I pulled the water bottle from my bag and handed it over. He gulped down several swallows, water running down his chin and dripping onto his chest. I wiped it away with my hand.
"That man's here again." He pointed toward the bench.
"Yeah, I see him."
"Why does he always watch us? Does he want to play with us?"
I looked at Tommy. His little face was flushed from the sun, sweat beading on his nose, damp hair stuck to his forehead. A five-year-old—everything looked simple to him.
"Maybe."
"Should I go ask him over?"
"No need," I said. "You go play."
Tommy ran back to the water. I looked up, catching Paul's gaze. He froze, then dropped his eyes to flip through the book, turning pages a bit frantically. The book nearly slid off his knee. He fumbled to catch it, looking awkward.
I turned my head back. Waves rolled in layer after layer, then pulled back out. I buried my feet in the sand—cool, damp, water seeping up from below. But my head was a mess right now.
I could tell he was changing. He didn't wear those clothes with brands I couldn't recognize anymore, just regular T-shirts and shorts. Once I noticed the tag on his collar—Walmart brand, fifteen bucks each. I'd bought them on sale as pajamas for Tommy.
He'd put away that black car rode that old bike everywhere. The seat had a crack wrapped with black electrical tape, the edges already curling up. He'd gotten tan. I'd seen him once when his arms were peeling—red patches, white patches. Now it had healed into an even light brown.
But I didn't know how long this change would last. Six years ago, he'd worn a custom suit and said those things to me on that street corner, looking down. I still remembered every word. Now he rode a busted bike, wore an old T-shirt, sat at a distance on the beach—did that erase those words?
Tommy came over, saying he wanted to go home and rest. I took his hand and headed back, packing up our things. I glanced at the bench. Paul was already gone. The bike too.
Back at the apartment, I got Tommy showered and changed, then started dinner. Mark said he'd come at six-thirty. He came every Thursday with kids' meals. Tommy really liked him because he always brought a picture book, sometimes stayed to build Legos, sitting on the floor for over an hour.
Tommy played with his toy cars in the living room, making vroom sounds and brake noises. Through the window, you could see a slice of ocean, dyed orange-red by the sunset now, a few seabirds drifting lazily across the sky.
The doorbell rang. Tommy ran to get it, calling out happily, "Mark!" Mark came in carrying two bags—one with meal containers, one with toys.
"For you." He handed Tommy the toy bag.
"Thanks, Mark!" Tommy took it, pulling out a fire truck Lego set.
I watched them and smiled. Mark set the meal containers on the dining table—grilled chicken sandwich and vegetable salad, the kind I liked.
"What's wrong with you today?" He looked at me. "You're distracted."
"Am I?"
"Yes." He sat down at the table. "You've been spacing out since I walked in. Tommy called you twice, and you didn't hear him."
I didn't answer. I brought the mac and cheese I'd made to the table and sat across from him.
Tommy carried his new toy back to his room, door half-open. You could hear him playing on the floor, narrating for himself—wee-ooh, wee-ooh.
Mark watched me from across the table. The kitchen light hit his face. His eyes were gentle, tinged with worry, brows slightly furrowed.
"Ella." He said my name, voice softer than usual. "Has something been going on lately?"
I looked at that slice of ocean through the window.
The sky still held a bit of afterglow, the sea surface dark blue, an orange-red line where it met the sky.
I'd lived here six years, watched this ocean for six years.
It never changed, always there, tides rising and falling, sunrise and sunset.
Sometimes I wondered how many people it had seen, how many things, what it remembered.
I didn't know if I should tell him. He waited for me to speak, didn't rush, just sat there.
"Mark." I started, voice lower than usual. "Tommy's father found me."
Several seconds passed before I heard him take a soft breath.
"When?"
"Luau day." I said. "He saw me at the beach."
"He knows about Tommy?"
"He knows."
"What does he want?"
I turned to look at him. His brows drew tighter, not with gossipy curiosity, but worry that I'd get hurt. He'd always been like this—six years, never crossed boundaries, but always there when I needed him.
"He says he has regrets," I said. "Wants to make up for it. These past few days, he keeps showing up, bringing things, watching from a distance, never saying anything. Today he came again, sat at the beach all afternoon."
"What are you thinking?"
"I don't know." I turned back to the window. The sky had gone completely dark, that slice of ocean invisible now, just a few boat lights in the distance. The smell of food drifted from the table, but I had no appetite.
Mark was quiet for a while. Then he stood up, came around to my side, and sat in the chair next to me.
"Ella." His voice was steady. "I know this might not be the right time. But there's something I want to tell you."
I looked into his eyes. He seemed a bit nervous; his Adam's apple bobbed, lips pressed together.
"I've admired you all these years." He met my eyes.
"You're strong, kind, a good mother. I know raising a child alone isn't easy.
You work so hard, then come home to cook and spend time with him, and take him out on weekends.
But you never complain, never show him how tired you are.
Every time I see you pick Tommy up after work, see him run to you, hug your legs, and call you Mommy, I think... "
He stopped, like he was searching for the right words.
"I think if I could have a wife like you, a child like Tommy, that would be enough for this lifetime."
I didn't speak. The sound of waves outside grew clearer—probably high tide now, bigger than during the day, rolling in and pulling back out.
"If you're willing," he said, "I could be Tommy's father. Give you both a complete family."
After he finished that sentence, he stopped. The floor lamp's light flickered in his eyes, bright, watching me with both hope and nervousness.
I wanted to speak but didn't know what to say.
He kept going, like he was afraid I'd interrupt, or like he wanted to get it all out at once.
"I know you haven't let him go yet. That's normal.
You had a past together, you have a child—it's not easy to just let go.
But Ella, he abandoned you six years ago and now suddenly reappears.
Can you guarantee he won't leave again? I'm different. "
"I'll always be by your side. Give you a stable life, give Tommy a father's love. I don't need you to answer right away, but I want you to know—you have another choice."
I looked into his eyes. His gaze was sincere, no dodging, no falseness, nothing that made you uncomfortable.
But images of Paul suddenly flashed through my mind—Boston University library six years ago, the Four Seasons, the beach six years later, outside the hospital, the supermarket. Which one was the real him?
I looked at Mark in front of me. He wore an ordinary plaid shirt, cuffs a bit wrinkled. His salary wasn't high, and he drove a nine-year-old Toyota. He'd never look at me with that condescending gaze. He'd never make me think of those words.
"Mark." I finally spoke, voice hoarse. "Thank you. I... I need time to think."
"That's fine. I'll wait." He said, his mouth twitching like he wanted to smile but couldn't quite manage it. "Ella, whatever you decide, I'll respect it."
He started eating, talking about other things. The community center had a new volunteer from the mainland. There was a parent-child activity next weekend, making crafts—would Tommy want to join? I answered absently, those words still spinning in my head.
After dinner, Mark left. I walked to the window and looked out.
Six years ago, when I first came to Hawaii, I stood by a window looking at this ocean too.
Back then, I rented a different apartment, even smaller than this one, with a window facing another building, not the sea.
But I'd still walk far to see it. I told myself then I'd never rely on anyone again, just myself.
These six years, I'd done it. I'd supported myself and Tommy with my own hands.
When he got sick, I carried him to the hospital alone, registered, paid, got medicine, and held him in the infusion room until late at night.
When he cried in the middle of the night, I held him and walked around the apartment alone, singing to him until he fell back asleep.
I never complained because this was my choice, my child, my life.
But now Paul had reappeared. He really was different from before, but I didn't know how long that would last, when he'd change back, whether he'd abandon me again.
But I couldn't lie to myself and say his appearance didn't affect me.
Every time I saw him there, watching from a distance, my heart would beat a little faster. Every time he handed me something and his fingers touched mine, I'd remember things from long ago. Back when we were young, still in love, when I thought that was forever.
Tommy called me from his room. I went over. He lay in bed, picture book open on top of his blanket, pointing at a dolphin. "Mommy, look, mommy dolphin and baby dolphin."
"Yeah, I see."
"Mommy dolphin stays with baby dolphin forever, right?"
"Right."
"Will you stay with me forever?"
"Yes." I touched his head. His hair was soft, freshly washed, and still smelled like shampoo. "Mommy will always stay with you."
Satisfied, he turned to the next page.
I sat on the edge of his bed, watching his serious profile as he read. The bedside lamp cast a soft glow on his little face, his long lashes throwing tiny shadows under his eyes. His lashes were like his father's. When he smiled, his eyes curved—also like his father's.
I didn't know what to do next. But I knew that no matter what I chose, I wouldn't let Tommy get hurt again. That was something I'd sworn to myself six years ago. I'd never forgotten.