Chapter 15
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
A shley
As we prepare to head out—tearing down tents, loading up cars, and tidying the campsite—a memory comes to mind.
Not one of those passing memories either. It’s the sort that plays out in vivid detail from beginning to end.
When I was nine years old, Annica and I spent a week with our grandparents on Mom’s side. It was before Grams died, so Nini wasn't in the picture yet.
We had the treat of helping watch our baby cousin Thomas. He was the sweetest, chubby-cheeked little boy with bright shining eyes and a smile that could melt hearts from across the room.
I remember being so enamored, so overwhelmed with joy, when he would meet my gaze and then smile because of me .
Bath time for the little guy was a family affair when Grams, Annica, and I gathered along the side of the tub with squeaky toys to keep him entertained.
One night, Grams left Annica and me in charge, emphasizing that we could not step away from Thomas for even a moment because, even though the water was shallow, he could drown. She’d be back in a few minutes, she promised, and we could get him out then.
I always loved that part. His doughy skin dripping wet and scented with the sweet baby soap we squirted into the tub. We’d wrap him up in his cozy, fluffy, dinosaur towel with the hood, and he’d rub a clumsy fist over his face, a sign that he was sleepy, Grams said.
But this time, shortly after Grams left, Annica darted out of the bathroom, too, muttering something about being right back. So, I played with Thomas, just the two of us, while he splashed and smiled. Then, he lifted the bath sponge to his lips and began slurping the bathwater from it.
“No, no,” I told him, pulling the sponge away. “ That’s yucky.” Thomas began to cry and smack his hands on the surface of the water, which made me panic a little. I didn’t want him to slip and hit his head. Since he was babbling at that point, saying things like Mama, Dada, and his new favorite— no, he blurted out, “ drink,” which, of course, sounded more like dink , but I knew what he meant.
I remembered seeing his colorful sippy cup on the floor just outside the bathroom in the hallway. If I hurried, stepping only to the doorway to check for it, Thomas would be fine. I wasn’t leaving him alone like Grams warned us about. I’d be right there grabbing his cup where he left it.
I hurried to the doorway, searching the floor. I knew I had seen it just right there, but he must have moved it. I stepped out a little further, looking as quickly as I could, when I heard a clunk and a splash behind me.
Grandma was already coming up the stairs. “Who's in there with Thomas?" she asked when she saw the worry on my face.
I rushed back into the bathroom as I answered. "Me, I was just getting his cup." But Thomas was face down in the water, arms flailing in panic.
Grandma was quick to pull him out of the tub. She patted his back and uttered soothing words as he gasped and choked on the water.
I was on repeat, stunned and terrified as he screamed. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, I'm sorry. I was just looking for his sippy cup. I was only gone for a second. You okay, Thomas? You okay, bud? He’s going to be okay, right?"
Grandma didn't answer, just kept patting his back and trying to soothe him with gentle words and soft rocking motions.
I was horrified and stunned and so grateful that he seemed to be all right. "He's going to be okay, isn’t he?" I asked again.
Grams was about to answer, her face softening as she nodded, when Gramps barreled into the bathroom, with Annica at his hip.
"You could have killed him,” he scolded, his furious eyes flaring with heat and hatred. At least, that’s how I saw it, young as I was.
Grams was quick to scold him for yelling at me, but he continued, ranting about how I needed to listen. I had to listen to people who were older and smarter than I was, or terrible things would happen.
He offered one last warning while pointing to where Thomas curled into Grams’ chest, his little breaths still catching between whimpers. "You could have killed that perfect baby boy because you didn't listen. You better take this as a lesson and learn from it."
The memory plays out so vividly in my head that I almost don’t hear Martin as he waves a bottle of milk in front of me. “Your teeth are actually floating around in here?” he asks with a grin. “He called them cute.”
I read the warning Liam scribbled with a Sharpie on the front.
“I know, funny, huh?” I clear my throat and remember myself. “Put that back in the cooler, will you?”
He does, but he’s chuckling and shaking his head. “I hope Dad can fix them.”
“He can,” I assure, grabbing another cleaning wipe from the pack nearby and moving to the next picnic table. I hear Liam in the distance, instructing the boys as they help Nellie tear down and load up her tent. But even thoughts of Liam don’t stop my mind from drifting back to the unpleasant memory of the day cute Baby Thomas almost drowned.
Trusting myself was hard after that. I second-guessed everything I did. At school, I would ask the kid next to me, "Am I doing it right? I'm not really sure I heard her explain it."
I practically drove Annica crazy with double-checking, triple-checking; there was no limit on how many times I would ask if I was doing something the right way. But Annica was older and wiser, and I trusted that she knew better than I did.
I found friends who fit the bill, too, which wasn't hard since I skipped a grade in school, and I let them be my guide when Annica wasn’t around.
With Liam, it was different. Liam Wheaton had a way of making me feel like I could trust myself. When I would ask him about something, he would simply look at me and say, “ What do you think?” Or “You know as well as I do. Your guess is as good as mine. I was about to ask you the same thing.”
That’s how it was in our relationship. Being around him made me feel strong. It made me feel smart. It made me feel equal, and that was exciting and beautiful and new.
So, yeah, I guess it hurt more than it should have when Liam approached me about the idea of seeing other people. “ You’re so young, Ashley,” he’d said, sounding like he knew so much more than I did about what was good and right for me. Sounding like all the people I’d placed into that role in my life. “ I don’t want you to resent me later for not encouraging you to date other men while you can. To take a break and see if it’s me you really want.”
There he was, employing a tactic that struck a nerve I never imagined he'd strike. Maybe it wasn't valid or fair, but I felt just as rejected and horrified as I did on the day Thomas almost drowned. There was a similar sting. A similar shame. I loved Gramps, and he hurt me. Made me feel like I couldn’t trust myself, and Liam was doing the same thing, warning me that if I didn’t listen, I’d hate him for it later.
I wanted to hate him for it then.
I decided that if Liam wanted to have his ‘older and wiser’ say, I’d let him. We would date other people, but we wouldn't date each other anymore. Why be with someone who only pretended to be different if he’d just be the same in the end?
Once the campsite is clean and our gear is loaded, Liam has the genius idea to let the kids ride together in the Camry while he and I take the truck and follow behind.
Turns out they still make trucks with front bench seats. I know because Liam makes a point of patting the center and telling me to scoot on over so we can hold hands while he drives.
I do, and I can’t help but revel at the sight of my hand in his. Liam Wheaton is here, holding my hand, gliding his thumb along the back of my knuckles in a soft, almost reverent caress just like he used to.
Only the moment is a little soiled. Probably because I just spent that last hour or more reliving that terrible event from my past. There’s a tightness in my chest, that physical fight-or-flight sensation that makes it hard to hold still. I don’t know what I’m suddenly so afraid of.
Yet, as we drive on, the unpleasant sensation starts to wane, shifting into a dull ache with a weakening pulse. With each passing beat, snarky quip, or sweet sentiment, it fades further away. Going, going…
Liam pulls our joined hands up to his mouth, presses a kiss to mine, then rests them back on my lap like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Going, going, gone.
I exhale, assured that all is well. The memory got to me, is all, which is why it’s best to just leave the past in the past and focus on the future.
“When I’m ready to move back to Virginia Beach—” I start to say.
“I like where this is going,” Liam inserts.
I laugh. “Do you think I should get a house or a condo? Or maybe rent for a while? What do you think is best?”
“I can find you anything you’re looking for—rent or own. It just depends on what you think is best.”
He goes on to probe me like he would any potential client—questions about my finances, how long I plan to stick around, and things related to personal preference. Inwardly, I realize he’s doing this because he trusts that I can make a decision like this on my own.
Sure, no big deal in most worlds, but in mine, it’s everything.