Falling From Grace

Chapter 11

11

J ust as promised, Arlene and Ray dropped me off at the Minit Mart. But before I stepped out of the car, Ray slipped me a twenty. After giving them each a kiss on their cheek, I climbed out as a strong gust of wind hit my dress. I waved goodbye and raced inside the store as a bolt of lightning lit up the heavy, dark skies. The fluorescent lights flickered, and Sam appeared from the back room, carrying a big box. He hummed to the melody on his earbuds and set down the box. I wrapped the cardigan around me tighter, walking up to the counter. Leaning forward, I extended my finger as far as I could and touched Sam’s shoulder, causing him to jump.

“Sweet baby Jesus!”

“ Hey Sam.”

He clutched his chest and exhaled. “Of course. It’s you. The one person who doesn’t shy away from a little storm. And where’s your father? I swear, you better have not walked here, Grace. I—?”

“I didn’t walk here. Arlene and Ray dropped me off. And my pa won’t be back until the rain lets up.”

“Where are they goin’?”

“Up to Flagstaff.”

“That’s smart. Should’ve gone with them.” Another bolt of light caused us to look up at the flickering lights and then outside, watching the first pelts of rainfall. Large dense clouds loomed above, promising drivers slippery roads ahead. The wind howled. “Get what you need, and we’ll hightail it outta here,” he said as the phone rang. “I bet that’s my wife. She’s worried sick. Hey, what happened to your eye? Did you fall?”

“Yeah, I slipped when I was walkin’ up to my trailer. I’m fine, Sam. It doesn’t really hurt.”

“Uh-huh.” Sam nodded, skeptical for a moment before turning away to pick up the phone.

Scouring each aisle, I grabbed the items I needed. The bell rang. Wet boots squeaked against the floor, causing me to look back, seeing Peter. He was almost soaked. Strands of hair lay flat against his forehead, and he bent down, grabbing the last two jugs of water. For the first time, my heart didn’t quicken. I just looked at him, and the little knot in my chest went away. It was like I’d taken a deep breath. Sam hung up and looked at Peter incredulously as he set the jugs of water by his feet.

“You don’t shy away from a little rain, either, huh?” Sam asked. “Just the water, today?”

“Just the water,” Peter said and did a double take. His face fell. “Grace, what are you doing out?”

“That’s what I said,” Sam agreed.

“You have anyone to drive you back home? It’s pouring out there right now,” Peter asked.

“Sam’s drivin’ me home,” I gestured.

Peter opened his mouth to speak but instead just nodded, scratching the back of his left ear.

“You’re the one with the truck, right? The neighbor?” Sam asked, taking the ten-dollar bill Peter had given him.

“Yeah,” Peter replied.

“You should go with him, Grace. He’ll get you home faster,” Sam suggested. “My wife will start listening for sirens if I don’t make it home in the next twenty minutes. You okay with that?”

“If she is.”

“Um, yeah. T-that’s fine.” I cleared my throat and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear.

“I’ll wait outside. Alright?”

“ Alright.”

Peter grabbed the change and shoved it in his pocket before lugging the jugs of water to the truck. In the short time it took for Sam to ring up my items, sheaths of rain started to come down. After saying goodbye to Sam and giving him a quick side hug, I raced outside to where Peter was waiting under the awning. The temperature had significantly dropped, bringing a chill to the air. Streets collected puddles of rising water. After the next bolt of lightning hit, Peter’s hand rested on the small of my back, and our feet fell into a quickened pace to the truck. Pelts of rain and hair whipped my face as the wind picked up. I climbed inside with my bags and buckled my seatbelt. Peter shut the door and ran around the truck. I brought my hair to one side of my shoulder, ringing out the excess water.

Heavy rain hit the windshield, giving the wipers hardly a fighting chance. Loud powerful wind whistled against the truck. Rapids of water raced for the storm drains and pummeled the hoods of cars. Whitewash crashed into the curbs before sinking down into the sewers. It was an orchestra of white noise. Even the southern drawl of the singer’s voice on the radio was barely audible. Peter focused hard on the long stretch of Golder Ranch Road, not wavering in the least. I couldn’t resist taking a long look at him, as he seemed to be mulling over something heavy. And though I might’ve taken my time wondering what it could be, the flushed hue of his cheeks and the dark circles under his eyes told me that these last few days had been just as tough for him as they had been for me. Droplets of water dripped off the strands of his hair, and he pushed them back. Rain began to strike the windshield faster and stronger. The visibility was nearly impossible. Harley sat upright, focused on the incessant noise.

“Man, it’s really comin’ down,” Peter said, flicking the knob higher. The wipers went back and forth so fast that by the time I stopped watching them, I had to shut my eyes to refocus. “Hey, how’s your head?”

“It’s fine,” I answered faintly. “It’s just a bit sore, is all.”

“ No headache?”

“Peter, I’m ... ” I stopped myself, knowing what I’d say would only worry him more. “No. No headache.”

He nodded. “Good.”

I don’t know if it was the way he said it or the way he looked, but something told me that a swell inside him was about to break. Like he had a monsoon of his very own. There’s only so much a person can hold back before it all overflows. Even the crease in between his brows was more noticeable. He rolled back his stiff shoulder and then brought it forward, closing one eye in a grimace of pain.

“Your shoulder okay?”

“Yeah, I’ll live.”

He exhaled a breath through his nose and propped his elbow on the windowsill. I looked away as he made the final turn for the road home. Though I had become used to the silence, a part of me now had to fight off the impulse to speak. To speak about the little things. Sharing all those little things with him had made it all the easier to step inside that trailer again. He didn’t need to care or say anything. All I needed was that escape. To know I still had the ability and desire to share myself with another soul was all that mattered to me. No matter how short it was. And though there wasn’t any talking today, the quiet was enough for now. Peter pulled up in front of the trailer.

“You’ll be fine from here, right?”

“Yeah, I’ll be fine.” I grabbed my bags, carefully opening the door. Harley whined. “ Bye, Harley.”

Wind and rain hit my face as I slowly stepped outside, shutting the door behind me. Just as I made my way up the porch, the sound of squelching mud caused me to turn around, and I saw Peter in front of the truck, standing there in the rain. A glassy sheen had overtaken his eyes as a pained expression twisted his face. It was a look I hadn’t ever expected from him. Like the night at the fair. He hesitantly inched closer, acting as if he was about to say something, but instead he quickly stepped back and walked away. As he did, the sole of his right boot slipped on the mud and he fell back.

“ Peter!”

I dropped my bags and ran to him. He pushed himself up and leaned against the side of the truck, hunched over, holding his knees as he tried to catch his breath. Though rain dripped down the side of his face, a part of me was convinced they were actual tears. A heavy ache settled in my chest as I held back the urge to touch him, afraid of overstepping a boundary. He grabbed both my arms, agony and grief spreading across his face. I stood there, unsure of what to do, stunned by the feel of his hands. It was the first time in a long time I had allowed someone to touch me. And I knew that this must’ve been a risk for him, too. But I didn’t pull away. He looked down, and his shoulders shook as he could no longer stifle back his sobs, resting his forehead on the top of my belly.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked, full of pain. “I’m so sorry, Grace.” He started breathing heavier and faster, struggling to catch his breath. “I ... I used to be better at this. Better at everything.”

“Peter.” My voice broke, holding back a cry of my own. “I’m okay. I’m right here. I’m okay.”

My fingers rested upon the side of his face and combed back the strands of his hair. I didn’t know what made me do it. Maybe it’s because I knew some part of him needed it, and it was the only thing I thought of at that moment. Because seeing him cry, seeing him in pain had brought me pain. Much like the rain, my body had absorbed his suffering, and it seeped into the crevices of my heart. I never thought of myself as a refuge for someone else. Anyone important in my life had moved on, leaving me behind. But in my heart, I knew Peter was someone who wouldn’t ever leave. Not on his own accord. And little by little, his breathing started to slow down.

“We need to go inside. It’s really comin’ down. Can you walk?”

He nodded, standing upright.

I let Harley out of the truck, and he raced to the door. Peter was about to take a step but winced in pain, hunching over again. I slipped my arm around his side, and we made our way to the trailer. Stepping inside, I carefully led him to the couch. The floors creaked underneath his heavy footsteps as we made our way across the room. Lowering him onto the cushion, I propped one of the pillows behind his neck. I slid his legs onto the blanket and untied his boots, slipping them off his feet. Harley shook the excess water from his coat and laid down on the floor. Peter shut his eyes, breathing shakily with strands of hair still stuck to his wet face. I checked his forehead.

“ Grace—?”

“You’ve got a fever.” I turned away, but his hand grabbed my forearm.

He plopped his head back down on the pillow. “Where are you going?” he asked in a rough and unsteady voice.

“I’m not goin’ anywhere. I promise. I just need to get you something for your fever, and you better not move.”

He shut his eyes in agreement, nodding. Before leaving the room, I checked one last time to see if he had moved before heading to the bathroom. I shut the door and locked it, desperate to relieve myself. As I sat on the toilet, I slipped off my soaked cardigan. Goosebumps spread their way over my body as the air hit my chilled skin. Struggling at first, I managed to lift the wet, heavy, dress off my body, hanging it to dry on the shower rod. Opening the medicine cabinet, I quickly searched for the bottle with the red cap. After finding the Tylenol, I pulled on my pink-striped pajama set, desperate to have something dry and warm on my chilled skin. I returned to the couch with a glass of water and sat down on the coffee table. Peter opened his tired eyes.

“I’m sorry, Grace.”

“ For what?”

“Letting you see me like this.”

“Don’t be sorry. It’s okay to not always be okay. I should know ... You taught me that,” I replied. His face softened. “Now, you need to take two of these. Alright? They’ll help with the fever. And you should sit up,” I said, holding out the glass of water in one hand and the two tablets in the other.

Peter sat upright, running a hand through his wet, tousled hair. He shut his eyes for a long moment and exhaled a deep breath. Finally opening his eyes, he reached over to take the tablets from me.

“Not exactly my day, is it?” He placed them in his mouth and gulped down half the glass, setting it on the table with a long sigh. “Then again, I haven’t had one of those in a while,” he said, propping his arms on the tops of his knees. “In a very long while.” His eyes were focused on his hands, and I noticed the lingering bruises and scrapes across his knuckles. “You know what I’ve been wantin’ to ask you, Grace, is why you’re not afraid of me,” he muttered. “You’ve seen me hurt someone. And not just anyone. Your father. You saw me do it. You saw me like that. And—?”

“ Peter—?”

“A man you don’t even know hurt your father in front of you, and you’re not even a bit scared?”

“No,” I said with the most absolute certainty. “And don’t ask me why, because I still don’t know myself, but my answer is no,” I said again, expecting his shock, but his eyes were still low to the floor, almost ashamed.

“I don’t like hurting people, Grace,” he admitted gently. “I never have. I don’t get off on it like some men do. Back then all I could think about was that I just took some mother’s son away. A brother. A husband. Every man I killed was like killing a piece of myself, but when I saw your father ...” His voice cracked. “And then hearing you scream, I just blacked out. I didn’t care, and I know I would’ve killed him if I hadn’t stopped myself.”

His words were laced with such torment that it made me want to cry. He lifted his head, searching for any hesitation or uneasiness, but I knew he would find none. His brown eyes roamed my face, anxious for me to say something. Speaking with him this time felt different. It was raw, open, and vulnerable.

I scooted myself closer to the edge of the table. “Peter.”

He dropped his head and breathed out, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry you had to see such a thing.”

“Killing and protecting ... those are two very different things,” I said, my heart quickening the moment his eyes landed back on my face.

He sat still, at a loss for words. Finally acting upon the urge, I gently took his hands and placed them in my lap.

“I’m not scared of you. You’re not a bad man. I know what a bad man is. And you’re not one of ’em. You’re more of a good man than you realize.”

“Grace, I’m not. I’m not a good man. I know I would do it again if someone tried to hurt you and that baby,” he continued in a deep hushed tone, as if just saying it aloud would awaken that side of him. At that moment I didn’t care how tight his grip was around my hand. I watched his thumb swipe back and forth across the side of my palm. His body shook as he exhaled a deep breath. “I don’t ... I don’t think I could ever live with myself if I let you and that baby get hurt.” His voice sounded distraught. “I didn’t get there fast enough, and you got hurt. You and—?”

“Is that what you meant? That you used to be better at this?” I asked, unsure. He looked at me, and I wondered if I had pushed too far. “Sorry,” I looked down. “You don’t need to tell me right now, but I’d like to know. It’s only fair. You know a lot about me. Things I don’t really tell anyone.”

We stared at each other in silence for a moment before he began speaking in a faint tone. “Well, anyone can lose touch when they’ve stopped living in the yellow zone,” he said and brought his attention to Harley who had fallen asleep on the floor. “I was stronger and faster. Harley and I both were, but that was years ago. I don’t have the same reflexes anymore. You know, if my pop was here now, I wonder what he would say.” He chuckled dryly and shook his head, reaching for his left ear. “Probably something like, well, you let yourself go, whaddya expect?”

“I don’t think he’d say that,” I said. “I think he’d be proud of you for doin’ somethin’ that not a lot of people would do. I know I don’t know him, but I’d like to think he would.”

His doleful but tender gaze swept over my face, as if he had finally heard the words he’d been wanting to hear for a long time. “How do you do that? You always say what I wanna hear.” He sighed deeply, letting his head fall and rest in the middle of my chest, between my breasts and the roundness of my belly. “It’s like you’re in my head ... you say all the right things.” His back rose and fell as he let out another breath. He didn’t move. My fingertips combed the hair back from his face. With each pass of my hand, the tension in his muscles began to ease. I couldn’t think of anything.

All I wanted was to stay like this forever.

T

A weight shifted against my stomach causing my arm to gently brush against something broad and strong. My tired eyes slowly opened, and I looked down, seeing Peter in a deep sleep with his head propped on my thigh. His nose was pressed against the curve of my belly and his chest rose and fell as it expanded with oxygen. With each heavy exhale, a soft snore escaped. Harley was on the floor, lying on his back, unbothered by the sound. A small groan rumbled from Peter’s throat, and he shifted slightly but flinched the moment his right knee moved. It was then the baby pressed down, urging me to make my way to the bathroom. I carefully slid myself out from underneath him and stepped over his foot that was draped off the couch. Harley rolled over and stood upright, stretching his legs.

“You need to go out, buddy?” I asked quietly, opening the door.

Harley ran outside, finding a mesquite tree to relieve himself under.

Yesterday’s rainfall had left puddles across the whole trailer park. Not only that but the smell of petrichor hung heavy in the air. It was distinct. One that brought water and the desert together in the most heavenly way possible. A few neighbors up the road, and even Mr. Emerson, left their doors open to soak it in until the next storm.

Harley returned, and we headed inside. I shut the screen door. Peter jumped straight off the couch. I stood still as his frantic eyes searched around the room and landed back on me. He let out a sigh. “Sorry,” he said, clearing his throat. “I hope I didn’t scare ya at all. I just got a bit ...”

“You didn’t. My mama and pa had shotguns when I was growin’ up, so ...” I paused, unsure of where I was heading with that. He nodded, relieved, and slowly lowered himself back onto the couch, letting out a low grunt of pain. He shut his eyes and exhaled a deep breath, holding the side of his knee.

Harley barked and readied himself into a play position.

“I’ll get to you in a minute, Harley, don’t worry,” Peter said.

“I already let him out.”

“ You did?”

“ Yeah.”

“Oh. Thank you.”

“Well, I’m gonna go wash up.”

“ Alright.”

“You need anythin’?”

“No. No, I’m fine. Thank you, though.”

“Alright, just call out if you need anythin’.”

After washing up, I fixed a few strands of hair to look somewhat presentable. I was just returning from the bathroom and tying the strings of my yellow dress above my belly when Peter got up from the couch with a grunt of effort. He wasn’t smiling at first, but when his sights fell upon me, as I was slipping my arms through the sleeves of my cardigan, his expression lightened. I looked at him, catching his eyes. Clearing his throat, he turned away, the red undertone on his cheeks deepening.

“So, uh, I’m gonna head over to my place and change,” he said, bashful, and lowered his hand from his ear.

“ Alright.”

He opened the door, and Harley bolted outside, barking. I followed him to the porch. “Also, I can pay you back for the dry cleaning. For the blanket,” Peter offered, stepping down onto the muddy ground.

I smiled and stopped at the last step. “It’s an old blanket. Don’t worry about it,” I reassured him.

He stopped in his tracks and faced me, saying, “By the way, I was gonna ask. Would it be okay if I left my truck here for a bit? I’d just like to take care of Harley here and my knee. I can move it though, if—?”

“It’s fine. I don’t mind.” I folded my arms, leaning against the post. “Leave it here as long as you need to.”

Peter nodded, his eyes lingering a little longer than usual at my yellow dress. “Huh,” he said as if he was baffled by some realization. He turned away but not before I witnessed the corner of his mouth lifting into a small smile. I watched him and Harley walk away. He looked back at me, still smiling.

“ Thanks again.”

“Yeah, no problem.” I pushed myself off the post and headed inside the trailer.

For the rest of the morning, I cleaned till my elbows ached. Grabbing the blanket from the couch, I bundled it up in my arms and carried it outside to the trash can. The sound of an engine caused me to look up, expecting to see Ray and Arlene, but the smile disappeared upon seeing who it was. The tires came to a squelching stop as Mama parked behind Peter’s truck. My mind raced with questions. Did she know about Pa? Was that why she was here? Did Uncle Wayne know? Would she finally take me this time? She climbed out, careful to not step in any puddles with her bright pink wedges. Not even a little rain would ever keep Mama from putting on a full face of makeup and doing her hair. Mama did a once over of Peter’s truck before making her way over. I lifted the lid off the trash can and shoved the blanket in.

“Hey, sweet pea. Your daddy have company?” she asked, trying to sneak a peek in the trailer’s kitchen window.

Shutting the lid, I said, “No. What are you doin’ back here? Aren’t you supposed to be in California or somethin’?”

“My, my, someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning. The rain kept you up, baby?”

“No.” I turned away.

“Grace, is your daddy here or not? I got a bone to pick with him. The man hasn’t called me back and—?”

“He’s not here, Mama.”

“ Dagnabbit!”

I looked back and saw her pulling her wedge out from the mud, holding the side of Peter’s truck. I reluctantly retraced my steps and helped her cross the mud till we arrived on the porch.

“Why do you wear those shoes, Mama?”

“Is it a crime for a woman to always look her best? Beauty is pain, sweet pea.” She shook the bits and pieces of mud off the sole of her shoe, and we headed inside. Mama looked to the left and to the right, then left again, setting her bag on the counter. “So, what’s that truck doin’ there? Is it Uncle Wayne’s? Did he finally git rid of that red beast and get a new one? He oughta. It’s loud as all heck.”

“No, he hasn’t been here in a few days.” I opened the fridge, carefully bending forward.

“Is it that neighbor’s?” Mama asked. When I didn’t answer, she continued. “So it is, isn’t it? I’d reckon you two are gettin’ along then since his truck’s here. Is he still here?” She opened her bag and drew a cigarette from the carton.

I set down the pitcher of iced tea as Mama rummaged through her purse for the lighter. “Now, I may not be the brightest crayon in the box, sweet pea, but I do know a few things about men. Mostly from your daddy.” Mama lit her cigarette and took her first puff, waving the smoke from her face. “There’s only one reason why a man like that would be hangin’ ’round a girl like you, Grace. Hell, any man. They all like the young ones. Everything’s still in the right places. And I guess some of ’em don’t even care if a woman’s carrying another man’s baby.”

“Couldn’t it be because he thinks I’m pretty or smart, Mama? Or ’cause he cares about me?”

“Sweet pea, no man wants trailer park trash. Remember what I said? Once trailer park trash, always trailer park trash. There’s only one reason why a man his age goes after a young girl like you. And when you’re knocked up. Just when I thought men couldn’t get any worse. They’re sick.”

“He’s actually real sweet, Mama,” I said, taking out two glasses. Mama rolled her eyes.

“They all act sweet to get what they want, Grace. Take Mason. Look at what happened to you. And I bet you knew it, too. Boys can’t hide it. Men can. You’d do best to learn that and not fall for that sweet act.”

“You and Pa are like two peas in a pod, I swear.”

“Speaking of your pa ...” Mama flicked the ash into the sink. “When’s he gonna be back?”

“Did Uncle Wayne not tell you? Your brother?” I asked, pouring the iced tea into each glass.

“Sweet pea, after you told me he married Tina, I said to myself: I ain’t gonna bother him again till that man gets his ducks in a row.”

“I don’t think he’s planning to let her go anytime soon.”

“Give it another six months to a year. There’ll always be someone younger for him.” Mama expelled smoke through her pursed lips and then pointed with her manicured nail, saying, “By the way, what happened to your eye over there? You even got a little cut there,” she said and gestured to her own brow. “And you got a bruise or two on your face. You didn’t faint and fall, did you?”

“Whaddya think happened, Mama? You seem to know everything, so why don’t you guess.”

Mama slicked her tongue over her teeth and crossed one leg over the other. “Well, you must’ve done somethin’ to make your daddy angry. Probably told you to not do somethin,’ but you went and did it anyway.”

This time when she went in for another drag, the cloud of smoke was more dense and packed a punch in its burn. My nose stung like the time I squirted lemon juice in my eye. The taste of nicotine spread across my tongue, leaving tiny, prickling needles in its wake.

“Why you lookin’ at me like that?”

“Will you put it out?”

She glanced between me and her cigarette. “You want me to open the window for ya?”

“It’s bad for the baby, Mama.”

She cracked open the window before putting out the cigarette in the sink. “Grace. Sweet pea. You don’t need to be so hung up on what and what not to do. I ate stuff I shouldn’t have,” Mama admitted.

I rolled my eyes and bent down, putting back the pitcher of sweet iced tea.

“I smoked. I’d have a beer here and there, but just a little bit. If it’s a little bit, it’s okay. And look at you, you—?”

I slammed the door to the fridge and stood facing her. “I what, Mama? I turned out just fine?”

Mama’s over-plucked brows raised. “Okay. Maybe not fine. You were a weird child. Always watching people. My point, sweet pea, is that no one can raise a baby right. Trust me, it’s tiring. I had to do it. You think it was fun? No. I didn’t git to be a teenager. So yeah, I sipped a beer and took a hit once in a while. Just ’cause you started being a goody two shoes, doesn’t mean you know anything about raising a child. I’ve made mistakes, but I’m here now, Grace. That’s gotta count for something, right?”

I’m here now.

The words she said with such conviction anytime I or anyone challenged her mothering. Her body may have been here but that was it. Just a body. Never a mother. It wasn’t my pa who disappointed me first. It was Mama. The words were on the tip of my tongue, but I knew they didn’t matter because she would just leave. Like always. Mama folded her arms tighter and leaned her hip against the counter.

“Oh, come on, Grace. Don’t go all quiet on me. Whether you like it or not, that’s the truth. You don’t understand the responsibility yet of taking care of a child. I can’t wait till that kid pops outta ya. You’ll be beggin’ for me to help. You think you won’t now. But trust me, you will.”

“What makes you think I’d ever want help from someone like you, Mama?” The harsh words flowed out of me freely, and I stood there appalled at how easily I could speak to my mama like that.

“Hey, that ain’t nice of you to say that. It’s not easy raisin’ a child on your own. You’ll be—?”

“I did it already!” I yelled. “I raised myself and you! Who was the one who picked you up off the floor when you came home drunk? I did! You couldn’t even take care of yourself, Mama! I was the one! I took care of you when you should’ve been taking care of me! Your child! Then you left me!” I exhaled a shaky breath. “With Pa! I was nine and you left me. I lost the one thing that should be permanent in this world! You’re my mama, and you left me!” I screamed. “You left me all alone!”

“Oh, get over it! No one has the mother they really want, Grace! You think I had the momma I wanted? No! But I live with it! So, get over it!” she yelled. “That’s what you do, Grace! You get over it!”

“I waited for you. For years!”

Mama’s eyes were alive with anger. I thought she would wave off my accusations as another little annoyance in her life. Like she did with me. But without warning, the fury melted away in her face and was replaced with a pain I’d never seen. A sadness I had yearned to see since the day she left. Ruled by childish thoughts and fantasies, a part of me ached for her to hold me with those arms. Instead, Mama did what she did best. She grabbed her bag and left, but not before looking at me one last time. As silly as it was, the child in me held onto that because I knew a part of her didn’t want to do it. Then I did what I always did best. Push the tears down and lock them deep inside.

Knock. Knock.

I raced to the door, only to find Peter standing there. Before he could say a word, I slammed the door closed.

“Grace. Grace, will you let me in? I want—?”

“ No.”

“Open the door.”

“Go away.” I stood there, expecting an answer. Silence. “You’re still there, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, I’m not gonna go anywhere till you let me in,” he insisted calmly. I remained silent, conflicted. “Grace ...” He was quieter now, with a waver in his voice that said he was desperate to be let in. “Please.”

Resting my forehead gently against the door, I closed my eyes. The sound of him calling my name was the second most wonderful sound I’d ever heard, the first being my child’s heartbeat. I never knew hearing someone say my name could make me feel so at home. In a short amount of time, he had become the most important person in my life. My shaky fingers started to turn the lock, and I slowly opened the door. Peter lifted his head, facing me with those tender brown eyes and a look that conveyed so much relief. I inched back as he stepped inside, letting the screen door shut behind him.

I wrapped my arms around him and buried my face in his chest. He stood stiff for a few moments before I felt his strong arms slowly but surely wrap me in their protective embrace. I melted in exhaustion against his solid chest, not realizing there was a part of me longing for human touch. Even just a hug. His fingers slipped through the bottom of my hair, cradling the back of my head. All I could hear was our breathing and the steady beat of his pulse against my cheek. I wasn’t alone. A sudden but little movement inside me nudged the front of my stomach and he stepped back.

“Whoa.” He looked at my belly and back at me, then at my stomach again. “I-I forgot for a moment there’s a little human in there,” he admitted bashfully. “I wasn’t squishing her, right?” he asked, suddenly worried.

“No, she’s okay,” I reassured him.

He nodded, and a swallow passed through his throat, seemingly hesitant to act upon something. He glanced at me and then back at my stomach again, his expression softening the longer he looked.

“You can touch, if you want. My belly. I don’t mind.” My heart quickened from saying the words aloud.

He regarded me and looked back at my stomach, cautious. I stepped forward and took his hand, gently placing it over my belly. He kept his hand and body incredibly still as if any sudden movement could hurt me or the baby.

“Peter,” I said. His eyes quickly fell upon my face, not saying a word. “You’re not gonna hurt her. Okay?”

“ You sure?”

“Yes. I’m sure.”

He slowly laid his palm flat against my stomach. Though he seemed to be at ease, his body was anything but. For some reason, seeing him this way, at a loss for words, brought a small smile to my face. His thumb then started caressing the side of my stomach, anxiously waiting. His eyes were soft and warm.

“It’s a girl, right?”

“ Yeah.”

He looked down but not without smiling first. “A girl,” he repeated to himself in a whisper. A small nudge hit his palm, and he went completely still. His expression changed, joy alighting his eyes. Full of love and sweetness. “She moved. She really just moved,” he said in disbelief as tears welled in his eyes.

And that’s when I first saw it. It started at the right corner of his mouth and made its way to the other end. His full smile nearly made my heart leap. A part of me didn’t know what to do or say, but I knew I couldn’t hide the red on my cheeks. Though his smile dipped ever so slightly at the left corner, I was able to see every inch of its brilliance. Mama once said no gift is more precious than a smile. Anyone can afford it. And just as she said it would, that smile left me with an equally pleasing smile on my face as I soaked up the effects of it, like a saguaro in the heat of the summer, having its first taste of water after weeks of dehydration.

Peter placed both hands on either side of my belly, wanting the full experience now. As I watched him anxiously awaiting another movement, that’s when I felt it again. That glow. That warmth and the feeling of home. For a fleeting moment, I allowed myself to imagine what it would be like. If I were older. If I were his. And if he was the baby’s father.

“Okay, now she’s not moving. Maybe she doesn’t like me,” he said suddenly uneasy. “Or did I press too—?”

“You just have to talk to her. That’s all you have to do. A baby can remember your voice.”

“Talk to her, huh? What do I even say?”

“Anything you want.”

“Okay,” he began, carefully choosing his words. “Hi, baby. Nice to meet you.”

I bit my bottom lip, holding back a laugh. Peter shifted his stance and cleared his throat.

“Look, you better not plan to come out of there anytime soon. You gotta promise me that, okay? I’d rather not have your pretty mom here go into labor on the side of the road when she’s on one of her walks. That would be a bumpy ride, let me tell you. And ... I hope you know that I’m not gonna let anything bad happen to you or your mom,” he continued, caressing the sides of my stomach with his thumbs. “So yeah, that’s what I have to share. And the name’s Peter by the way. Not Pete, because apparently your mom here doesn’t like that. Why? I don’t know. And I’ll never know.”

“It sounds better.”

“Okay, but let’s not tell anybody. Alright, baby?” he said to my belly, unenthusiastically.

A nudge hit my stomach, and his face lit up again. Another soft bump hit the side of his hand. I was trying to find words, but I found none. I could only stare at him as he stood there in contented silence.

“She’s really moving in there. I didn’t think ... I didn’t think she’d do that for me.”

I looked down and ran my hand over the top of my belly, the swell of tears becoming difficult to resist. “I told you. If you talk to her enough, she’ll remember. I’ve always had this feelin’ that she’s gonna be really smart. I don’t know why, but I just do. I think she’s gonna do great things in this life. And I really don’t wanna mess it up for her. Like my mama did with me.?”

“Grace,” Peter said, and I lifted my head, realizing a tear had spilled down my cheek. I sniffled, wiping it away.

“What if I do?” I said. “What if I mess it up for her? What if I was wrong? To think that she was all I needed. That she’s gonna give me all the happiness I need. What if I was—?”

“Grace, you’re not supposed to know everything about raising a child yet. Even when you think you do, you don’t. You think any mother knew what she was doing in the beginning? You’re gonna have bad days. It’s okay. It’s normal. I should know. I’ve been having a lot of ’em.”

“My mother didn’t have bad days. She had bad years.” I wiped my face again and sniffled. “What if that’s me? What if I turn out just like her? She never asked for help, and I know I’m—?”

He closed the space between us, saying, “Grace, you’re not going to turn out like her.”

“And how do you know that? I don’t want to be. I don’t ever want to be like my mama.” I stifled a cry. Peter studied me intently with a slightly softer expression, not saying a word. My shoulders shook as the sobs finally broke free. “I really don’t want to be like my mama. I really don’t.”

He brought me into his arms, and I continued to cry. I didn’t mind the prickly stubble rubbing against my hair. Because at this moment, all I needed was the hold of his arms. My breathing and tears slowed, letting myself fully sink into him. We never uttered a word, nor did his grip ever loosen in the time we stood here. I’d forgotten how it felt to be held. I never wanted it to end. And I hoped that one day my baby girl would have someone to hold her like this.

Peter pulled back and placed both of his warm hands on my face. His thumbs carefully swept away the remaining tears.

For so long, I had imagined what it would be like for a man to hold my face. Not just any man. The one who would be the exception. All the times I spent daydreaming of what it would be like when and if it finally happened. That feeling of the tender brush of his lips pressing against my forehead. A feeling that felt so different than it had in my dreams. An act so simple and pure but a feeling so profound it had done the impossible. That little kiss on its own told me I was safe. That everything would be okay. It was a kiss that held a deep significance of something I hadn’t figured out yet. Something I didn’t want to let go of. My eyes opened. I looked to his face, to the rise and fall of his chest, and then his face again, unsure of whether to touch him. His hand then tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, his eyes still yet to meet mine.

“Peter,” I said as steady as I could.

“ Yeah?”

Our eyes stayed locked. I was completely enthralled by the way his gaze prevented me from pulling away. As if I was looking at a stranger I had always known. A thin line of fire danced just beneath the surface of my skin. Almost like laying in a bed of sand. Overwhelming me in the best possible way. There was a part of me that wondered if I should be terrified. But I remained still. Fluttery feelings tightened the muscles in the pit of my stomach.

“I-I need to use the bathroom.”

“Oh, right.” He stepped back. “S-sorry.” He tore his eyes away as though to clear his mind.

I raced to the bathroom.

I shut the door and let out a much-needed breath. My knees were like jelly. I shut my eyes, trying to compose myself. The rush of blood had warmed my belly and parts of myself that I never knew could feel this way. I’d heard about it countless times from Arlene with the talks we shared after my breasts grew. It was something I wished I had experienced with Mason and even convinced myself I had. But this time, I didn’t need any convincing to know it was real. I patted the back of my neck with a cool washcloth and closed my eyes one last time to recenter myself. Sometimes all it really took was a look, and the only way to cool the rising heat inside was to step away from the sun.

Knock. Knock.

I opened the door halfway and peeked my head between the crack.

“ Yeah?”

“Hey, I’m gonna git’ goin’. I just wanted to check on you to see if you were feelin’ okay.”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

He nodded and scratched his chin, glancing down at his feet. “Good. Good.” He cleared his throat. “Um, I was gonna ask you this the other day but ... I-It’s just an idea. You can say no. But I was gonna take a drive. Get away for a day or two, and I thought about ya and got to thinkin’ if, maybe, you’d like to go with me. Like for your birthday or somethin’. I know it was a couple days ago, and I don’t know if you got anything planned with Ray and Arlene, but I’d like to take you somewhere. Some place special to me. I think you’d like it. Again, y-you can say no.” Peter hesitated with red cheeks. “ I just—?”

“When are you goin’?”

“The day after tomorrow. The weather isn’t supposed to be bad that day. And I’d want to check the tires and whatnot.”

“ What time?”

He thought for a moment and stepped back, sticking his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Eight-thirty?”

“ Okay.”

Peter stood still and nodded. “Alrighty, then. Well, I’m gonna head out and get some things ready,” he said and gave me a lopsided smile. I stretched my neck further and watched him leave out the front door.