39. Jessica
August, Present Day
Maple Ridge
I examinethe beautiful work of art on my forearm. The pink hydrangea and a couple of forget-me-nots poke up from the opening of the tulip shell. The shell was one of Amelia’s favorites.
“It’s gorgeous,” I gush to Taylor, my mouth tilting into a wide grin. “Thank you! I can’t get over just how incredible it looks. It’s even better than I was hoping for.”
Taylor smiles, her chair facing mine. “I’m glad you like it.”
“I love it! Thank you so much. It means everything to me.” The tattoo doesn’t erase the pain of losing Amelia, but it does symbolize how much I love her.
Craig and Grace can keep me from my daughter, but they can’t take away my love for her.
Taylor touches my arm, the gesture tender. “I’m so sorry for your loss, Jess. I can’t imagine what it’s like to lose a child like you did.”
My smile wavers, my hold on it loosening. “Thanks.”
“Do the protesters know you have a daughter? Maybe they wouldn’t act the way they are if they knew the truth.”
“I doubt it would make a difference.”
She releases a long huffed-out sigh. “I guess you’re right. It’s no different than social media. You post something positive or reveal your greatest hurts in hope it will help someone else, and the trolls find a way to tear you apart.” She pushes to her feet and starts to clean up the area.
“Exactly. There are times when I feel sorry for them. Their lives must be so dark since they feel the need to poison anything good. It must be exhausting living with that much hate.” I saw enough anger and hatred while in prison to last me several lifetimes.
Taylor pauses cleaning up and stares at me for a second. “You really are amazing, Jess. I wish those protesters had a chance to know the real you. Maybe then enough of them would stand up for you instead of hiding behind their cloak of ignorance.”
“Me too. Maybe one day that will change.” I hope it will, but I also can’t see that happening any time soon. World War II ended more than seven decades ago and there’s plenty of evidence of the Holocaust, yet anti-Semitic views still exist, and there are those who claim the Holocaust is a hoax.
All these years later and ignorance remains an issue.
“Maybe that’s the problem.” Taylor’s gaze drops to the table top my forearm was resting on a short while ago. “Your friends, those of us who believe in you…why aren’t we in front of your house, protesting the protesters?”
“Because you respect my neighborhood more than the protesters do. You don’t want to feed the trolls. And you shouldn’t. I doubt staging a counter protest would solve the problem. It might make things worse.” I sink back in the chair. “There are times when a counter protest is a good thing. This isn’t one of them.”
The counter protest might only encourage more protesters to come out, making the situation worse.
“You might be right about that.” Taylor releases another frustrated sigh.
She drives us home to Maple Ridge. The number of protesters outside my house has diminished compared to before my little rant yesterday. I don’t know if my words actually reached some of them or if they grew bored waiting for me after I left this morning with Taylor.
She pulls into my driveway, and I hug her. “Thank you again. For everything.”
Her arms tighten around me. “You’re welcome. And I hope once all the stupidity ends, I’ll see you at Barside with Troy and everyone.”
I promise her I’ll eventually be there, and I get out of her car. I wave goodbye and hurry to the backyard gate.
Zara’s sitting at the wrought-iron table on the patio, looking at something on her phone. Shadows from the oak tree dapple a pattern on the ground near her feet and paint the back half of a snoozing Bailey. A white box from Picnic Treats rests on the table.
I push open the gate. At the sound of the creaking hinges, Zara’s and Bailey’s heads pop up. Zara smiles. “I have a special delivery for you.” She taps the side of the white box.
Bailey waits with her limited puppy-patience for me to call her, her wide eyes pleading for me to say the magic words. “Bailey. Come.” She bounds over to me and laps up my attention. I laugh. “Yes, I missed you too.”
“Let’s see your tattoo!” Zara strides toward us. Bailey and I join her at the edge of the patio. “Simone dropped Bailey off when I told her I was coming here since you were on your way home,” Zara explains.
Simone had texted me a short time ago to also tell me that.
“Thank you.” I lift my arm for Zara to see. The clear film clinging to my skin allows her to see the colorful design underneath.
“That’s incredible…and so beautiful. I know Taylor is a talented artist. I just didn’t realize the depths of her talents.”
We walk to the table, and I open the white box. Inside is a small cake covered with white, rolled fondant and decorated with flowers and butterflies.
“Oh, that’s perfect!” The words fly from me on a gasp. “Thank you for doing this on such short notice.”
“Keshia was thrilled to make it for you.”
“Does she know why I want it?” I’m trying to keep the number of people who know I have a daughter to a minimum.
“No. And she didn’t ask any questions. Also, I’ve texted Garrett to send Troy here once they get to the cabins.”
“Did you tell him why?”
“No. I told him it wasn’t an emergency, so he doesn’t give Troy a heart attack.”
“Good thinking.” Knowing Troy, he’d rush back, thinking I’m in great danger. His protective nature seems to kick into overdrive when he’s been away for the weekend.
Zara leaves, and I let Bailey and myself into the house. I place the cake on the kitchen counter and collect my laptop from my bedroom.
I pause for a heartbeat inside my bedroom door, and then walk into the closet. I pull down from the top shelf the wooden box with the lotus carved in it. The box I bought at the festival in June. The box where I keep the few things of Amelia’s I still have.
I sit on my bed, open the lid, and remove the items one by one. Amelia’s baby shoe with tiny pink flowers painted on the white canvas. Her teeny-tiny sleeper with cute pink hearts all over it from Granny. Her birth announcement. And the only three print photos I have of her—when she was nine months, twenty months, and five years old.
I look at them for several minutes until tears make it impossible to see them anymore. I put them away in the box, return it to my closet shelf, and go downstairs.
* * *
A loud rappingon the back door jerks my attention from the laptop. I’d been so absorbed in writing Angelique’s story, I hadn’t realized the time. I’ve been writing for almost an hour.
I turn off the laptop and let Troy in. It’s obvious from the moment I open the door that Garrett didn’t tell Troy it’s not an emergency. He looks as if he’s gone through hell to get here…or spent the weekend camping. Dirt and sweat are smudged on his handsome face.
“Did Garrett tell you it isn’t an emergency?” I ask, wincing on the inside. “I’m fine. Nothing happened. I just wanted to see you.”
“Yes, he did mention something like that.” Troy pulls me into his arms, and his mouth catches mine.
I sink into his kiss, his arms, his love, and momentarily forget everything else. He smells of sweat and mountains and campfire. He smells of home.
My tongue swirls against his, letting myself feel his love with each stroke of his tongue. Sending him my unspoken love with each flick, each taste of mine. His fingers slip under the hem of my T-shirt, sending a burst of longing through me. Damn. I’ve missed this. Missed him.
After what could be a few minutes or a few hours, we finally come up for air.
“How long can you stay before you’re due back at the cabins?” I don’t want to take him away from his weekend responsibilities.
“About an hour. The men will be showering. Which reminds me.” He grins that sexy one-sided smile that always leaves my body tingling. “I could use a shower. You wanna join me?”
He gives me a once-over as if he’s imagining me naked in the shower, soapsuds sliding down my wet body. The tip of his tongue trails along his lush lower lip, and his gaze lands on my newly tattooed forearm.
He lifts my arm. “You got inked?” His husky voice sounds impressed, and a little surprised, and mostly turned-on.
“I did. For Amelia. It’s her birthday today. I wanted something that symbolizes the day.” And her.
And just like that, Troy’s elated emotions from a moment ago flatline and his eyes narrow. “Is that a good idea? What with you dealing with your brother-in-law and his wife’s decision about you not being part of her life?”
I jerk my arm away. “It’s the perfect idea. I’m not her mother anymore.” The words burn my throat, sear my soul. “But she’ll always be part of me. This way I can make sure she’s always with me.”
I lift the lid on the Picnic Treats box. “I also got a birthday cake to celebrate the day.”
Troy opens his mouth to say something. I put my finger on his lips, stopping the words before they can form. “I can’t just forget I gave birth to her, any more than Simone can forget she had a daughter. I know that’s hard for you to understand, but that’s the way it is.”
He grunts out a sigh. “I don’t expect you to forget. And you’re right. I don’t understand. But I’m trying to.”
“Good. Then let me do this without you or anyone else judging me.”
“I’m not judging you. I just don’t want to see you get hurt more than you already are.”
“I know, but you need to let me heal in whatever way I can and be there for me. That’s all I’m asking. That, and to share this day with me. I’m not sure I can survive it without you.”
He sweeps his thumb along my cheek, the frustration in his expression melting away. “I can do that. So, why the flowers and shell?”
“The tulip shell was one of Amelia’s favorites. The hydrangea represents love and family. They’re pink because that was her favorite color. And well, I don’t think I need to explain the forget-me-nots.”
Troy chuckles, the warm sound vibrating through me, wrapping my heart in love. “Yeah, that part is self-explanatory. It’s beautiful. Just like Amelia’s mother.” He lightly presses his lips to mine, pulls away, and peers inside the box. “Are you putting birthday candles on the cake?”
“No. Amelia isn’t here to blow them out and make a wish. So, I didn’t see a point in putting candles on the cake. And we don’t need to sing “Happy Birthday” either. But we do get to eat the cake.”
“Shower first?” His eyes go dark, and his mouth curls in the way it always does when he’s thinking about being buried inside me.
Heat burns low in my belly. I slide the tip of my tongue along my lower lip, already thinking about the taste of him, and nod. “Shower first.”
* * *
Our hair is dampwhen we come downstairs forty minutes later, freshly showered and freshly fucked. And then freshly showered again.
I lift the cake from the box. Troy grabs two plates and a knife and places them on the granite countertop.
I take the knife from him and rest the blade on the smooth icing. “Happy Birthday, Amelia. I hope you had a wonderful day, and I hope all your birthday wishes come true.” I cut into the cake and put two slices onto the plates.
I dig my fork into my slice and take a bite of the three-layered, raspberry-and-vanilla cake. It practically dissolves in my mouth, and I moan. “God, this has to be the best birthday cake I’ve ever had.”
Troy eats a bite of his. “It is good. I’ll have to get Nova one for her next birthday.”
An image flashes in my mind of Troy celebrating Nova’s birthday with her and Olivia. A happy family. With kids and a wife and their dog.
I stuff another piece of cake into my mouth, unable to look at Troy, my gaze on my tattoo.
I can’t go through that heartbreak again.
I can’t have another child at the risk of losing her.
I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.