Chapter 8 – Beck
BECK
“Thanks for squeezing me in this morning.” I jiggle my knee while my fingers fidget in my lap. The scent of cucumber melon filling the small office triggers unwelcome memories of my mom to flicker into my mind.
My gaze takes a trip around the room, trying to look at anything but Dr. Sam Bailey.
The office is void of color. The couch is beige, her desk and chair are both white, the boho artwork on the walls vary in shades of ivory, white, and light beige.
My brain fixates on the wonder of why this is.
Maybe to avoid distracting her patients.
But it’s having the opposite effect on me.
“You’re welcome,” she replies. She crosses her legs in the white pants. Enough with the white already, I want to shout. But instead, I suck in a deep breath and release it. “You said it was urgent. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
“So…yeah,” I begin, though not really sure where to start, so I go back. “Remember when I told you about my wife and I…miscarrying?”
She nods, and her brunette hair pulled back in a smooth, tight ponytail moves with the gesture. “I do.”
I prop my ankle on top of my other thigh and rest my elbows across my legs so my fingers stop fidgeting. “It turns out…she didn’t.”
Dr. Sam tilts her head, her brows pinching together.
“Right?” I toss one of my hands up. “My reaction exactly.”
“So, you’re telling me she didn’t lose the baby?”
“Nope. And now, that baby is six. I have a daughter who is six. And my wife just showed up here with her. In Golden Harbor. And I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with this.
With her.” I shoot up to my feet and swipe a palm across my forehead.
I begin pacing the room, my brain scrambling when I know I should find something to focus on.
But maybe everything in this damn office shouldn’t be white.
“What you’re feeling right now is valid, Beck. These thoughts of confusion are expected when you receive news of this capacity.”
No shit, is what I want to say.
“Why don’t you sit back down and let’s explore these feelings you’re experiencing.”
I stop pacing and prop my clenched hands on my hips, looking at her. She’s here to help, to listen, I remind myself. “I don’t need you to placate me, Sam,” I grumble out.
I’ve been coming to see Dr. Sam Bailey for about four years. It took some badgering from Stella and my dad, which is ironic on its own. But if a guy like him, an abuser, an alcoholic, can come out on the other side, I figured there was hope for me.
“Fine.” She sits back in her chair. “Let’s get down to the nitty-gritty. For starters, that little phrase you mentioned that I couldn’t help but snag on.”
“Yeah? What’s that?”
“The wife phrase.” Her brows shoot up when my expression hardens and I don’t give her an explanation right away. “Beck, you’ve been coming to see me for years and not once during our sessions have you mentioned that you and Rosie are still married.”
I grunt.
“I want to help you, but if you keep things from me, you’re making it difficult for me to do so.”
“Guess I just forgot to mention it.” I finally drop back onto the couch and it’s so stiff it doesn’t even give out a little from my weight. “When did you get this couch?”
“I don’t know,” Dr. Sam answers, flustered. “A few weeks ago.”
I run my palm over the cushion. The material is soft, almost like velvet but faux velvet. “I liked the old one. It was more comfortable. And it was blue. It suited you better.”
“Beck.” She says my name on an exhaled sigh. “Let’s get back on topic. You and Rosie got married when you were twenty years old, and she left three years later. She’s been gone for seven years—why haven’t you two got divorced?”
It’s the same question Rosie asked. It’s the same question I ask myself.
“I don’t know, okay?” My voice rumbles in my chest and I shake my head as the regret slides through me. “Sorry. But…I don’t know. Maybe part of me held on to hope she’d come back and…we’d get back together.”
There’s a hum in the room. Maybe it’s the diffuser she’s got on a side table that’s emitting cucumber melon–scented vapor into the air. Maybe it’s the sound in my damn head.
“I think, deep down, you knew that wasn’t a possibility. You can’t expect to live happily ever after without putting in the work. You’ve got to communicate and go through the hard stuff if you want the reward of the good stuff. Of the good life.”
This is why I came to see Dr. Sam today. Because since Rosie left, she’s the only person to help me sift through my thoughts and make sense of them.
“So now she’s back, with my daughter…and she’s engaged.” I grind my molars.
Dr. Sam’s mouth pops open and a frown line appears between her brows. “That’s big news too. So not only did you learn you have a daughter, but that Rosie has moved on.”
I hunch my shoulders.
“Let me ask you a question.” She looks pointedly at me. “Do you want Rosie to be happy? To be satisfied in her life? Even if it means a life without you?”
That’s a loaded question, though she asks it like it’s anything but. There are many facets to an answer to a question like that. Of course I want Rosie to be happy. I guess I always thought—
“Say it out loud,” she instructs. “What you’re thinking, say it out loud.”
“Fine,” I growl. “Yes. Of course I want her to be happy. I just wanted to be the one she’d be happy with.”
“But if you two don’t end up together, will you be able to let her go?”
My skin itches below the surface and my knee starts jiggling again. My gaze swings toward the door and as my breathing quickens, I gulp down some air. But all I want is to run out that door.
“Beck?” she calls, her voice sounding distant.
I bring my attention back to her. “Fine. Yeah, I guess I have no choice but to let her go. If she thinks this rich douchebag can make her happy, who am I to stand in her way.”
“Good.” A small smile appears on her lips, and I can’t help but feel like she’s won, and I’ve somehow lost.
“But I didn’t ask to see you today because of Rosie. I mean…not really. I needed to see you because I have a daughter. And I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to do with her.”
Dr. Sam blinks at me.
“I didn’t mean it like that.” I push my finger and thumb into my eye sockets with too much force.
“I just mean…I don’t know how I’m supposed to react.
I don’t know what to do or say. And what if—?
” I stop talking while a thousand scenarios spin through my brain and my heart rate picks up.
“What if she doesn’t like me. Or worse—what if I don’t like her?
” I feel like an ass the second the words escape me.
Dropping my head, I scoot to the edge of the couch and contemplate my abrupt exit strategy again.
“Those concerns are justifiable. Having a child, being a parent, is a tremendous responsibility. And with your background, it’s rational to be apprehensive.”
Clasping my hands together, I rest my elbows on my knees and glance up at her.
“I never wanted to have kids.” Guilt rips through me.
“I mean, with my dad, my childhood…And Rosie didn’t think she could even have kids what with her medical condition.
But then she told me she was late, and the test was positive.
She had it confirmed by a doctor. And I was…
excited. We swore we were gonna be different than our parents.
We would be better.” My eyes burn as they gloss over. “I mourned that baby.”
There’s silence in the room, only that damn diffuser humming again.
“Now that you know, that she survived, what do you want to do with this information, Beck?”
I scratch at the scruff on my chin and sniff. “I think…I think I want to meet her. And maybe get to know her.” I shrug. “She looks like me. Maybe she has some of my other traits too.”
“I think that’s a good idea.”
I nod.
“I’m glad you asked to come see me today. And I think we should follow up next week.”
“Sounds good. Thanks.” I stand and make my way to the door, but then take a detour and yank the diffuser cord from the wall. “This isn’t a fucking Bath & Body Works,” I grit out.
Dr. Sam’s laugh trickles out the door after me.
My knees lock and I wipe my sweaty palm down the front of my pantleg while I stand on Dottie’s back porch, stalling. I loosen and tighten the grip on the stuffed mermaid doll in my hand. I purchased it from the Seashell Bookshop before I headed over here.
Glancing down at it, suddenly it doesn’t feel right. It doesn’t feel like enough. How do you show up to meet your daughter for the first time with only a doll?
The door creaks open, the result of saltwater air and time.
I startle, jerking my attention up, not knowing if it will be Rosie or the little girl.
My little girl. It’s Rosie who is standing in the open doorway.
She smiles and my racing heart stalls in my chest. And dammit, just her smile can help calm my rattled nerves.
But it doesn’t take away the years of anger and deep hurt I feel.
She tucks a strand of dark auburn hair behind her ear as she pushes the door open fully. “Come in.” It’s the same hair I’d once pushed my own fingers through, except it’s a bit darker, the red tone muted, and I’m not sure I like that.
She steps aside, allowing me to enter. Dottie’s home is filled to the brim with not only memories of her, but of my youth. Of Rosie and me. I glance around but don’t see any sign of Charlotte.
“I know I should’ve called first, but ya know, you should’ve told me I had a kid,” I say harshly, flicking her a stony look over my shoulder.
“Okay, guess we’re even then.” Even though I know it’s sarcastic, it still scrapes my skin.
“Not even close, honey,” I grit out, narrowing my eyes.
She folds her lips in, and sadness passes across her expression.
I nearly flinch at my cruelty. But I don’t. Any chance Rosie and I had at reconciling ended when she revealed the truth to me about this secret she’s been keeping.
“Where is she?” I glance around inside the cottage. Even though I’ve been here recently, having Rosie here too forces the memories to bleed into the present.
“She’s out on the front porch.”
I spin and head in the direction, not bothering to take off my boots. I can almost hear Dottie’s voice saying when you’re in my house, it’s a home. And shoes don’t belong in a home. My chest rumbles with each step I take, and my heart threatens to break free.
“Wait,” Rosie calls out, scampering behind me.
Heat fills my cheeks. “What?” I bark, whipping around. “What could you possibly have to tell me now?”
Her brows slant over glassy eyes. “Don’t you want to know what I’ve told her about you?”
Exhaling a long sigh, I run a palm over my stubbled face.
The ocean peeks through the slice of the open front door.
It’s like a calming reminder in this chaotic moment.
I do have questions. A lot of questions.
But my guess is, that little girl out there has more.
And my feelings don’t matter as much as hers.
“No,” I finally reply. “Because it doesn’t matter. I just want to meet my daughter.”
“Yeah, okay,” she agrees, shaking her head and fidgeting with the cuffs of the sleeves of the yellow sweater she’s wearing. “Did you want me to leave you two alone?”
“Something tells me she’d be more comfortable with you there, and so what I want doesn’t matter.” Gesturing my chin for her to follow me, I turn and step through the open door.
Charlotte is lying on the porch swing, coloring.
The sight of the swing hits me like a blow to the chest. There were many makeout sessions with Rosie on that spot.
Many late-night conversations, sunset gazing, tears shed.
It’s the place I proposed—the first time.
And it’s the place Rosie told me she was bleeding and cramping, and we assumed we lost the baby.
Now I’m standing here, nearly seven years later, and staring at the very baby I thought I’d lost. The one I mourned. Alone. Because my wife left me.
The irony is not lost on me. That I’d meet Charlotte here. That she’d learn I’m her father in this place. It’s a full-circle moment for my and Rosie’s relationship.
I push away the nerves threatening to unravel me. “Hey, there, Charlotte,” I mumble.
The little girl glances up at me, her crayon stilling in her hand. She gives me a curious look. A slight frown appears on her face.
“Charlie,” I quickly correct myself, remembering she prefers the nickname over her given name. That grants me a smile which eases my anxiety somewhat. “Um, hey, do you remember me? From yesterday?”
She bobs her head and sits up, crossing her legs. “From the park.”
“Yeah, that’s right. I’m Beck.”
Her gaze drops to the stuffed mermaid in my sweaty hand. “Is that for me?”
“Charlotte,” Rosie hisses from behind me.
“No, no, it’s all right.” I wave off Rosie. “Yeah. I got it at the bookshop. Do you like mermaids?” I offer it to her.
She pats it, probably wondering why it’s damp, but hugs it to her chest anyway. “I love them. Thank you!”
“You’re welcome.” I exhale a shaky breath, the tension rolling off my shoulders a little. The sound of seagulls squawk, reminding me why I’m here. “Mind if I sit?”
Charlie shakes her head and scoots over to give me more space.
Rosie leans against the porch railing across from us. “Charlie, Beck has something really important he wants to talk to you about.”
I smile at Charlie, taking an extra moment to admire this little girl who has my shade of brown eyes and my dimpled chin.
Here goes nothing.