“Noel, I—”
“Mama?” Our daughter’s sleepy voice makes us both take a step back.
She tucks her little chin, and her fist clenches, sliding around the bed where I should be lying beside her. “Mamma? What’s happening?”
Taron looks at me like he’s not sure what to do.
“Just go,” I say before climbing into the bed and sliding down beside her.
I scoot her closer to my chest as I hear him quietly slipping out my window. Tucking my chin, I kiss the top of her head, curling my body around hers and letting the tears stream silently down my cheeks.
I tell myself I’m not doing this again. I remind myself how far I’ve come…
I don’t need him to be happy. I don’t belong to him anymore.
It takes more effort this time, but I calm my breathing. I put him aside once more, put him back in the box where he belongs and fall asleep.
24
Taron
Sitting on the floor, my back against the double bed, I read and reread the words she’d written, erased, rewritten, scratched out…
Never sent.
Every word twists a knife of pain deeper in my gut.
Dear Taron,
I still love you…
Dear Taron,
Is there a time-limit on forgiveness? If there is, I haven’t reached it…
Dear Taron,
I should have told you this a long time ago…
When did she write them? Why did she never send them? Scrubbing my forehead with my fingers, I wonder if she might possibly still have any of these feelings…
How could she after what I did?
My eyes squeeze shut. Remembering myself back in those days is like pouring acid on an open wound. I was so fucked up for so long. Sometimes I wasn’t sure if I’d live to see another day. Sometimes I wasn’t sure I deserved to.
I sure as hell didn’t deserve Noel Aveline LaGrange.
An email from Sawyer actually gave me the push I needed to drag my ass to get help. He probably doesn’t even remember it. Looking back, it was one of those random messages we’d send on occasion, just letting each other know we were still alive, still hanging in there.
Another harvest has ended, and I’m tired but happy. It’s hard work, and in the past, before it all, I would’ve taken something like this for granted.
Now I realize another day is the best we get, another chance to try again…
He’d included a photo of the hills covered in trees with the sun going down, and I realized he did see them. That morning we’d driven together, I’d wondered if he’d ever even looked at the beauty around him. Maybe he didn’t then, but he does now.
I knew then this was the only place I would find what I needed. I decided if I could get myself clean, I’d come back here. If I could stay clean long enough to know I wouldn’t hurt her again, I’d try one more time to deserve her.
Tracking her on the Internet became an obsession. Her products would sell out on her website, and I’d wait for her to announce a restock, picturing her working, wondering if she was in her bedroom or in the kitchen.
Closing my eyes at night, I’d see Akela at the foot of the bed. I’d see Noel sitting on the floor in front of the laptop watching a how-to video or making notes. Some nights, if I was lucky, I’d feel her in my arms.
It was the hardest battle I’d ever fought. Physically, I thought I was dying. Mentally, I didn’t believe I would succeed.
Now, looking at her swirly handwriting on these sheets of paper, I wonder if they would have made a difference. I wonder if knowing she still loved me, that she might forgive me, would have made it harder or easier.
I wonder what I would have done if I’d known about Dove…
Lying on my back in the bed, I know I can’t rewrite the past. I can only start where I am and try to make the future better.
I’m here now. I’m in this place, and I’ve got to try.
Before the alarm even sounds, I’m out of bed, pulling on my jeans, shoving my feet into my boots, and slipping the shirt over my head. I give my teeth a quick brush. It’s not as cool this morning, but Thanksgiving’s coming, then Christmas… Noel’s birthday.
Akela greets me halfway to the house, lifting her front legs and doing a happy hop. I give her head a quick rub before stopping at the back steps.
Watching Noel through the door before she even knows I’m here has always been my favorite part of the morning. She’s in gray sweats and a long-sleeved tee, and her pretty dark hair hangs in waves down her back.
Our pint-sized pixie sits on the counter beside her. “Why don’t you like pageants, Mamma?” Dove frowns, seeming very focused on stirring whatever’s in the bowl she holds.
“It’s not that I don’t like them. I just think they’re silly.” My eyes are drawn to Noel’s cute little ass as she bends forward into the refrigerator, standing with a fresh carton of eggs in her hand. I wait until she puts them down this time, feeling a hint of a grin as I remember what happened last time she saw me.
“It’s like sticking a blue ribbon on one of those pigs at the state fair.” She finishes, breaking eggs one after another into a bowl.
“I’m not a pig.” Dove’s nose scrunches.
“No, you’re not.” Her mother taps that nose. “You’re my little dove. Now give me that batter. You’ve stirred it enough.”
She shifts on the counter, turning her back to me. “But I want to be Princess Peach.”
It appears safe, so I open the door. “Morning, ladies.”
Noel’s eyes fly to mine, and she blinks away quickly, turning to face the stove. “Morning.”
“Need some help?” My voice is quiet, and I enter slowly, as if I’m approaching a wounded animal.
“Taron!” Dove scoots around to face me, and I catch a small frown on Noel’s lips. I told Dove to call me Taron… I didn’t know what else to do—yet. “Mamma says pageants are like putting ribbons on pigs, but I want to be Princess Peach. What do you think?”
She blinks those bright eyes up at me expectantly, and I’m stumped. “Ah… Well. You’re very pretty.” That makes her smile. “What will you do for talent?”
I’m guessing they have talent. Don’t all pageants have talent?
“Dance like Angelina Ballerina.” She wobbles her little head at me like Duh. “Do you watch Angelina Ballerina?”
“I can’t say I have—”
“Come on.” She picks up the brown stuffed mouse lying on the bar beside her and scoots into my arms. Sitting on my hip, she points to the living room. “We can watch the one with Mr. Operatski while Mamma makes us breakfast.”
I hold her. I really like having her so comfortable in my arms, but I wonder what I’ve gotten myself into with this pageant thing.
Noel saves me. “Dove, Taron needs to help with the hoecakes. You can watch Angelina while we talk.”
Her little shoulders droop, but she wiggles out of my arms. “Okay.” She huffs, prancing through the door and into the other room.
I hear the sound of harps and flutes, and I watch for a second as she swings her arms side to side and twirls, kicking her leg straight out behind her.