Pocketful of Sand
Page 62
They invited me over for dinner tonight. The table is set and Eden is waiting for the bread to finish baking. Emmy has been on the floor drawing since I got here. Everyone from doctors to nurses to Eden and me were all amazed and grateful that she had no neurological deficits of any kind. Your rapid response, getting her out of the water and starting resuscitation immediately, are to thank for that. A few minutes longer and she might not be here today.
I shudder to think what that might have felt like. I know I couldn’t stand it again. And Eden…it would’ve destroyed her world. And that would’ve even further destroyed mine.
All of a sudden, Emmy hops up and walks a picture over to me, holding it out for me to take. “Is this for me?” I ask. She nods.
There are eight hands, each at a different place around a sandcastle. The positioning is a little clumsy, but for a six year old, it’s amazingly accurate and detailed. I can easily make out what it is.
I slide off my kitchen chair and squat down in front of her, intent on thanking her. But before I can, she surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck. Hesitantly, I curl my arms around her thin body and hold her to me. She doesn’t move or wriggle or seem uncomfortable. She just squeezes me as tightly as her little arms will allow.
When she lets me go, she puts her thumb in her mouth. “Thank you, Emmy. This is beautiful.”
She watches me intently, then, after a few seconds, she reluctantly takes her thumb out and surprises me even more. By speaking her first words to me.
“Do you know who they are?” she asks.
I hear Eden gasp behind me. I don’t have to turn to know that she has tears in her eyes or to know that she’s wearing a breathtaking smile. One, I’m sure, is hidden by hands covering her mouth. I can picture her standing in the kitchen behind me as clearly as I can see the drawing Emmy made for me, held between my hands.
“No, who are they?” I answer.
She points to the two bigger pairs of hands. “These are yours and Mom’s,” she explains. “These are mine. And these are your little girl’s.” Shyly, she raises her eyes to mine. She’s standing so close and staring so deep, I can count every darker green fleck around the center of her irises. I smile. I don’t say anything for several seconds. I don’t quite trust myself to speak yet.
“We’re all four building a sandcastle,” I surmise when my voice feels steadier.
“Like a family.”
I nod to her. I can see her clenching her toes in the rug. She’s nervous.
“Like a family. I love it, Emmy.”
She doesn’t say anything else; she just turns and runs off, leaving me a little mystified as to what I did to make her go. She comes running back, just as fast, a few seconds later, though, and something is dangling from her hands.
She stops in front of me to sift through the necklaces, taking the longer, thicker one from the clutch of chains she holds. “This one is yours,” she says, holding it out to me. It’s a dog-tag type chain, and at the end of it swings a clear hourglass filled with sand. “We made them for us. So you don’t have to put sand in your pocket anymore. You can have it with you all the time. Even at the grocery store.”
I glance back at Eden. Her eyes are shining. Obviously she shared my pocketful of sand with Emmy. I don’t mind. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of or try to hide.
I slip the chain over my head as Emmy pulls hers on, too. It’s shorter and thinner, as is Eden’s, who comes to get hers next. Emmy picks up her hourglass, kisses it and then trots off to the living room to watch her cartoons.
I turn toward Eden when she speaks. I’m still marveling at the sand, something that’s so special to me, trapped safely within the little vial. “The night after I brought her home, she told me that she’d gone to your house for help, but that you weren’t home so she decided to hide in the shadows along the surf until it was safe. I guess the water was colder than she thought and she…” Eden’s voice trails off on a choking sound and I pull her into my arms. I know it will take time for the shock, for that kind of fear to leave her unshaken. When she collects herself, she leans back and looks up into my eyes. “She wanted to go back to the beach yesterday. She said she wasn’t afraid of the sand, that it was where we met you and your little girl. Sh-she didn’t want you to forget either of them, so she wanted to make these for us.”
Tears well in her eyes again and I kiss her forehead. “I could never forget either of them. Charity was a part of me. She always will be, but Emmy has wormed her way into my heart, too. I want her in my life. Her and you,” I tell her carefully.
I glance behind me at Emmy then I swing my gaze back to Eden. “Can I stay for a while tonight? So we can talk? After Emmy goes to bed?”
Eden’s smile is small, but happy. “Of course.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. In my mind, I make a list of all the things I want to tell her, all the things I want to say. Like that I told Brooke that it was over. Like that I want to start over with her and Emmy. Like that I just ask for one day at a time, so we can learn and grow and do this the right way. So that I don’t screw it up. I feel like I’ve got a second chance at life and I want to make this work. For Emmy. For Eden. For me. For my daughter. She’d want me to be a better person for Emmy. She was amazingly generous like that. Nothing will ever make me stop loving her. Or missing her. Or wishing that things could’ve been different. But she will always be alive in my heart. In my soul. I’ll never let her go or replace her. I can only prove to her, every single day, that she made me a better man. That knowing her and loving her made me the kind of man who could deserve her. If I had her back again.
I shudder to think what that might have felt like. I know I couldn’t stand it again. And Eden…it would’ve destroyed her world. And that would’ve even further destroyed mine.
All of a sudden, Emmy hops up and walks a picture over to me, holding it out for me to take. “Is this for me?” I ask. She nods.
There are eight hands, each at a different place around a sandcastle. The positioning is a little clumsy, but for a six year old, it’s amazingly accurate and detailed. I can easily make out what it is.
I slide off my kitchen chair and squat down in front of her, intent on thanking her. But before I can, she surprises me by throwing her arms around my neck. Hesitantly, I curl my arms around her thin body and hold her to me. She doesn’t move or wriggle or seem uncomfortable. She just squeezes me as tightly as her little arms will allow.
When she lets me go, she puts her thumb in her mouth. “Thank you, Emmy. This is beautiful.”
She watches me intently, then, after a few seconds, she reluctantly takes her thumb out and surprises me even more. By speaking her first words to me.
“Do you know who they are?” she asks.
I hear Eden gasp behind me. I don’t have to turn to know that she has tears in her eyes or to know that she’s wearing a breathtaking smile. One, I’m sure, is hidden by hands covering her mouth. I can picture her standing in the kitchen behind me as clearly as I can see the drawing Emmy made for me, held between my hands.
“No, who are they?” I answer.
She points to the two bigger pairs of hands. “These are yours and Mom’s,” she explains. “These are mine. And these are your little girl’s.” Shyly, she raises her eyes to mine. She’s standing so close and staring so deep, I can count every darker green fleck around the center of her irises. I smile. I don’t say anything for several seconds. I don’t quite trust myself to speak yet.
“We’re all four building a sandcastle,” I surmise when my voice feels steadier.
“Like a family.”
I nod to her. I can see her clenching her toes in the rug. She’s nervous.
“Like a family. I love it, Emmy.”
She doesn’t say anything else; she just turns and runs off, leaving me a little mystified as to what I did to make her go. She comes running back, just as fast, a few seconds later, though, and something is dangling from her hands.
She stops in front of me to sift through the necklaces, taking the longer, thicker one from the clutch of chains she holds. “This one is yours,” she says, holding it out to me. It’s a dog-tag type chain, and at the end of it swings a clear hourglass filled with sand. “We made them for us. So you don’t have to put sand in your pocket anymore. You can have it with you all the time. Even at the grocery store.”
I glance back at Eden. Her eyes are shining. Obviously she shared my pocketful of sand with Emmy. I don’t mind. It’s nothing I’m ashamed of or try to hide.
I slip the chain over my head as Emmy pulls hers on, too. It’s shorter and thinner, as is Eden’s, who comes to get hers next. Emmy picks up her hourglass, kisses it and then trots off to the living room to watch her cartoons.
I turn toward Eden when she speaks. I’m still marveling at the sand, something that’s so special to me, trapped safely within the little vial. “The night after I brought her home, she told me that she’d gone to your house for help, but that you weren’t home so she decided to hide in the shadows along the surf until it was safe. I guess the water was colder than she thought and she…” Eden’s voice trails off on a choking sound and I pull her into my arms. I know it will take time for the shock, for that kind of fear to leave her unshaken. When she collects herself, she leans back and looks up into my eyes. “She wanted to go back to the beach yesterday. She said she wasn’t afraid of the sand, that it was where we met you and your little girl. Sh-she didn’t want you to forget either of them, so she wanted to make these for us.”
Tears well in her eyes again and I kiss her forehead. “I could never forget either of them. Charity was a part of me. She always will be, but Emmy has wormed her way into my heart, too. I want her in my life. Her and you,” I tell her carefully.
I glance behind me at Emmy then I swing my gaze back to Eden. “Can I stay for a while tonight? So we can talk? After Emmy goes to bed?”
Eden’s smile is small, but happy. “Of course.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. In my mind, I make a list of all the things I want to tell her, all the things I want to say. Like that I told Brooke that it was over. Like that I want to start over with her and Emmy. Like that I just ask for one day at a time, so we can learn and grow and do this the right way. So that I don’t screw it up. I feel like I’ve got a second chance at life and I want to make this work. For Emmy. For Eden. For me. For my daughter. She’d want me to be a better person for Emmy. She was amazingly generous like that. Nothing will ever make me stop loving her. Or missing her. Or wishing that things could’ve been different. But she will always be alive in my heart. In my soul. I’ll never let her go or replace her. I can only prove to her, every single day, that she made me a better man. That knowing her and loving her made me the kind of man who could deserve her. If I had her back again.
