“I just need you to be safe, Laine. I really need you to follow the rules.”
I nod. “I will. Cross my heart.”
He smiles such a sad smile. “I’ll love you, Laine, if you’ll let me. Hell knows, everyone needs someone to love them.”
My heart hurts.
My heart knows that feeling.
I feel my eyes well up, and the tears spill, letting the sadness in my heart tip all the way over. “I’ll love you, too, Nick. I’m so sorry about your little girl.”
He runs his thumb over my knuckles and for that moment I’m sure I see his eyes are watery too.
And then he moves, takes a breath and gets to his feet, and he’s in-control Nick again.
“Chicken for dinner,” he tells me. “I hope you like chicken.”
I tell him chicken sounds really good.Chapter TenNickLaine tries to smile as though everything is A-ok as I prepare dinner, but she’s thinking about Jane.
It’s a phenomenon I’m familiar with, once people find out about such a loss. One that has long since found me avoiding almost all mentions of my little girl’s name. It makes people feel awkward. Pity, sympathy… it’s a fine line between the two.
I don’t want either.
“It’s ok. You can talk about her,” I say as I peel the carrots.
She spins her empty juice class on the table top. “I just… I can’t imagine the pain…”
“Hopefully you won’t ever have to.” The peeler works so methodically. I lift my eyes from the growing pile of carrot sticks. “It was a long time ago.”
“Still,” she says. “It’s so horrible… it must’ve been…”
“Bad,” I say. “It was bad.”
I hope that will suffice. I have no desire to dredge up the long nights of misery, or the countless hours of therapy, or the emptiness Jane and Louisa’s passing left in my life.
“I’m so sorry,” she tells me, and I believe her. Those blue eyes glassy and melancholic, the sadness written all over her pretty face. “Is that why you rescued me? Because of Louisa?”
“No,” I say. “I rescued you because of you.”
She nods. “I’m so glad you did.”
“So am I.”
She smiles and it’s both sad and breath-taking. “What did she look like?” she asks. “Jane, I mean.”
I hesitate for just a moment, long enough to finish up a carrot and dig my wallet from my suit jacket. I flip it open and pull out the little picture. Jane’s sweet little grin, her blonde pigtails. So happy. She looks so blissfully happy on that photo.
Laine takes it from me with dainty fingers.
“She was so pretty. Such a beautiful little girl.”
“Yes, she was,” I say. “A tiny blonde angel.” I pause, staring at Laine staring at Jane. “Like you.” She hands me the photo and I slip it back inside my wallet. “Louisa was blonde, too.”
“Am I much like her?”
There’s something in her tone — a hint of breathlessness, and that awkwardness she conveys so well. Her sweet self-consciousness is addictive.
I know she must be as confused as I am, spiralling around the same dilemma, just trying to ride the currents.
Lover or little girl.
Louisa or Jane.
I feel her brain ticking. I see it in her eyes, just as I feel it behind mine.
“You remind me of her sometimes. Just a fleeting memory here and there.” I resume my peeling. “But you have an innocence Louisa didn’t.”
“Kelly Anne says I’m a prude, she says I’m a big baby. Innocence is dumb stupid, she says.”
“It’s a beautiful thing,” I tell her. “Very endearing.”
She smiles. “It is?”
“Very.” And then I know it’s time to lay it on the line. “Louisa wouldn’t let me take care of her, not in the way she needed. Not in the way I should’ve.”
Laine stares at me. “She wouldn’t?”
I shake my head. “I should’ve set the ground rules earlier. It would’ve kept her safe.” I laugh a sad laugh. “Should’ve, could’ve. Didn’t.”
“She didn’t let you?”
“Louisa was reckless, right from the beginning. Rebellious. Addicted to the highs of her earlier life, even if she despised the lows. She’d say not, but it was in her soul, that sense of devilment.”
“Rebellious,” she repeats, then lets out a little laugh. “Then we’re really not so similar at all. I barely even cross the road without a green light. Not unless Kelly Anne is involved.”
“Kelly Anne needs someone to show her a firm hand, Laine. Teach the girl to be a lot more considerate of others. She’ll get herself into trouble one day.” I pause. “Only now she won’t be dragging you into trouble’s path along with her. I won’t allow it.”
I wait for a reaction, for any sign of backlash, but none comes.
“Thanks,” she says. “For caring. It’s nice.”
I smile. “See if you still think that when you break one of the ground rules.”
Her expression doesn’t change, and I’m sure the implication has sailed over her head. “I won’t break them.” She grins. “I’ll be good.”