29
VIVIEN
Hours pass peacefully, and I can’t explain what happened. All I know is I feel more at peace within myself than I have felt in months. “Mommy! Come and swim with me,” Easton pleads from his position on top of Dillon’s shoulders. He’s been taking turns diving off all his uncles’ shoulders, and I’m sure his skin is wrinkled by this point—he’s been in the water so long.
“I’m coming.” I stand, removing my glasses and placing them on the lounger. I feel Dillon’s eyes on me as I pull my hair into a messy bun on the top of my head. I’m wearing a one-piece black and gold bathing suit that is the most modest suit I own. Usually, I wear bikinis, but I didn’t want to see my scar today and be reminded even more of my loss. By the way Dillon stares at me as I enter the pool, you’d swear I was naked. I’m uncomfortable with the intensity of his attention today, and I don’t want to feel the way he makes me feel.
Desirable.
Horny.
Alive.
Like my skin is on fire in every spot where his gaze lands.
Like I might die if I don’t feel his hands on me right now.
It feels wrong to feel like this, today of all days, and I wish he’d cut it out.
Water laps at my legs and thighs as I move farther into the pool, and the cool sensation is a welcome balm to my hot skin. “Yay, Mommy’s here.” Easton launches himself off Dillon’s shoulders, plunging into the pool, drenching me all over. Dillon chuckles. Jamie grins, and Ro is rather expressionless as they wade by, exiting the pool to leave us alone.
I really wish they wouldn’t.
“He’s a little nutter,” Dillon says as E bursts through the surface, splashing water droplets everywhere.
He throws himself at me, winding his little legs around my waist and his arms around my neck, as he plasters kisses to my face. “This is so fun.” He fixes me with a toothy grin, and my heart melts. I live for these moments. I love seeing him happy and carefree without any lingering grief. Then he’s gone again, diving under the water like a fish. We had an instructor come to the house when Easton was a baby, and by the time he was one, he was a bona fide expert in the pool.
“Yes. I wonder where he got that from?” I respond to Dillon’s comment in a teasing tone, and it’s good to be able to acknowledge the traits I see in E that belong to Dillon without feeling guilty or sad. “He’s always been a little wild, but he’s disciplined too, and he never gave Reeve or I any trouble.”
“I have it on good faith that a certain Hollywood princess was a little wild when she was younger.” Dillon waggles his brows.
“Lies. All lies,” I protest, ducking down so my shoulders are fully submerged under the water.
Dillon mirrors my position as we watch Easton resurfacing. “I remember a story about someone climbing a tree and falling off and breaking her arm.”
I smile at the memories. The original one, where Reeve caught me and injured himself. And the more recent one when I was sitting at the busy table in the O’Donoghues’ house telling them who I was. “I guess I was a little wild,” I say, treading water. “It’s a miracle Easton isn’t completely reckless.”
“I think that must’ve been Reeve’s calming influence.”
I stare at him as if he’s sprouted another head.
“You told me enough about him to know he wasn’t a rule breaker,” Dillon explains.
“If you had asked me in school, I would’ve agreed completely. But later, not so much.” I’m still shocked Reeve turned to cocaine and other uppers during that awful period of our history.
“Do you have photo albums I could see?” he asks as we move around the water. East is swimming a few laps, babbling away to himself, seemingly content to be by himself while Dillon and I talk.
“You’ve already seen everything I have, and that reminds me. The prints I ordered for you are due to arrive next week.” Dillon wanted to see every picture we had of Easton from the time he was born. We have hundreds of digital photos, which I gave him on a USB stick, but I always print out family photos and put them in albums. My parents did that for me, and I like to think I’m starting a tradition. One of my favorite things to do as a little girl was sit down with Mom and go through them.
“I meant albums of Reeve,” Dillon clarifies.
I twist my head to look at him, frowning. “Why would you want those?”
“I want to get to know the real Reeve.” He runs his tongue over his teeth. “My therapist thinks it will help.”
“I have albums I can show you.” I’m not sure I’ll be able to look at them, but who knows, maybe they will help me too.
“Great.”