Page 86 of When There Was You
Butch smiles at the canine wistfully. “I got him for Emmy’s first birthday and named him Hemi so fast it would make your head spin.”
I do the math. They probably both needed this furry companion in those brutal early days when they became a father-daughter duo.
Emmy unglues her eyes from the TV. “Do you have a pet?” she asks.
I shake my head. “Unfortunately, they aren’t allowed where I live.”
She shrugs. “I could loan you one of my stuffed animals. They’re literally like pets, and real good company.” She squeezes her teddy bear for emphasis.
I hold back a chuckle at her use of the wordliterally. It sounds so grown up, and her misuse of it is even more endearing. “Might take you up on that.”
Turning to Butch, I ask, “Do you want to take the stuff I brought to your parents?”
“I’ll drop it off once you leave. They’re both down with the flu and are probably sleeping.” His fingers graze my arm in a gentle gesture. “Thank you again for doing that; it was thoughtful of you.”
I spend a few more hours with Butch and Emmy, finally relaxing enough to absorb their dynamic and the fact that Butch is a father.A father. It turns me inside out…and fills me with awe. Daddy Lumberjack loves with undiluted purity and a sure hand. It’s jarring—in a good way—and potent to witness.
I’m still on shaky ground when he kisses me goodbye, a kiss full of yearning and questions and possibility.
When we part, the angst in his expression adds to my own turmoil. Although uncertainty percolates beneath the surface, I squeeze his hand reassuringly…because I’m hopeful. Even though hope is foolish. And dangerous.
I also can’t process this fully until I’m alone. And I must, for clear and obvious reasons.
The avalanche hovering silentlyin the recesses of my mind descends before I’m even out of Hampton Springs. It’s unavoidable, smothering me with its blanket of icy reality as I’m bombarded with thought after thought.
A part of me absolutely wants to run from Butch and his daughter.
I know nothing about parenting. And I lack a roadmap. Plus, if my DNA is responsible, I’ve got no business dipping my toe into that pond.
I will not do to another what’s been done to me.
I. Will. Not.
But God help me, nothing in my heart wishes to turn away from that man.
We’ve developed intense feelings in a short time. I blame those late-night phone calls. We talk nearly every night, and it’s helped us know each other intimately—without convoluting it with sex…much. We’ve shared everything from the mundane to the serious to the sacred. And the laughs...Butch is funny. Insightful. Teasing. Kind. Sexy. Dirty. We’re friends, not just lovers.
And when wearetogether in the flesh, that’s damn fine, too. Off-the-charts delicious. It’s chemistry. Working in my favor for once.Or is it?
Can two people simply possess the molecular structure that scientifically latches onto one another…emitting those pheromones and leading nature by the nose?
Because despite my best efforts to buck a relationship, to avoid falling for another guy with devastatingly beautiful eyes, to keep the sex casual…here I am.
My gaze slides to the passenger seat, where a three-footstuffed lion sits. Emmy solemnly placed it into my hands before I left, saying she picked this “pet” because he matched my hair. She made not-so-idle threats about my caring for “Lucky” and reiterated he was a loaner, nothing permanent. A smile edges my lips at that precocious seven-year-old.
I’ve never spent time around kids. I’m too young for any of my friends to have children, and I basically grew up an only child. Which makes the prospect more frightening than it already is, like charging into the ocean before you know how to swim.
Is she going to be upset her daddy wants to spend time with me, taking time away from her? Will she become resentful if she thinks I’m trying to be a mother figure? A threat? What if she doesn’t like me? What if it disrupts the life they’ve carefully created?
I vaguely remember being young. Some father-daughter outings like miniature golf, A’s games, camping a few times. My mother was slowly receding by that point. And eventually, I fended for myself, preparing my own breakfasts and lunches and sometimes dinners, tidying the house, inventing imaginary friends, and attempting to fly above the gloom permeating our unhappy household.
Watching Butch and Emmy together blew my mind. Understanding dawns, and I inhale sharply as if I’ve poked a deep bruise.That’s what it’s supposed to be like. My tears trickle as I lament how more than anything, I wish my dad loved me the way Butch loves Emmy. Unconditionally and with enough affection to power the entire damn planet. She trusts him completely, respects him, throws herself into his arms without thought. They revolve around each other…a gravitational tether made of pure love.
I swipe at my wet cheeks, well aware I didn’t get that type of paternal love and never will. There’s no changing the fact, and no point succumbing to self-pity, even if justified.
I’m happy Emmy’s living a life where she’s cherished.And I like her already. She was friendly, welcoming, brave. I mean, she sentme—a strange woman—home with one of her beloved stuffed toys just to keep me “company.” Butchlovedthat. It guaranteed my return, and he likely perceived (correctly) that Emmy melted a chunk of my frozen heart. How could she not? She’s like a little ray of sunshine.
But the cold, hard truth remains.I can’t give away something I never received.It wouldn’t be fair to anyone. Butch and Emmy deserve a female presence that complements the love they already share…someone who embodies motherly instincts and intuitive behaviors, not some broken shell who probably needs therapy.
