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“Thank you.” Her voice cracks as she tries to hide her emotions.
Nodding, I let the interaction go because I can see she’s bothered by something. Glancing back over the drawing she gave me, I wasn’t kidding when I told her this was good. She’s got an artistic talent brewing inside of her. “This for him?” I look down to see he’s loosened his hold on her leg some but not completely. She nods. “You want these carved in?” I trace the mountains and trees with a finger as she nods again. The clock will be a talked-about piece, and not because of my handiwork, but because of the details she’s included in it. “How big do you want it?” Small isn't an option with the moon and stars and small woodland creatures.
“I was sort of hoping you’d advise me on that. I don’t know anything other than drawing. You’re the wood expert.” Quirking a brow at her choice of words, her ruddy blush suggests she knows what she said, and it wasn’t intended.
“I think, in this case, bigger is better. Christmas gift?” Placing the paper down, I give her my full attention.
“Yes. We’re moving in January, and I wanted him to have something to remember home by. The mountains are his favorite place.” The deep-seated sadness hanging on her shoulders can be felt around the room.
“Where you moving to?” The boy has caught my attention as he steps away from Ema a bit, still holding onto her pant leg with an iron fist.
“Washington.” My gaze flies up to meet hers.
She’s leaving after I just found her. I don’t know if I can let that happen. There’s something special about this girl, and I have the distinct feeling that nobody in her life sees it. Not the way I do.
“Kind of far.”
“Yeah.” She doesn’t offer more. And I don’t push. Not yet. There will be time for that later. After I’ve convinced her to confide in me. To trust me.
“Mamma, hunggy.” Damien’s soft voice has her dropping to her knees next to him and digging through one of the bags she brought with her. Offering him two different options, he pulls open the bag to look for something else. When he doesn’t see it, tears well in his bright blue eyes as he stares up at the woman he obviously worships. “’Nana?”
“I’m sorry, baby, I don’t have one.” Their interaction is so innocent that when I see her eyes gather tears, I feel a clench in my chest to protect these two from everything hurtful in the world.
“I have bananas.” Assuming that’s what he wants.
Her shoulders drop, and I can see she’s struggling to accept my offer. When Damien grasps one of the bags in her hand and slowly walks over to me, he offers the bag of crackers while asking, “’Nana?”
It takes me a minute to realize what he’s doing. A huge grin spreads across my face. He wants to trade. “Deal, kid, let’s get you that banana.” Taking the bag he’s offered, he claps and runs back to his mother. Flinging his arms around her neck and climbing onto her body, she stands fluidly, like he weighs nothing, and smiles gratefully towards me.
“Can I take those?” Reaching for the bags strapped on her shoulder, she hesitates before nodding and handing them over.
Placing a hand on her lower back, I feel her spine tense, but I don’t move it. I’m not scared easily. And I won’t let her fear me. Not when what I want to do is worship the ground she walks on.
“You should really put a shirt on. You’ll get sick.” The way she stares up at me—beautiful wide blue eyes with just a hint of concern—has me reaching for the flannel shirt hanging on a hook by the door.
Slipping my arms in, I leave it open. “Better?”
With an eye roll, she turns to me completely, Damien still in her arms, and reaches forward to begin doing up the buttons. I don’t move because I know once she realizes what she’s doing, she’ll drop her hands, and I don’t want that. I want her fingers roaming across every inch of my skin for as long as she wants. Preferably on a daily basis.
“Better.” Her remark drops off as the realization dawns, and that adorable blush is back. “I’m sorry.” She pulls away, and I let her.
“You need to stop apologizing for shit,” I tell her as we begin walking towards the house, snow crunching under our feet. Leaning down to her ear, I murmur, “You touch me whenever and however you like, anytime, Ema.” Her sharp inhale of breath isn’t missed.
* * *
EmaLeigh
True to his word, Sebastian traded Damien his bag of crackers for two bananas and then drove us home. The thoughtfulness in which he grabbed Damien’s car seat, so naturally before my mother took off, still has me off-kilter. Even as I’m putting Damien to bed, I can’t stop thinking about how Sebastian interacted with my son. The way he spoke to me.
I’ve always been the family outcast, so I’m used to being berated, ignored, and insulted. So used to it, in fact, that I expect it from any people around me. In the last year, I haven’t ventured out for anything of need more than once a month, with the exception of the fall bazaars where I sell the mukluks I make and the polar plunge a few weeks ago. Since having Damien, I’ve become more and more isolated, and every day, I wonder if that’s my doing or my parents’.
On the rare occasions I do go out, whether it’s for supplies or to get Damien out of the house and socialize, they always have something to say. A lot of times, they convince me to stay home. I know they’re embarrassed that I had Damien so young and out of wedlock, and they disagree with how I let Clayton off the hook. I’m reminded of it daily, and I feel my failures as a mom just as frequently.
That’s why we’re moving. Nobody knows. I’ve done everything to ensure that when we leave, we won’t have to take anything but Damien’s favorite things, and because he’s very particular, it’s no more than a backpack full. I know it’s sneaky and slightly underhanded since they’ve allowed us to live here, but it’s the only way I know we’ll finally be free. We need to start a life away from this house. I need to know if getting away from Polar Bear and my suffocating family is what will help my son.
Switching the light off next to his bed, Damien sleeps with the totem pole Sebastian gave him wrapped tightly in his fist. As soon as we got home, he asked for it. I didn’t even realize he’d noticed the small object that was given to him.
Quietly closing his door, I make my way to the kitchen to steep a cup of tea to take to my room with me, where I plan to read a favorite old book of mine. Stopping short as I pass the living room, I cringe.
