Dear Life

  “But what if she can have Hope back? What if she really isn’t ours?”

  “That’s not going to happen,” I say with a choked-up throat. “I’m not going to let that fucking happen. Do you hear me? I will fight this until the very end.” Tears fill my eyes and rip down my cheeks, my voice tight as I speak. “Hope is your baby, June, and I will be damned if it goes any other way.”

  “Okay,” she says weakly.

  “I promise you, June. Hope is your daughter.”

  A heaviness weighs between us, both our hearts cracking at the seams as we exchange goodbyes, me promising to call them in the next few days when I have an update.

  Deflated and completely spent, I toss my phone on the couch, lean against the wall of my living room, and slide down until my ass hits the floor. I grip my head, and a myriad of thoughts rush to the forefront of my mind.

  I gave June and Alex hope, hope for the future of being a family of three. How could Rebecca believe it’s okay to rip that away from them? So damn selfish. First she capitulated her role as a mother to that beautiful baby, and now she wants to tear her from her home? What the hell?

  Support. I need Hollyn. I lift my head to look for her but I don’t have to search long, because in seconds, she’s by my side, her arms encasing me, her head pressed against mine, and her mouth right next to my ear, telling me it’s going to be okay.

  But what if it’s not going to be okay? That’s a reality I can’t even begin to fathom because that would mean my faith in humanity is shot, my faith in God is destroyed, and my faith in all things good nonexistent.

  Because what kind of fucked-up world would it be if June and Alex lose their baby?

  One world I don’t want to stick around to be in, that’s for damn sure.

  HOLLYN

  Helpless.

  That’s how I feel.

  Completely and utterly helpless. There is nothing I can do or say to take away that tortured look on Jace’s face.

  She wants the baby back? What kind of woman would do that to another human being? I don’t know much about the situation, or much about June and Alex, but what I do know is that they’ve had that little girl for about a month now and they’ve bonded, they’ve created a family, a loving home for three. Surely Rebecca can’t just come in and rip that all apart.

  Just the thought of it makes me want to find the woman and kick her right in the lady taint.

  “Fuck. FUCK!” Jace screams, rising from his seat on the floor.

  I want to calm him down, I want to put ease in his heart, but I don’t know how. I want to make everything better, but that seems impossible. I want to wash away his pain . . .

  Alcohol.

  Spying the half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels on the coffee table, I stand to my slightly unsteady feet and hurry to the bottle. I turn to Jace and I hold it out to him. “Drink,” I say. “Drink to forget.” Drinking isn’t how you solve problems, but it’s the only thing I can come up with right now.

  “Hollyn.” His voice is pained, so I shove the bottle into his hand.

  “Drink, Jace.”

  His eyes move from the amber liquid to me, as he slowly stands, contemplating his next move. His grip tightens around the neck of the bottle, his jaw strongly set with his decision as he brings the drink to his lips. I watch in fascination, his throat moving with each long, drawn-out swallow.

  Pulling away, wincing from the burn, he holds the bottle to me and nods at it. “Drink.”

  There is no hesitation where I’m concerned. I bring the bottle to my lips and sip as best as I can. I don’t gulp it down like Jace did, but I drink enough to leave a chasing burn down my throat.

  When I’m done with the bottle, I still hold on to it but keep it at my side. Awkwardly, Jace and I stare at each other, the air in the room starting to grow thick with anger, with hurt, with something palpable I can’t place my finger on.

  Each passing second adds to the coiling tension between us. The alcohol doesn’t take long to heat my body. Adding to the preexisting shots already consumed, and the devastated expression in his eyes, I begin closing the distance between us.

  Step by step, I wonder what I’m doing. I’m chastising my body for even considering comforting him in my arms, but that doesn’t stop me. With the bottle of Jack Daniels at my side, I press the palm of my hand against his chest, stepping up in front of him. His heart is hammering against my palm, his eyes a window to his broken soul, breaking me as well.

  “Hollyn,” he says with a strangled sigh.

  Bringing the bottle back to my lips, I take one more swig and then offer it to him. He mimics my consumption and then drops the bottle to the floor, the clatter of the glass against the hardwood the only sound in the apartment.

  My hands betray me as they lift to cup his strong, chiseled jaw. The light blond scruff decorating his face feels rough under my touch, but familiar. His blue eyes, although tortured, are quite beautiful with waves of cerulean running through them. He’s tall, built, but not intimidating, more inviting with the way his hands grip my hips, his fingers pressing into my clothed skin, holding on for dear life.

  “It’s going to be okay,” I say, not even sure that it’s true.

  “This is so fucked up.” A lonesome tear cascades down his cheek. “I can’t fucking do this. It’s too much, Hollyn. It’s all too much.”

  “You can do this,” I say, leaning in some more, gripping his cheeks tightly so he’s forced to look me in the eyes. “You’re strong, Jace.”

  He shakes his head. “Not as strong as I need to be.”

  “You’re strong to me.” My thumbs caress his skin, my toes lifting me up closer to him, the walls closing in around us, lifting the tension to an all-time high.

  Glancing down with heady eyes at my lips, he then leans forward, meeting my lifted face.

  Our noses connect, our foreheads press against one another, and our hands hold on to each other as if we are lifelines.

  Questions fly around my head, but I block them out as I take a deep breath and inch closer. Wandering hands roam up my back, past my shoulder blades, up my neck, and into my hair where his fingers twist, pull, and play with the long strands.

  “Fuck, Hollyn. Will this deathly feeling ever end? Will I ever feel normal again?”

  “I have no idea.” Moving just a centimeter closer, I say, “I want to believe it will get better. I need for it to get better.” I pause and whisper, “Make it better, Jace.”

  Taking my lead, he gingerly presses his lips against mine, tentatively exploring, never pushing too hard, but kissing me gently. My name is a whisper on his lips. Mixed with passion, hurt, pain, guilt, and anger, our lips meld together in a frenzy, searching for closure, a closure we try to find between our locked lips, rather than in the unknown.

  I hold on tight, a war of emotions raging within me as I explore his mouth as well, opening slightly for his tongue. Just enough that when his tongue meets mine, a throaty moan slips out.

  And just when I think he’s going to make it better, it gets so much worse. Guilt consumes me, images of Eric flooding my brain with the taste of Jace still on my lips.

  What have I done?

  Ripping myself away from him, I grip my forehead in total shock. I just kissed Jace Barnes. I kissed another man, a man who is not my husband.

  And for a brief moment, I enjoyed it.

  What kind of woman does that make me?

  A cheater, that’s the kind of woman I am. A cheater.

  DAISY

  “Thank you, Grams, but I really have to go.”

  “Are you rushing me off the phone?”

  “No, I would never.” Yes, yes, I am. I’m rushing Grams off the phone because my Dear Life meeting has already started. When she called, I was nervous something was wrong, so I answered before I walked in the doors of the church hall. What she wanted to talk about? My choice in footwear today when I came to visit her. Apparently she wasn’t too keen on my new ankle boots. She said they were imprac
tical for the winter and didn’t want me breaking an ankle.

  To say she was a little shocked by my appearance today is an understatement. She nearly fell off her bed. It was a reaction I expected, since she’s known me to only wear baggy clothes she handed down to me. Modern Daisy was a surprise to her.

  Nervous at first, I almost didn’t visit, but I told myself this is the new me and she’s going to have to accept it. And accept it, she did, besides the ankle boots, apparently. She was a little confused at first but once I told her about my day with the girls, her confusion turned into joy—joy for me and my new adventure.

  “Now you’re going to tell me where you got that belt, right? I would like one for myself.”

  “Grams, why do you need a belt? You wear elastic pants.” I small giggle pops out of me.

  “You never know when you’re going to need a belt. You know belts aren’t just used for clothing.”

  What is she talking about . . . Oh my God.

  “Grams, is this about that book series you’ve been reading?”

  “Christian likes restraint.”

  “Christian is also a fictional character. You’re acting like he might leap out of the book.”

  “Don’t even tease.” She sighs. “The belt isn’t for book Christian, but rather for movie Christian. What if I run into the actor one day and I’m sans belt? How embarrassing that will be.”

  “Ah yes, because I do believe Hollywood actors wander around senior community centers, looking to rip belts out of crocheted purses only to restrain the elderly for sexual favors.”

  “Oh, you little smart-mouthed girl, this world has tainted you.”

  “Me?” I laugh. “You’re the one afraid you’re going to die before all your erotic movies come out.”

  “It would be such an untimely and unfair death.”

  Chuckling, I shake my head. “I can’t deal with your movie complexes right now. My meeting has started, I have to get in there.”

  “Okay. But watch where you’re going with those boots; black ice is a killer of hips this time of year.” I fail to mention that I’m not a seventy-year-old woman trying to get around and slipping on black ice probably won’t require me to have a hip replacement. It’s all about choosing your battles with Grams.

  “Noted.”

  “Oh, and say hi to Carter for me. Ooo, la, la.”

  “Don’t say that.” A blush fills my cheeks.

  “Oh pish, he can’t hear me.”

  “Yes, but I can and I’m turning bright red. I have to go. Love you, Grams.”

  “Love you, dearie.” Her chuckle rings through before I hang up. I stick my phone in my purse and press my hands against my cheeks, willing them to calm down.

  Just the mention of Carter’s name has my body heating up to record temperatures and not because of how attractive I think he is, but from the way he treated me the other night. I felt like I was something special, like I could actually mean something to him.

  When we arrived home, he sat on his bike, steadying the vehicle with his powerful legs while I thanked him. It was a sight I will never forget: his jet black hair highlighted under the moonlight, his leather jacket lightly flapping in the breeze, and his eyes deeply fixed on me while I shook my hair from his helmet.

  We exchanged good nights, I said thank you, and for a brief moment in time, I pictured him pulling me in by my hand, spiraling me into his chest, and running his hand through my hair right before he kissed me. Unfortunately, instead, he nodded at me, put his helmet on and took off, leaving me wanting so much more and wondering. Does he want the same thing?

  I can’t be sure.

  I have no idea how to read men and since Carter is more of a closed book, he’s even harder to understand. He’s grumpy most of the time, but I get brief glimpses of happiness, and those are the moments I want to remember forever; they are the cherished moments I like to reflect on when I’m about to fall asleep.

  Slowly I can feel myself changing, and not just from the clothes, but from the bravery I muster every day. A month ago, I wouldn’t have asked a boy to meet up. I would have cowered on my grams’s couch, popped in a musical, and called it a night. But a new me is emerging, and I’m growing in confidence every day.

  And the best part about it? I really like new Daisy.

  Since the meeting started already, I quietly let myself in to the church hall, spot my group, which consists of Carter, Hollyn, and Jace talking through an iPad. Earlier, I saw Hollyn walking into the meeting, looking less than thrilled to be here, which is concerning. I hope everything is okay with her.

  The seat next to Carter is open, so I take the opportunity to sit down next to him. When we make eye contact, I give him a bright smile. In return, he gives me a curt nod. The move would worry me but when I see him look me up and down from the corner of my eye, my concern eases.

  “I hope you all have your dream boards with you tonight,” Marleen says, directing the meeting once again. “These boards are supposed to depict where you want to be a few years from today, what you want to accomplish, what you want out of life.”

  Oh boy, did I spend some good time on my dream board. This has been my favorite task since we started the program.

  “In your groups, I want you to talk about your boards, really dig deep into your goals, and also talk about how you’ve been feeling the last few weeks. Do you feel a change? Are you still grieving? Are you still trying to let go? This is your support group, your peers who are invested in your change just as much as you are, so be open and honest with everyone. As for our next meeting, your challenge has more action. You are to learn something new. Now you can do this with each other or alone, it’s up to you. All I ask is that you bring some sort of memento from the experience to the next meeting so you can talk about it.” She sits on the table and clasps her hands together. “As always, write your letters before you leave. If you have any questions, I’ll be around.”

  Chairs scrape against the cement, groups form, and light conversation fills the hall.

  Per usual, my group is quiet to begin and it takes iPad Jace to start. “Hey guys, as you know, I’m in Arizona for spring training now, but I uh, I got some pretty shitty news the other day that I’m struggling with. Rebecca, Hope’s birth mom, has reentered the scene.”

  “Oh gosh, really?” I ask, sitting up in my chair, wishing I didn’t have to talk to an electronic device.

  “Yeah.” He runs his hand over his face and directs his gaze at Hollyn who is staring down at the folder she brought with her. “Apparently Rebecca wasn’t aware of the adoption when she signed the papers giving up her parental rights. She believed I would be taking care of Hope. Now she wants Hope back.”

  “What?” I gasp, my heart aching for Jace and for Hope’s adoptive parents.

  “She can’t fucking do that,” Carter says, speaking up. He shifts in his seat, sitting a little taller now, a look of frustration crossing his features.

  “I met with my lawyers,” Jace says on a sigh. “They think she might have a case.”

  “What?” Hollyn finally says, looking up from her folder but then quickly shying away.

  “Yeah, it’s a fucking nightmare right now. June and Alex are beside themselves.” Jace pauses, trying to collect himself, his eyes rimmed with red. “I won’t be able to make it through this if Hope is taken away from June and Alex.” Growing angrier by the second, he says, “There was a reason I gave Hope up for adoption. I was trying to do the right thing by giving her a loving home with stable parents who will be there for her when she needs them the most. Why the fuck am I being punished for doing that?”

  “You’re not being punished,” I say, wishing I could reach out and hold him. “Is there anyway you can speak with Rebecca?”

  He shakes his head. “I’ve been trying, but she’s turned this into some lawyer battle now. I can’t seem to speak to her unless there’s a lawyer present.” With his head in his hand, he says, “I’m not looking for solutions, I just want yo
u to know where I stand.” He clears his throat and then shows off a piece of paper with a few words on it. “I didn’t know what dream boards are, so I came up with a few goals for myself.” He turns the paper around so he can read it. “I’m going to be quick with this because I have to go. All right, I want to find peace with my decision. And one day, I want to be the birth father Hope deserves, strong and dependable.” He shrugs and folds his paper. “That’s all I can think of for now.” He looks distraught and tired, almost worse than the first time I met him. “Sorry for leaving early, I have some things to take care of.” Once again, he looks at Hollyn who’s eyes are averted elsewhere. He sighs and says, “You know how to reach me. Talk to you guys later.”

  The FaceTime ends and the screen goes blank.

  Feeling a little uncomfortable, I ask, “Who wants to go next?”

  “I need to get out of here,” Hollyn says, scribbling something down on a paper in front of her.

  “Oh, are you going to share your board with us?” I ask, wondering what’s going on.

  Hollyn continues to write quickly. When I glance at her paper, I notice it’s her letter to Life. She really is trying to get out of here.

  “I’m good.” She continues to write and I have no idea what to say. Our group is falling apart. Is this what friendships are like? Unpredictable, erratic at times? Makes me wonder. Are all of the other groups like ours? Or are we carrying heavier life happenings?

  Glancing around the room, I take in all the divided little circles. Variations of dream boards are being shared ranging from poster boards to scrapbooks to lists for those who are less creative. Most seem to be talking about the boards on display, interacting with one another and truly sharing.

  Then there is my group. Hollyn is packing up, a blank iPad sits across from me, and next to me is Carter, whose dream board is a cocktail napkin. How did I get stuck with the dud group?

  “Okay, I’m out.” Hollyn starts to stand, but I stop her.

  “What about my dream board? I worked really hard on it and was excited to share it with everyone.”

  “I’m sure it’s really nice, Daisy, but—”