Lily Love (24 page)

“You’re not alone,” I promise him, my throat constricting around the words.

Emotion courses through me as Tate turns his red-rimmed eyes to mine. In their infinite sadness I can see a glimmer of relief. He places his hand over mine and lets his lips curve slightly. We fall back into silence, but at least now he knows that I’ll be right here when he finds something more to say.

in your hands

E
ventually I put the ziti in the fridge and clean up Tate’s plate. He hasn’t said much, and that’s perfectly okay.

“Let’s go for a walk,” he finally says. “You can fill me in on what you’ve been up to.” He pushes in his chair and walks over to where I’m attempting to dry his plate at the sink. “You’re going to get your cast wet,” he murmurs, taking the dish from me. He dries it far quicker than I could’ve one-handed, and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.

“Where do you want to walk?” I ask. I haven’t seen the rest of the center, but from the parking lot I could see that it’s backed up to the idyllic setting of the woods. I can only imagine how beautiful it must be back there.

“There’re a few places to sit out back, and a trail we can walk,” he says. Wrapping his arm around me, he leads me from the kitchen toward a common area resembling a living room. There are couches and armchairs facing a fireplace on one side, and another set that stare out a wall of windows on the other. Tate leads me to the windows, looking into the thick green of the trees. He points below us at the scarcely marked trailhead.

“It looks pretty,” I say softly. “Let’s start there.”

“It’s no moon garden, but it’s still peaceful,” he replies. “I’ve walked it twice in the last day and a half.”

I love that he thinks of the moon garden. Well, I know he thinks about what happened in the moon garden. I’m glad that he thinks of it as a peaceful place, and not just where we made out. The memory of that makes me flush with heat. Being this close to Tate, I know that he can tell. That only makes me hotter than I already am.

Tate leads me outside and down a spiral staircase. Looking back up at the center, I get my first real glimpse at its architecture. From behind, the center is held up high on stilts. The entire back side of the building is a series of windows that face the woods. It’s breathtakingly beautiful.

“All of the patient rooms face the back,” Tate explains. “From my mom’s room, because we’re so high up, it feels like we’re on a cloud, looking down at Earth. Mom loves it. When she’s awake, she likes me to roll her over to the window.”

“It’s gorgeous,” I tell him. “Someone put a lot of thought into finding this spot and building the center in just this way. It’s amazing.” We walk down a set of steps built into the hillside, to the trailhead. Tate looks over his shoulder at me and reaches back for my hand. Silently I take it, and we walk hand in hand into the brush.

“How’s Lily doing?” Tate asks after a while.

I find myself hesitant, not wanting to talk about the things Lily is coping with. Sometimes it’s just easier not to. It’s hard to consider that moment when Lily becomes real and not just a concept. I’m terrified that everything developing between Tate and me will disappear.

“She’s good,” I offer, and nothing else. My eyes are fixed on the bumpy trail beneath my feet, so I don’t see Tate until I run into him. He grabs my shoulders to keep me from stumbling and holds me there so he can look me in the eye.

“Tell me more about her,” Tate probes. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that, and there’s something in the way he’s looking at me that makes me feel like I’m being tested.

“What do you want to know?” I try hard to sound casual, but I sound defensive. Shoot, I
feel
defensive.

“Please don’t do this, Caroline,” Tate pleads.

I narrow my eyes at him suspiciously. “Don’t do what, Tate?”

“Don’t hide inside my problems to avoid dealing with yours.” His words are a punch to my gut. They’re harsh, blunt, and totally true. He takes a step closer to me, and I take a step back. His eyes flash auburn with frustration when I step out of his reach. “That sounds harder than I wanted it to, but, Caroline . . .”

“Don’t, okay? Just don’t.” My voice breaks as stubborn tears spill from my eyes. I turn my face away, cursing under my breath. Just once, I’d like
not
to dissolve into tears. Any show of strength at this point would be greatly appreciated. Shit. “You don’t know how hard this is for me.”

Tate looks at me, incredulously. “I don’t know, and I never will unless you tell me. I asked about Lily because she’s a part of who you are, and I want to know every part of you, Caroline. Not just the parts you want me to see. All of them.” His chest heaves as he breathes, like he’s been running to catch up to me. I guess in some ways he has. I want to believe him, but there’s still the Lily factor. Until I know with certainty that he’s open to all that is Lily, he can’t possibly mean what he’s saying. After all,
she
is the biggest part of me.

“I don’t know what you want me to say,” I whisper. He wants to know all of me, but I’m petrified of what will happen when he gets to something he doesn’t like. That’s why I’m not ready to share everything about Lily yet.

“I want you say that you have enough faith in me to believe I can be there for you, the way you’ve been here for me.” He takes a hesitant step toward me, reaching for my hand when I don’t back away. He holds his hand out between us, waiting to see what I’ll do. I reach for it, meeting him in the middle, and lace my fingers with his.

“There’s a lot going on with Lily right now, so it’s hard to know where to start,” I confess. Between her tantrum in the EMU and
her impending registration for kindergarten, there is plenty to overwhelm him with.

“Why were you banging your head on the table in the courtyard the other day?” So much has happened between now and then, I’d almost forgotten about Cameron James, the parent liaison for the school district. “Tell you what, there’s a bench up ahead, why don’t we go sit?”

“Sounds good.”

I’m grateful to have a moment to collect my thoughts. I haven’t given much thought to Mr. James or what role he’ll play in my life in the near future. There are so many questions I’ve been too scared to ask about what school will look like for Lily. I’m the worst kind of coward. I never thought I’d be the kind of mother who would allow her fear to hold her child back.

We walk for a few more minutes before the narrow trail meets up with a creek bed. Beside the trickling water is a bench with a brass statue behind it. The statue is of a man in robes, leaning over the bench like he’s praying.

“Saint Joseph, I’m assuming.” Tate gestures toward the figure.

“The patron saint of the dying,” I murmur to myself.

The sculpted face is agonizingly beautiful. The artist didn’t give him a peaceful expression. His face is twisted in pain, like he understands the hurt that death leaves in its wake. I wonder if there’s a saint for the vacillating. I want Tate to be a part of my life; I’m just wary about whether he’ll accept Lily’s place in it. We’re a package deal; non-negotiable. It’s a tremendous responsibility to take on, for a child who’s not your own.

We sit down on the bench, shielded by the hovering saint. If I was planning on curtailing some of the grittier points, or skimming the details, I can’t do it now. Not with Saint Joseph’s pained face staring down at me. What the hell am I being such a chicken about, anyway? Tate has all but begged me to unburden myself. He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to resolve my anxiety and explain.

“Earlier that day, a social worker came to speak with me about Lily.” It’s just one sentence, but the first is always the hardest. “She wanted to go over the options we have available for her when she starts school next month. It was a really hard visit.” I hesitate, unsure of how much of myself to reveal. “It still hurts to think about how limited our options really are. It breaks my heart that
my
little girl won’t have the same first-day-of-school experience that other little girls her age will have.” I dip my head and sniffle back a fresh wave of tears. Wrapped up in what to tell Tate, I forgot how much the telling hurts. I feel better that I told him, though. Not because the pain is somehow less than it was before, just because it’s shared.

“Kind of like you’ve been robbed, huh?” He doesn’t mince words or try to tell me it’ll be okay. He hits right at the heart of my guilt.

“I shouldn’t feel that way, though,” I say. “I should accept Lily for who she is, not who she could’ve been.”

“Hey.” Tate dips his head, so his eyes are level with mine. “Grieving a lost dream isn’t betraying Lily. It doesn’t mean you love her less; it just means that you wish her life could’ve been different.”

“It’s not that simple,” I whisper. I don’t know why I bother; whispering won’t soften the harsh truth I’m sharing. “I don’t just wish things were different so Lily’s life could be easier; I wish it were different so
my
life could be easier.”

I’m a horrible person, and now Tate knows it, too. I try to hide my face in shame, but Tate tips my face toward his, holding me captive in his stare.

“You’re human, Caroline.” His eyes are intense, his tone adamant. “I don’t know a single person who set out to be a lifelong caregiver to anyone, let alone their child.” He lets me lean against his shoulder and cry my eyes out.

When I feel like I can speak again, I lay the rest of my guilt at his feet, suddenly desperate to have it all out in the open.

“You’re right; I don’t know anyone who would choose that for themselves or their children,” I sniffle. “I can’t get past this guilt in my
heart. If I’d known that Lily would be born with this kind of disability, I would’ve stopped trying to get pregnant. What kind of person does that make me?”

I watch Tate’s eyes as he takes in my words, looking for a hint of disgust in his expression. It never comes.

“That’s an awfully big cross you’re carrying there.” He sighs.

I don’t know whether to feel insulted or redeemed. It’s not like I’m not aware that I crucify myself at every opportunity, but I never expected anyone to understand why.

“As for what kind of person you are? You’re the kind of person who isn’t afraid to own up to her own feelings, no matter how dark or ugly some may perceive them.”

I want the ground to open up and suck me in; I knew I’d never be able to hide the dark and twisty piece of me.

Tate rests his hand on my shoulder and continues. “However, I think they’re the most honest words I’ve ever heard anyone say.”

I pull back so I can see his face more clearly. “You don’t think less of me?” I ask, shocked.

“I think more of you, actually,” he says matter-of-factly. “You could honestly be the bravest person I know.”

An undignified snort erupts from me. He can’t be serious. Me, brave? I’m the biggest chickenshit out there.

“Don’t tease,” I say.

“I’m serious,” he insists. “No one I know would ever admit to feeling that way, but I promise you they’d be feeling it. It takes a lot of courage to put it all out there. I feel pretty special that you told me.” He smiles at me, and my heart melts.

I’m in love with my stranger. I swore that I would slow the pace and take a step back. Instead, I let myself fall in love.

But there’s no way I’m saying a thing. Despite his perfect words, I still can’t believe he can accept me, Lily and all. How’s that for brave?

take a chance

T
he walk back to the hospice center feels much shorter than our walk out to the creek. It makes sense that it wouldn’t be a lengthy trek; it’s just far enough from the building for it to feel like an escape. That seems to be a recurring theme in our budding relationship: we find ways to get far enough away from reality that we feel like we’re escaping. I wish there were a way to prolong those moments, to stay in the refuge of our own world for just a little while longer. I want just a few more minutes of holding Tate’s hand and pretending that I haven’t gone completely mad by falling in love with him.

“What are your plans for the rest of the day?” Tate asks me, saving me from the cacophony in my head. He pauses at the foot of the spiral staircase and glances over his shoulder. He seems nervous, and it makes me smile. I can’t help it; I’m thrilled to know I’m not the only one who gets a little jittery.

“Outside of spending time with you, I was going to do a little writing.” I try to act like it’s no big deal. I haven’t told anyone that I’ve started writing again, but after spilling my guts earlier, I know I’m safe telling Tate.

“Writing, eh?” he shoots over his shoulder. When we reach the top of the stairs, he turns and smiles broadly at me. “Dabbling?”

“Ha ha.” I smile back at him. “Yes, I’m dabbling with a story. If you’re lucky, I’ll let you read it sometime.”

He leans in and whispers, “Oh, I’m already lucky.”

Did someone say something about getting lucky?

He chuckles and I shiver when his breath skitters across my shoulder. Ignoring the warmth spreading through my body, I take a deep breath and try to act unaffected. “Why do you ask?”

“Well, I have something for you, but it’s not here.” He looks at me sheepishly. I can’t help but wonder where his train of thought is going. I cock my head and wait for him to continue. “It’s at my place.” He crinkles his nose and bites his bottom lip. I think it’s supposed to be Tate cringing, but it’s the sexiest thing I’ve ever seen.

“Oh . . . uh . . . okay,” I stammer. He smiles his relief, and his dimples just about buckle my knees.

“Tarryn and Tom are going to stay for a while so I can have a break,” he explains.

“Of course,” I reply. “Whatever you want to do, I’m free for the rest of the day.” Suddenly I’m anxious to make a break for it with Tate and run away. We walk through the lobby of the hospice and pause at the front desk.

“Wait right here, okay?” he says. “I’m just going to let my sister know I’m leaving.”

He’s off down the hallway before I have a chance to reply. I’m thoroughly intrigued; my mind is running wild wondering what Tate has for me. Part of me—let’s face it, a big part of me—is hoping it’s a ploy to get me alone at his place. It’s been a long time since I’ve had the desire to be alone with a man that way. I’ve thought about sex plenty; I just haven’t missed it until now. My life with Peter was so broken, sex hadn’t been a part of our relationship for a long time. In fact, we hadn’t had sex in over a year when he left. The last time we did, it was after a particularly hateful fight that had left us both emotionally spent and raw. Not the best foundation to build a healthy sexual relationship on, but by that point, we were already experts on sabotaging ourselves.