With Me (6 page)

“You said you learned how to make your soaps from a lady?”

“Yeah, she lived on the farm and needed help when I first arrived. She showed me how to make them when I was pregnant with Josephina. I found I was able to make them quickly and I enjoyed doing it. I started selling them to the locals to help with the cost of living. Since it was something I discovered I liked doing, I continued with it. It’s not making me rich, but it provides enough for me to put a roof over my head and food on the table for both of us,” I say to him as I wring my hands on my lap.

Although I know he’s absorbed every word, he still looks perplexed. “I still don’t understand why your parents sent you away? Why would they, knowing you were carrying my baby? Why didn’t they speak with my parents instead of sending you away?” he questions.

Feeling ashamed I never told
anyone
, I look down at my wringed hands as I convey, “I never told anyone who the father was. Not even my parents. I knew my parents didn’t really like your parents, so I didn’t think it would help the situation. They wanted me out of the house, regardless. Plus, I really doubt your parents would’ve believed me anyways, Joseph,” I finish saying with a whisper.

Joseph’s parents never got along with mine. Our parents were never the typical neighbors you see on TV where everyone gets along. No, my parents were too religious, and Joseph’s parents were far from it, making them clash.

Sitting there, still silent, allowing him to absorb the information, I patiently wait for him to say something.

“Do you have pictures of her from when she was little?” he asks, his voice sounding raspy. His emotions are tearing at my heart. All this time I didn’t think he cared.

Exhaling deeply, I stand up, heading in the direction of the sleeping area. I go to the dresser that holds our clothes and pull open a drawer in the middle. It’s in the same spot it’s been for the last couple of years. I reach for the envelope containing the photo. I rarely take it out anymore. The fear of further damaging it, keeps me from touching it. Quietly closing the drawer back up, I return to Joseph.

Returning to him, I hand him the envelope, resenting having to surrender it. I know it was meant for him to have, but when it returned to me, I felt he didn’t deserve it any longer; always believing he was the one that had sent it back.

He takes it from my hand, giving me a chance to take a seat at his side. I watch him slowly turn it over in his hands, observing the exterior of the envelope, as he closely studies the address and stamp placed on the front. When his finger brushes over the old ink stating,
return to sender,
my eyes tear up remembering my heartache when I had seen those same words.

That day felt as if my entire world had come to an end, believing I would never see him again. Thinking he wanted nothing to do with Josephina or me, was painful. It made it worse when I received an answer, from the second letter I had written, that same day. It was from my parents.

I had written to them as well, informing them Josephina had been born, foolishly hoping they’d ask me to return home. Instead I had received the opposite. They had firmly instructed me to never contact them again. I was no longer a part of their family because of my sins.

Forcing myself to push the resentment from my mind, I focus once more on Joseph. I watch as he slowly opens the envelope, reaching inside to pull out the photo that is wrapped in the letter. He ignores the letter, folding it up to place it back inside its original pocket of the envelope, keeping the picture in his hand. He’s deeply concentrating on the picture as I tell him, “It was taken the day Josephina was born.” I have to force out a whisper around the lump in my throat.

My heart feels like it has sunk to the pit of my stomach as I wait for a reaction from Joseph. His silence is nerve wracking and it’s tearing me apart inside. I’m so fearful of his rejection.

He’s intensely staring down at the picture, never taking his eyes off it. When I look down at it, I see his finger graze over baby Josephina, and suddenly I see a tear falls onto the picture. Quickly looking back up, I see Joseph rapidly blinking his eyes; clearly trying to fight the remaining tears. With his eyebrows drawn, he looks at me. “You said this was taken the day she was born?” I can hear the confusion in his voice as I nod my head. “Then why was this picture taken at home? Why would they let you go home the same day, isn’t that unsafe for you and the baby?” he asks, the worry clear in his voice.

“I didn’t have Josephina in a hospital. I had her at home, at my aunt’s house actually. The Amish community doesn’t believe in using hospitals when they deliver their children,” I explain to him.

The concern in his expression is pushing my fear away. “That must have been hard on you,” he says, with a hint of remorse.

All I can do is shrug my shoulder at him. “I didn’t have a choice, Joseph. It did hurt, a lot. There were times when I wanted to give up, but when they handed me Josephina, it made it all worth it. I would do it all over again for her,” I say, stating the truth.

He reaches over, grabbing for my hand to squeeze it. My eyes look down to our joined hands and I can see that his hand looks bigger than the last time I remember it. Everything about Joseph seems larger. When he left he was the skinny boy I grew up with. Now he was a large, muscled man who is now a stranger to me.

My eyes are still looking down at our joined hands as I ask, “What do you do now?”

“I’m still in the Marine Corps. I’m stationed in San Diego. I just got back from Afghanistan a month ago,” he answers.

He begins to gently stroke his thumb across my hand, making me realize they’re still joined. I take my hand from his, embarrassed by the feeling that I was getting from his touch. My body was beginning to flutter, as it would consistently do when we were younger. Every time he was near me I grew giddy and excited.

“I hear San Diego is beautiful, but I wouldn’t know. Besides the bible retreats I would go on with my parents every year and Savannah, this is the only other place I know,” I say with a chuckle, trying to defuse the remorse of having to say it.

Joseph is about to say something, but I see Josephina walking towards us, still looking sleepy as she rubs her eyes. Eyeing Joseph, she smiles and quickly walks over to me, taking a seat in my lap and facing him. I hug her close, taking in her childish scent. Looking back at Joseph, I see him admiring her in my arms.

Josephina reaches down, tugging the picture from Joseph’s hand, making me scold her for being rude. Ignoring me, she continues looking down at the picture. Her brow scrunches down as she concentrates on it. “Mommy, who is this baby you’re holding?”

“That was you, sweetheart, on the day you were born,” I tell her, watching for her reaction.

Curiously she tilts her head to the side as she concentrates on the picture. “Oh,” she says, “Why would you have it?” she asks Joseph, still focused at the object in her hands.

“He wanted to see a picture of you from when you were born, that’s all.” Knowing how curious she’ll get if I allow her, I pull the portrait from her hands and hand it back to Joseph. “Why don’t we start getting things ready for dinner? What do you feel like eating tonight?” I ask, trying to distract her little mind.

“I want spaghetti with meatballs,” she says with enthusiasm, making me laugh knowing it’s her favorite.

“Okay, spaghetti with meatballs it is then. You’re lucky the meat is already in the fridge. Go wash up,” I tell her, giving her a little shove, so she will do as requested. Josephina grabs onto Joseph’s hand, dragging him behind her to the bathroom to wash up.

Standing up from the couch, I head to the kitchen and begin to remove the necessary items to start dinner. Within minutes, I see both of them exit the bathroom and join me at the table where I have placed the items Josephina likes to help with. Joseph stands at her side, helping her as she instructs him on what they will be doing. His attention unwavering, he follows her orders of what they will be doing.

I wash my own hands in the kitchen sink and start chopping the vegetables needed to go into the meat, listening in on their conversation at the same time. At first their conversation begins with simple questions to get to know each other. Joseph asking if she goes to school and what she likes to do for fun. With time, I grow distracted with preparing the food and don't hear what Joseph tells Josephina, which causes her to squeal with excitement. From the way she’s smiling, I have a feeling it isn’t good. She’s only that excited when she’s been promised something, usually something that is huge and beyond her normal expectation.

“Mommy, mommy, guess what? Joseph lives by the ocean and he said we can go visit him so I can see it,” she squeals, the excitement still clear in her voice.

My chopping has completely stopped at this point. The hand holding my chopping knife is gripping it so tight that I feel it digging deeply into my palm. Breathing deeply to control the rising anger inside of me, I have to remember he’s still a stranger to her before I turn around and face them both.

I smile to conceal the anger rising within me. “Sweetheart, you know we can’t afford to travel right now, but it was nice of him to offer,” I say, now glaring daggers in Joseph’s direction. Her excitement dies; her expression now that of disappointment. I see her open her mouth to say something, most likely a rebuttal that I’m used to. “Why don’t you go wash the meat off your hands in the bathroom,” I tell her, grabbing for the bowl with the mixed meat to add the vegetables.

She stands up from the table and does as ordered, her face still gloomy, already knowing I won’t let her challenge me. The minute I hear the door close I attack him. “Don’t go getting her hopes up about things like that. She’s only four. She’s going to take those things seriously,” I quietly snap at him, trying to keep my tone down so Josephina doesn’t hear me.

His eyes grow wide. He probably wasn’t expecting me to get angry with him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal. She told me she loves fish and wants to visit the ocean one day. When I told her I live by the ocean, it sort of slipped out. I don’t see what the big deal is,” he claims, making me angrier.

“The
big deal
is that when you tell a little girl something, she expects it to happen, especially Josephina.”

“She’s four, she’ll probably forget about it in a couple of hours anyways,” he casually states, as if it’s no big deal.

He might not think it’s a big deal because he hasn’t been the one raising Josephina. He doesn't understand how her little mind works, or what her expectations are. He’s obviously never been around little children long enough to understand that not all of them
will probably forget about it
. Josephina is definitely not one of them.

Before I can tell him as much, Josephina comes running back out of the bathroom with a smile on her face, forcing me to stay silent. I don’t want her seeing me fight with him, but I already know she’s not going to forget about his promise, and I have a bad feeling Josephina won’t be the only one left disappointed by Joseph when he leaves once more.

AS MARK DRIVES away, I see a saddened Josephina waving goodbye to me. Waving goodbye to her hurts. It’s the second hardest thing I’ve had to do in a
very
long time. The first was the morning I had walked away from a sleeping Kasey. That morning it took every ounce of strength I had inside of me to leave. I didn’t want to walk away from her that night; the night we had conceived our daughter.

Our daughter
. It sounds so surreal.

That night I realized how hard I had fallen for Kasey Wilson. Before then, she’d always been the girl next door. The girl who I’d keep an eye on, knowing that because of her parents, I’d never have a chance at touching her. I wasn’t good enough for her. At least I’d always thought that, until the night she gave herself to me. It was then I knew I wasn’t going to let her go. I was coming back for her.

When
I did
come back for her though, she was already gone.