Page 45 of Advice from a Sunflower

Emma's panicked face appeared in the driver's side window immediately, her fists pounding on the glass in an attempt to break it. But the water was rising around the car, applying a pressure on the doors and windows that made it impossible to open them. Yet somehow, I'd managed to do it.

My hand was on my pocketknife and cutting through Emma's seat belt before my mind registered I would need it. I knew I had to get her out of the way to see into the back seat.

Please don't be there. Please don't fucking be in the car.

Once I yanked her body out of the way and threw the seat forward, everything stopped.

The car was sinking from back to front. I'd barely gotten Emma out before the water had reached the roof of the tiny sedan. She was sputtering behind me, barely able to catch her breath before the scene before us registered in her mind.

"SADIE!" I heard my wife shriek from behind me, fighting against the current that was carrying her away.

Once again, my mind was three steps behind my hands. The knife was slicing through the car seat harness and yanking the limp little body out before I realized I'd made it into the backseat.

My body was cutting through the harsh, cold water like hot butter and dropping her onto the ground while my mind was still stuck at the image of her lying lifeless in the back seat, surrounded by murky, green water.

A paramedic I'd gone to high school with dropped down beside me and began compressions on her chest, working out the water that had made its way into her immature lungs. He continued for what felt like hours, a crowd of firemen and police officers from different towns gathering around us. Emma was screaming from somewhere on my left side as someone attempted to clean up her bloody face.

I knew what was coming when he hung his head, giving her body—the one that I helped create—one last set of compressions, before giving up.

I honestly can't say what happened next. My mind has blocked out the rest of that night and the entire week after, only allowing small glimpses to come through when I fight to remember.

It doesn't matter. After that day, the single most important person in my life ceased to exist. The pitter-patter of her tiny feet no longer filled the silence in my home. Her beautiful, round eyes and chubby cheeks no longer graced us outside of pictures, and I began sinking deeper into my own despair.

People in town immediately blamed Emma, with my mother leading the pack. They didn't give us a single second to mourn our loss without drawing a line between us and taking sides. They did everything but burn her at the stake, grinding her already fragile mind into dust.

She went through postpartum depression when Sadie was born, struggling to connect with the beautiful soul we'd created and come to grips with her new role. In the beginning, everyone told me to just try to support her through it. To ride it out and offer every option out there to guide her out of the darkness.

So, I did.

I bought the car she insisted on having, trading mine in for an SUV that would be safer for family trips. I made dinner for us most nights. I pampered her every chance I got. I took over the moment I walked through the door so she could have time to herself.

I did it all without complaint because my wife needed me to, and my daughter deserved the best from me.

When the accident happened, the town lost all sympathy for her. They saw her depression as murder intent. It was everything I could do to keep her from hearing the horrible things that were being muttered about her from people who once claimed to support us. But no matter how hard I tried to shield her, it still got to her. She had those thoughts about herself.

I've never blamed Emma for Sadie's death. The thought has never once infiltrated my mind the way it has for everyone else, marring her once-perfect reputation. I know she had her struggles in the beginning, but there's no doubt in my mind that she loved that little girl any less than I did. In fact, her depression stemmed from her own feelings of inferiority. Her mind convinced her that she didn't deserve Sadie. It made her lose all confidence in her motherhood.

What happened on that bridge was a freak accident. I know that. But it still brought our marriage to an end. Our love couldn't sustain without the glue that held it together. Neither of us felt human after she was gone, so we agreed to merely exist separately.

This time, I'm hell bent on not going through that. I've been given a second chance with Mouse—something I'll never get with Sadie—and I owe it to myself to take full advantage. I'm not getting fucked over again before I've had my share of fun. I'm just not sure how I'm going to manage ignoring the feelings I'm having for the dangerous siren before she lures me in again and history repeats itself.

The real problem is Emma.

She still thinks she has some sort of claim on me, despite it being years since the divorce was finalized. As shameful as it is to admit, we've still been hooking up on and off between her constant flow of boyfriends and mood swings.

I know it's stupid. I've just been too lazy to bother with finding someone else. Emma's always there, readily available and already used to my cold attitude. I've barely given her the time of day since Mouse has been back in town, though. I can tell she hates it, but she knows she can't say anything without the risk of being cut off. She sees a future where we're back together and everything is sunshine and rainbows again. It's insane if you ask me, but so is fucking your ex-wife on a regular basis, so who am I to judge?

Either way, I know that Mouse’s presence has increased her paranoia and I'm almost afraid to see what happens when she finds out that I've been secretly hooking up with her self-appointed rival. I know it won't be good for anyone involved, which is why I've avoided her and her annoying little spies at all costs. That’s never been easy to do in our small town.

***

"How long did you think you could hook up with my sister before I found out?"

I drop the trimmers from my hands, abandoning the bushes I've been grooming all morning as Marnie's steps grow closer.

"Not sure what you're talking about."

"Bullshit." She stops next to me and places her hand on her hip. I've seen her do that when she's reprimanding the girls and I hate that the move works to intimidate me a little. "Why else would she be sneaking into my house at the ass crack of dawn?"

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