Page 22 of Everything We Left Unsaid

“Yes,” she confirms. “And I have proof.” I eye her skeptically, wondering what kind of “proof” she has and why she thinks she needs it. She rises from the table and disappears down the hallway, coming back moments later with a sheet of paper. “Here,” she says, placing it on the table and sliding it toward me.

A grainy black and white picture of myself stares back at me. I’m holding a bucket, a huge smile splitting my face, my other arm tossed over the shoulders of one of the villagers. My sneakers are covered in sand and there’s dirt on my face and white t-shirt. It’s a printout from an online newspaper. I read the headline out loud. “Local Spotlight: Senator Daniels’ son helps bring clean water to remote African village.”

“Look right here,” Ama instructs, pointing to a line of text, and I follow her finger. The article talks about the project, outlining the dates the internship took place.

“This is great and everything, but why are you showing me this?”

“I told you I no longer doubted you and that I should’ve listened to my gut before,” she begins hesitantly. “But Abby still has her doubts,” she adds sadly. “She may need more convincing.”

Abby

Steam rises from my cup and I close my eyes, basking in the appetizing aroma of freshly brewed coffee and hazelnut creamer. It’s been a long time since I’ve sat at this worn, faded kitchen table, a ceramic mug warming my fingers. I gave up the habit when I found out I was pregnant with Chloe, worried that caffeine would stunt her growth as many of the pamphlets warned. But this morning, as I attempt to keep my bloodshot eyes from fluttering closed, my mind and body wracked by exhaustion, I desperately need the boost. And I have a feeling this little vice is here to stay as long as Jacob is in the picture.

I stayed up way too late trying to find something to keep my thoughts from returning to him. After scrubbing every square inch of our tiny kitchen, reorganizing each drawer of my dresser, and sorting through all the clothes Chloe has outgrown, I finally crawled into bed, only to fall into a fitful and dreamless sleep.

There were far too many questions running through my head. How could somebody do this to me, to Jacob? Who would do something so hateful and deceiving? Or is Jacob the one who’s deceiving me? Maybe it’s really his signature and he purposefully changed it to throw me off. Is that even possible? I’m no handwriting expert, but I’m sure a person can change their handwriting, especially over the course of two years.

My head begins to throb, a dull ache settling into my eye sockets. I take a sip of my rapidly cooling coffee and close my eyes, hoping it will help. I don’t want to believe it. Nothing makes sense. None of the explanations seem plausible, yet something happened. I don’t know what, but I’m determined to find out. I’ll get answers one way or another.

When I finallypull into my driveway after my shift at the park, my heart does a little flip at the sight of Jacob’s vehicle parked next to my grandmother’s. The longer he’s here, the more those old feelings start to seep in and my walls begin to crumble. He broke them down once and then left me in the rubble. But this time I have more to protect and more to lose. I rebuilt those walls stronger and higher, and if I let him in again, I’m afraid they’ll fall even harder, crushing us all.

I take a moment to collect my thoughts, letting Carly Pearce’s “Every Little Thing” seep into my skin and settle into my soul. My eyes close and I soak in her words. I, too, remember every little thing. Everything that’s happened over the last two years and four months, the ups and downs, the falling in love and subsequent heartbreak, which make it hard to determine exactly how I feel about him now.

My legs shake as I step onto the gravel. Jacob’s presence shouldn’t affect me this much, but my body is a traitor, reacting to his proximity in the most inconvenient of ways. I do my best to hide it from him, but he notices. My body doesn’t care that he tore out my heart and left me lonely, pregnant, and scared. All it knows is the electric attraction between us, the chemistry that made us compatible in the first place.

Jacob and Chloe are playing on the living room floor when I come inside. He sits cross-legged in front of her, one of the toys that teaches her numbers lit up between them. Her head pops up when she hears the door close and she clumsily gets up and runs toward me.

“Mama!” she croons. I squat down to await her embrace. She leaps into my arms and throws her tiny arms around my neck.

“I missed you,” I proclaim in a low voice, wanting to keep this tender moment with her to myself. I’ve had to share her so much lately, I appreciate my time with her that much more. She turns in my arms, searching the living room for Jacob, but I won’t look in his direction. I don’t know what to say or how to act around him now. It’s more awkward now than it was when we first met. “Where’s enisi?” I ask, hoping my grandmother is close by. I need her as a buffer between us.

“’Nisi,” Chloe repeats and points down the hallway.

“How was your day?” Jacob asks, striding toward us. I hold my breath as he approaches, hoping he’ll keep his distance. I don’t want him to think everything will go back to the way it was before he left. I need a little time to wrap my mind around everything, and he has the ability to get in my head and under my skin. And damn if he doesn’t smell just as good as I remember.

“It was fine,” I respond, still avoiding his gaze. My skin prickles with awareness, knowing his eyes have settled on me. “Busy,” I elaborate dispassionately.

From the corner of my eye, I catch the rise of his chest as he fills his lungs in preparation to speak. Before he can utter a word, the sound of a door opening grabs our attention and my grandmother emerges from the hallway. I rush to her, thankful for the interruption, and wrap one arm around her in an embrace. Chloe dives from my arms into hers, clearly preferring my grandmother’s company.

Heading to the kitchen, I feel the heat of Jacob’s stare on my back. He knows I’m avoiding him. I’m not ready to deal with everything that happened yesterday, while he seems eager to face it all head-on.

“I’m gonna start on dinner,” I throw over my shoulder as I begin pulling supplies out of the pantry.

“Don’t worry about that, dear,” my grandmother calls from the living room, settling Chloe back on the floor in front of her toy and ambling toward me. “We’ve ordered a pizza. It should be here soon.”

“And I rented a couple movies,” Jacob adds, holding up two DVD cases.

Friday night pizza and movies. Just like old times.

I blink a few times to keep the tears from welling in my eyes as my throat tightens, remembering the weekly ritual my father started when Ethan and I were kids. Every Friday night, he’d bring home pizza and a movie from one of the long-gone movie rental stores. We would wait anxiously, bellies growling and mouths watering while he washed up after a long day in the coal mines. We’d watch Disney movies and comedies while finishing our dinner with homemade cookies Mom had baked that afternoon. Those are the fondest memories I have of our family before it shattered completely.

“Abigail, are you okay?” My grandmother’s worried face comes into focus and I shake myself from the memory. I’d been staring off into space, my mind trapped fourteen years in the past.

“I’m fine,” I assure her. “Just tired. It’s been a long day.”

She eyes me skeptically, so I give her a weak smile. She accepts my excuse with a nod, but I’m not fooling her. We’ll talk later, I’m sure.

“Should we go ahead and start the movie I got for Chloe?” Turning toward the sound of Jacob’s voice, I allow myself to really look at him for the first time since arriving home. A layer of light stubble covers his chin and chiseled jaw, and his hair is a bit longer than I remember. His icy blue eyes study me with the same intensity as before. My eyes drift to his broad shoulders and muscular chest, a plain navy-blue t-shirt stretched across to reveal a fit torso. A pair of light grey shorts covers his powerful thighs. I still remember just how strong those thighs are, his thrusts hard and deep, steady as a drumbeat.

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