Page 22 of Reclaim

“Hello, what’s your emergency?” The lady’s voice is painfully cheerful. “We need an ambulance. My daughter.” The bile rises in my throat as I try to explain what happened.

“Yes, sir. What happened to your daughter?”

“She.” My throat begins to close, my heart palpitates, and I’m sure I’m about to pass out. “She.” A hand reaches for the phone from behind me, and I turn to see Hendrix. With Queen Street only ten minutes away, I know he wouldn’t have hesitated to speed over here once he heard the gunshot. My body slumps to the floor in defeat as I hear him take over the conversation with the operator.

“Hello, yes, that was my brother. We’re calling about his daughter, my niece.” He heads out to Dakota and Sasha, and I aimlessly follow.

“Yes. She’s conscious, and she’s breathing.” He pauses, taking in whatever it is she’s saying on the other end of the line. “She’s three years old… Um, it appears that she’s found a loaded handgun and accidentally shot herself in the arm.” As I listen to him describe the reality of our situation, the bile from earlier returns. Right in the middle of the room, I vomit until there’s nothing left.

And then I pass out.

She stands there staringat me as my eyes start to well with tears. I can’t believe she’s here, her eyes so full of life. Unharmed and so forgiving, she’s everything I prayed she’d be.

Emerson’s hand presses against the middle of my back, and I welcome the little push. Hendrix stands protectively beside my daughter, and I’ve never been more grateful for the man my brother has become than I am right now.

She looks up at him, and he nods encouragingly. She’s wide-eyed and innocent, making sense of everything around her. Inspecting me with knowing eyes, she looks between Hendrix and me, a small smile gracing her face. ”You really do look like Uncle Drix.”

Seven words have us all sighing in relief, the pressure slowly evaporating into thin air.

“It’s really good to see you,” I say, awkwardly offering her my hand.

“Um, is it okay if I hug you instead?”

I hide my shock at her request, and talk past the lump of emotion sitting in my throat. “I’d love a hug.” She starts off with small steps of caution towards me, and I meet every one with a silent prayer of gratitude. The last two steps feel like leaps, and on the last one I catch her with open arms. Her arms wrap around my neck, both of us holding on for dear life.

I never let myself imagine this moment. I was too busy punishing myself with images of her body marred by blood and how loud her cries of pain were. The worry she wouldn’t want anything to do with me was too great, enough for me to never contemplate a moment like this.

But now she’s here, more willing than I could have ever imagined, and the emotions are inescapable. For the first time in twelve years I let myself cry. Tears fall for the time I lost and for the pain I caused. For the memories she doesn’t have and the sacrifices everyone else has made. A heartbreaking reunion, I hold my daughter. My family. And I let every unavoidable tear ask her for forgiveness.

* * *

Okay,we’re going to wait in the car while you finish up here,” Hendrix explains.

“Sounds good.” Slowly feeling myself return to normal. I turn to Emerson and think of all the reasons I’m not ready to say goodbye to her.

“Jagger, it was lovely to meet you,” she says stiffly. Putting out her hand, the gesture is inadequate and impersonal. That’s not how I want this goodbye to go. I grab her hand and pull her to me, my hand gripping her hip. There’s nowhere to go, nowhere to look but at each other. Cupping her cheeks with my hands, I tilt my head and softly press my lips to hers. We both still. She doesn’t make any attempt to move, and my resolve crumbles at the simplicity of it all. Our lips part slighty.

“What are you doing?” she whispers.

“Saying thank you.” Without faltering, we yield to one another, forgetting about who we are and where we are. Her palms rest on my cheeks, and our mouths merge together. Each stroke of our tongues a welcomed hello and a painful goodbye. I kiss her as if it’s my first kiss. I kiss her knowing it’s our last. Our hands fight the urge to move. Fight the urge to explore, because anything more than this is torture.

She had a life before me, and I have a life after this. The kiss is a commemoration. An ode to the random, unexpected, and beautiful things that come into your life when you need them most.

Reluctantly, the kiss ends, reality fluttering around the edges of our thoughts. “I better go.”

“Of course, you’ve got a lot waiting for you.”

“Thank you, Em.”

“It was my pleasure.”

I skim my thumb across her bottom lip, and kiss her one last time. Our eyes meet and we nod at one another in understanding. I walk away from her, ignoring the need to have one last look.

“Jagger,” she calls out.

“Yeah.”

“If you need anything...”

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