Page 9 of And Forever
A tiny human comes barreling into the building in a blur, long black hair and tiny boots the only details I can make out as it giggles past the stalls. I spin around and jump back when the blur swerves close, a shriek busting loose from it before it continues. I can’t help but look at Rooney, as though the horse is going to hold the answers for the toddler’s behavior. As expected, he has no insight, but it doesn’t matter because in the next moment, Charlotte stands in the doorway.
The sounds filling my ears switch off, silence flooding in. The stable softens at the edges, fading as my vision tunnels, narrowing to focus on the face of the woman I love. The woman I let go in the single worst mistake of my life. She looks similar to the image my memory has supplied every day for nine-hundred-and-twelve days, including this morning, but there are subtle differences I immediately catalog.
I don’t bother to hide my perusal. I need to take in every curve from the familiar shapes of her toned legs, currently showing through the slit in a flowing, floral summer dress, to the newer flare at her hips. I continue to drink in the sight of her: slightly fuller breasts that have my baser instincts dying to investigate how they compare with the ones from three years ago. The length of her ebony hair is drastically shortened, the ends barely brushing her shoulders, and it’s pulled off her face in a utilitarian half pony. There’s no flash of color or whimsy, the usual ribbons and bows absent. But it’s her emerald eyes that have changed the most. The bright, jewel-like shine that glimmered with the best that life had to offer is gone. In its place is a keen, assessing sharpness I realize is trained on the chaos erupting behind me.
The toddler is climbing the stack of hay bales along the back stable wall, awkward but sure footing and grunts of effort tell me it’s not the first occurrence of the child doing this. Their long ebony hair falls past their shoulders, swept off their cherubic faceby a white lace ribbon. My breath hitches as my eyes flick between the child and Charlotte, whose eyes are wide as she looks between me and the child.
The realization rolls through me like a rumble of thunder, heavy and deep, just as the child settles atop the mountain of bales and squeals in delight.
“Mama! I did it!”
Victory lights the face of the little girl; a wide smile popping an adorable dimple in her left cheek and blue eyes dancing with excitement. The giggles continue as she wiggles a happy little dance from her perch.
Mama.
The word echoes in my ears as I turn to the child—Charlotte’s child,my mind emphasizes—the click of her boots behind me on the concrete of the alleyway. The swoop in my stomach is the only sensation I can focus on, even as my knuckles turn white from where I grip Rooney’s stall door with too much force. But maybe it’s necessary to keep myself upright. I’m not sure my legs are working at the moment.
“Yes, you did, Squish,” Charlotte coos with admiration as she scoops the toddler onto her hip. The little girl curls around her automatically, and the familiarity of the action nearly stops my heart. I try to get my thoughts to catch up or organize themselves into something that makes sense. Mother and daughter continue a whispered conversation as I pull facts through the haze filling my head.
Charlotte has a little girl.
She can’t be more than two, but I can’t know for sure.
Black hair and blue eyes.
“Time to say night-night, okay?” Charlotte’s prompt pulls me from the puzzle pieces connecting. The little girl scrambles deftly out of her arms and crosses to the furthest stall door. With a single knock, she calls to the occupant. A gauzy Palomino pokes its head into the alleyway, dipping to the tiny caller.
“Night-night, Juni!” she chirps as her tiny hands hold thehorse’s snout and she smacks a kiss on its nose. The horse is entirely unbothered, as though this is a ritual it is well used to. The unease in my gut softens as the child continues to the next stall, knocking and calling to each horse in turn. I’m mesmerized and miss the moment Charlotte settles next to me.
“She’s done this every night since she could walk.”
I suck a sharp breath, familiar floral and sweet filling my nostrils.Peaches and something distinctly Charlotte.It has haunted my dreams and memories, but the smell of it now feels like coming home. I have no right to think that way, but I can’t help how my body relaxes now that it is in her proximity. But as much as I want to sink into this, reach out and hold her, or drop to my knees and beg for her forgiveness, I can’t.
“What’s her name?” I ask hesitantly, as if I have a right to know. I never take my eyes from the little girl as she kisses the horses goodnight. She tries to loop her arms around a recognizable black mare, and my heart lurches as she pets Vesper’s glossy coat. The horse clearly favors her attention, bending lower and the child gives her an extra kiss.
“Winona,” Charlotte answers. The name feels thick, three syllables laced with lost time and longing. I swallow to clear the pain and embrace the possibility, the hope I haven’t even given words to. “I wanted to give her a name that reminded me of her daddy.”
6
CHARLOTTE
EVERS RIDGE, MONTANA — EARLY MAY
Ilean against the doorframe, content to watch Winona’s chest rise and fall as she drifts off to sleep. The soft glow of her starry sky night light bounces along the gentle curve of her chubby cheek. I try to soak up the same peace that floats across her face when her lips pop open on a silent snore.
But I can’t hide in here. I can’t avoid what’s waiting in my kitchen the way I have for the last week. As I pull the door closed and turn down the hallway, I’m truly surprised I’ve managed to keep things at bay for this long. Making a left at the entrance to the hall, I take a deep breath, preparing for the inevitable.
Wilder stands at the marble island, hands splayed wide, a blank look on his face. It’s so much worse than I’ve imagined when thinking of this moment for the last three years. His eyes focus on me when I walk into the room. The blue is familiar and unknown at the same time. They have a shadow they never did before and creases in the corners.
It’s not the only change. His hair is cut close to his head now, the playful swoops and shagginess replaced by clean lines. His body is filled out in places that were always lithe and leanbefore. Shoulders and midsection are a little more rounded, but still defined. The added muscle and bulk only make him look better. The starving athlete has been replaced by a man who takes care of himself. He looks strong and sturdy. Reliable, and not just for the weekly beating bronc riding used to give him.
“How old?—”
“Wild, I’m sorry?—”
Our voices overlap before we break off awkwardly. Wilder winces, and my own smile tightens. I pull out a barstool and sit on the edge before I gesture for him to start. After having this conversation a million times in my head, I think I’m prepared for anything he has to say. But he catches me off-guard when he leans on his forearms and gives me a heartbreaking smile.
“Is she really ours?” His eyes are glassy, hope sparking to life behind the unshed tears. It takes my breath away, and I lose my voice. I nod, gripping the island. A warm, broken exhale parts his lips before he licks them. The flash of a tear catches in the light, rolling down a cheek, and he doesn’t attempt to swipe it away. There’s a dreamy quality to the wonder that flickers through his quiet reckoning. I make no move to comfort him, too uncertain if it would be welcome while he composes himself. After a few minutes, he slides a hand across the space between us, and familiar calloused fingers curl around my wrist in a gentle touch. I close my eyes when his skin connects with mine. “I’m so sorry, Charlie.”
