Page 54 of Vows in Sin
I jog over, kneeling in the grass beside her. “Can I help?”
“Sure.” She smiles at me, and her Snow-White-like beauty strikes me.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Dame crossing the field. I pass out water bottles, smiling and offering a kind word when I can. My busy mind still tries to understand what I’m feeling. It’s an ache for something. Not desire. I don’t want him. Not that way. I catch a glimpse of him as he wraps his arms around a bloodied brother in a tight embrace.
A few kiddos shyly approach me, and I invite them over, saying, “Come sit with me,” while I pat the soft grass as an invitation. I offer water, and soon, a small group forms, sharing drinks and chatting while their parents sort things out. Some older kidsare eager to help. I assign them to distribute bottles from the coolers.
The next jet to unload pulls up further on the tarmac. The jet slows. Stops.
I focus on my work, helping a girl bring up a fresh cooler with more water. Still, one eye keeps glancing at that jet. Waiting for the door to open.
Emilia approaches. “Ophelia, is it okay if I steal Seraphina from you?”
“Sure!” She turns to me. “Thanks for the help. It was nice to meet you.”
“No problem. And you, too.” I stand, pulling my sunglasses down from my hair and over my eyes as I join Emilia.
I scan the tarmac. The door opens. The stairs lower.
I look away, staring at the grass as I follow beside Emilia. We approach a long row of white folding tables that have been set up with computers, a Beauty behind each laptop, entering names from the line of waiting adults. I focus on Emila’s voice, listening intently as she instructs me on my tasks.
“You’re so good with the little ones. Do you think you could entertain some of the younger kids so their parents can be placed? I think if the kids were entertained, it’d be easier for them to tell us their needs and for us to find the appropriate shared home for them.”
Soon, I’m leading a game of ‘duck, duck, goose.’ A little girl in a tearstained dress and wilting pigtails sits in my lap, sucking her thumb for comfort. Her other pudgy little hand clutches a yellowteddy, its fur flat in places from love. “Can I fix your hair?” I ask softly.
Staring at the game ahead, she contemplates. Finally, I get a tiny nod of permission. Gently, I redo her pigtails so they sit neatly on the top of her head.
Sissy may not be here, but I feel her presence in this field, from the adorable laughing toddlers she once was to the older teens she’d be today.
And there he is.
Reign.
Ruling over me from across the field.
He steps out of the plane like his own version of Casablanca. He’s disheveled. Bruised. His arm is in a makeshift sling, shirt open at the collar, a white bandage peeking beneath it.
His eyes scan the crowd.
Is he looking for me?
His gaze travels along the field, passing me, then back and missing me again.
I want to run to him. Wrap my arms around his neck. Touch every inch of him, ask him if he’s okay, if the bruises and cuts are as painful as they look.
A squabble breaks out amongst the kids. Someone’s been picked to be the goose one too many times. It’s not fair, their little voices tell me. “New game!” I call out. “Have you guys ever heard of toilet tag?” As I assumed, the title alone makes them giggle, gaining their interest.
I explain the simple game, “If you get tagged you freeze in place. Hold out your hand as a flusher and if someone pushes it down, you’re freed!” I choose three taggers and count down to start.
Then, Tabitha steps out from behind him. She takes his good arm in hers, squeezing it tightly. “Dad,” I see her say.
No. No way.
My heart plummets in my chest.
I didn’t know Reign was Tabitha’s father. I knew he was a Bachman, but there are oodles of those gorgeous men in this city.
Why did I have to find healing in the one that shares DNA with the girl I used to sing into hairbrushes with, dancing around in our underwear, belting out disco tunes?
