Part 15 (2/2)
And so I give him the only answer I know. ”Because you're the one who took me there.”
Less than an hour has pa.s.sed when I slide out of bed and start to get dressed. It feels like an eternity, though. Like I have slept and healed and come out fresh on the other side, renewed and brave.
That fades, though, when I pull a long-sleeved T-s.h.i.+rt over my head, and see the way that Jackson is looking at me, propped up on the bed on one elbow.
”What's wrong?”
”I spoke with Amy this morning.”
I concentrate on stepping into my shortsI'm dressing for the island, not the Towerthen look at him again. ”Your attorney?” I ask, as if this is all news to me.
”I'm tired of leaving my little girl in limbo. I've asked Amy to get a court date. I want to bring Ronnie home.”
I zip up the shorts, then go to sit on the bed. ”Good,” I say. ”You're her dad.”
I see the relief on his face, and know that I've said the right thing. ”There's more. Do you remember what we talked about at the airport?”
”Sure.” I'm proud of how normal my voice sounds.
”Did you mean what you said? Because I want to make it official.”
”Official?”
He nods. ”If something happens to me, I want guardians.h.i.+p of Ronnie to go to you. I want Amy to amend the guardians.h.i.+p papers. You, not Megan, if something happens to me.”
”I” I swallow, wanting to kick myself for hesitating for even an instant.
He notices, of course. ”Yesterday, when I was being an a.s.s about the paparazzi, what you said about believing I'd killed Reed. About staying with me no matter what.”
His words are choppy, and I take his hand.
”That drove it home for me,” he continues, more smoothly, and the knowledge that I've given him strength swells inside me. ”How much I want you to be the one protecting her. Sticking with her. But I know it's selfish of me, too, and if you don't want that”
”You were an a.s.s about the paparazzi?” The question, voiced as a tease, slips out of me. I regret it immediately, but I'm latching on to anything but the real issue. Anything but the possibility that I will be raising a child alone.
”I was,” he says. ”I was p.i.s.sed and acting stupid and you were right. I need to avoid them, not taunt them. And when we do encounter them, I need to play Evelyn's game and be polite and friendly. I hate it, but I'll do it because I know it increases the odds that I won't end up behind bars. That I'll stay here with you. With Ronnie.”
Relief flutters through me. That, at least, is one thing I can stop worrying about.
”I'll call Amy this morning and tell her not to change anything,” he says gently. ”It's too much to ask. I wasn't thinking. I wasn't”
”No,” I blurt, gripping his hand tighter. ”No, I'm sure. Of course I'm sure.”
And I am.
Despite my fears, I am absolutely certain.
Because what other choice do I have?
In Jackson's world, there is him, there is his daughter, and there is me.
He loves me, I know that he does.
But if he ever has to make a choice, it is Ronnie that he will choose. Because unlike Jeremiah or my parents, Jackson is a good father. And for him, Ronnie's welfare will always come first.
And as for me?
All I can do is make certain that is never a choice that he will have to make.
All I can do is take a tentative step toward the role of Mommy, and hope that I never have to play that role alone.
But am I taking that step because I love Jackson?
Or am I doing it because I'm afraid of losing him if I don't?
fifteen.
The enticing aroma of yeast and cinnamon wafts through the boat, making my stomach growl. ”That smells amazing,” I say, as Jackson opens the oven in the galley-style kitchen and pulls out a tray of cinnamon rolls.
We'd come to the marina before dawn, and had been lucky not to meet many paparazzi hanging around the gate. Presumably they knew Jackson wasn't on the boat and had gone home to sleepor to the Tower to camp out.
Now we're getting close to the island, and making up for skipping breakfast in order to get under way quicker.
Jackson picks up a plastic bag full of gooey white stuff that I a.s.sume is a sugary icing for the rolls. I ease up beside him and take it, figuring I ought to contribute at least a little something to our breakfast. He snags the first one I ice, holding it on a paper towel as he nods generally toward the front of the boat. ”I'm going to go check our position. I'll be right back.”
I nod, then focus on my culinary task until he returns.
”Getting close,” he says. ”Ten more minutes and I'll take her off autopilot. But it's a gorgeous day. Let's take these up to the deck.”
Since that's a brilliant idea, I don't argue. He takes the rolls and I grab some orange juice, plates, and cups, then follow him up.
He's right. It is a gorgeous day, and I silently decree that today there will be no talk of murder or jail. There will be no worries about Ronnie. No fear that I will be raising that little girl alone.
There will be only work and the island and Jackson and me.
Today, I'm holding tight to normalcy, and these moments at sea are a d.a.m.n fine start.
The sky is a crystalline blue, and there isn't a cloud to be seen. The ocean ahead is smooth, the surface only rippled by a soft wind. We're close enough to both Catalina Island and Santa Cortez for seagulls to be flying overhead, and I watch as a few dive-bomb the water for their breakfast. I toss out a piece of my cinnamon roll and watch the closest one rocket toward it.
”Hey,” Jackson says. ”I slaved over those. Took them out of a box and everything.”
”You picked a good box. They're great.”
<script>