“Wow, Molly, that’s really good.” I look over at Oscar. He’s holding a white bag that I’m guessing came from Elaine’s Diner, the local eatery only two blocks down from the beach. He smiles at me, the sun hitting his dark hair, making all his grays show.

My eyes go back to the painting I’ve been working on all morning, and for the first time, I see it. It’s a moment in my life I could never forget. Branded. I could paint this in my sleep, if I was sleeping that is.

“I’d love to know what he’s looking at,” he adds, sitting down next to me on the old, white, chipped wooden bench that looks out onto the beach. I’ve come to feel like it’s my bench over the past few months. I spend most of my time on this beach doing this. Painting.

I took up residence on it today before the sun really even started to rise over the endless ocean. Everything around me waking up, coming back to life, leaving me behind in the darkness. I don’t sleep anymore. I don’t know how someone can be so exhausted and not be able to sleep. I just keep thinking I’ll crash, but as soon as I do, I wake moments later. The bittersweet dreams are more than I can bear. Taunting and torturing me.

Who knew sweet memories could cut so deep? Make you not want to close your eyes at night because you know what you’ll see? Make you ache for something you can’t have? I’ve even started to question myself as to what I’d really seen in Phillip’s office that night because not once have I dreamed about that night. No. All that ever seem to come are the things that made me fall in love with him. Ache to be with him so deeply I didn't think there was a bottom to it.

The nights he’d hold me close and tell me all the things we were going to do together. The life that we would have. That he wanted that life, too, never having had a family of his own. He’d always make me smile when he’d tell me he’d never wanted one until he met me. That he’d just been waiting for me to come and wake him up. That things had been so lonely before me. That he hadn’t even realized he was. That he wasn’t really living until me. Once again making me feel like the center of his world.

And maybe I could have that life if I could be that woman who looked the other way. It was pathetic because I’d actually contemplated it. The ache of not having him hurting more than him having an affair.

“Me,” I finally say, realizing I hadn’t answered Oscar. It’s the first time I met Phillip. I’d walked into my father’s study, and there he was, waiting for my father to get back. I’ll never forget the look on his face. His sharp, deep blue eyes narrowed on me, then lit up his face, a dimple showing that only I could ever seem to get from him. My dimple. I’ve kissed it hundreds of times. It was instant. I knew in that moment I’d love that man until I took my last breath. No one had ever looked at me like that. He’d made me feel like the world began and ended with me.

Most of all, I loved how I seemed to be so different to him. To others he was hard, cold, and calculating. Intimidating, I think many would say, but that wasn’t what I’d seen that first day. He was sweet and charming, and I’d sat talking with him in my father’s office for three hours. We didn’t even know the time had passed. My father had come rushing in, apologizing, and asking why we hadn’t responded to his phone calls or texts. It was like we’d gotten lost in our own little world, something I easily do around him. I could even see the shocked look on Phillip’s face when he pulled his phone out of his suit-jacket pocket, surprised that he’d forgotten. My dad even made a joke that it was normally glued to his hand.

Phillip had leaned over and whispered in my ear, “I would have left hours ago and thrown this deal out the window, but now there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do for this deal if it means I’ll get to wait in your father’s office for hours just to talk to you.”

Always sweet with me. Telling me about his life, which I knew he didn’t do with others. Even Cindy had said that while they had known each other for years, she didn’t know much about his past. No one seemed to know but me. About the fighting, the foster care, the drive to be the best. The nothingness he’d felt.

It wasn’t until I’d seen him at work or around others did I realize that only I got that. Did he give that to her, too? The thought is like a smack. A reminder of what really happened. What led me to this bench, sitting alone like I do most days.

Those sweet memories are why I believed all those words Cindy had said to me at dinner that night. Phillip would never do something like that. But he did. I’d seen it. Just like I’d seen my father do the same to my mother. It took a while to see it, or maybe my head was in the clouds, but it was there right in front of my face. We like to make ourselves believe things aren’t what they seem. Phillip had told me he had dark parts to him.

How much easier would it have been if I could have acted like my mother? She’d seemed happy until she just wasn’t, but I wonder if she had the ache deep in her, too. Probably. Why else would she just take off and leave? I always wondered if it was because I reminded her of my father. She couldn’t even be bothered to attend any of my graduations or even my wedding. There was always a reason she couldn’t make it.

“Hmm. He your baby’s father?” I look over at Oscar in shock. He turns his big brown warm eyes to me, eyebrows raised with a knowing smirk on his face. He reminds me so much of my grandfather. Maybe that’s why I latched myself to him. He’s only person in this little town in the middle of nowhere I really talk to, but in all fairness, he doesn’t really give me a choice. Just like today, he normally shows up with something to eat and we take it from there.

My hand goes to the little baby bump that I didn’t think was that noticeable.

“I’ve known for a while, but you just don’t seem to be fessing up.”

“I thought I hid it well.”

“You’re a tiny little thing. Trust me, that bump is just going to keep growing. I’d know, my wife had eight.”

I smile at that. It always makes me smile when he talks about his wife. His own smile just takes over his whole face at the mention of her. I love that. I’d wanted what they had. A little life together without the rest of the world pressing in on them, but I knew the responsibilities that sat on Phillip’s shoulders. I knew the reality of the man I’d chosen to marry, even if he had promised me that someday we’d have the life I’d dreamed about.

I know Oscar has a lot of kids, all older than me, and I often get them mixed up when he talks about them. But that’s what happens when you give all your children names that start with the letter S. It’s hard to keep things straight.

I rub my stomach. I want a baby belly. The thought actually makes me excited, maybe because I remember all the times Phillip would talk about wanting to see me round with our baby, but I just don’t want people asking questions. Questions I don’t want to answer or think about. I’d liked this whole avoiding thing. It might not be working out wonderfully, but I’m getting along for the time being and I still have time. Time to pull myself together.

“So.” Oscar nudges me with his shoulder, then pulls the box out of the white bag, opening it to reveal cinnamon rolls, and offering me one. I take one from the box. The roll is still warm, and I take a giant bite. The hunger comes and goes. Sometimes I feel like I can eat anything, and sometimes I have to make myself.

“He’s the father,” I finally admit.

“I like the way you draw him. He doesn’t look as nice on the television.”

My face jerks back to his as he studies the painting. He knows.

“You know who I am?” He just nods his head like it’s no big deal. “How long have you known?”

“Since I saw you.”

“Oh.” I sit back against the bench. I’m at a loss for words. It’s not like we’re famous really, but every now and then Phillip would make the news for work. Oscar isn’t the first person I’ve heard say Phillip looks mean. He’s a big guy. He’s more than a few inches over six foot, and he’s broad, too. No leanness to him. He’s built like a tank, I often thought, but it always made me feel safe. But then again, I always got the soft Phillip. His eyes never went cold on me. Or they hadn’t. I wouldn’t bet on that now. I know he’s looking for me. I’d even had to put in a call to the New York Police Department to stop him from filing a missing person’s report. Then I got my lawyer to serve him divorce papers. Said I’d agree to whatever he wanted. I wasn’t going to fight him.

I hadn’t heard a word after that and my lawyer said he’d yet to respond. I wasn’t pushing. I just wanted to be left alone for a little bit longer. I was still trying to accept the fact that I was pregnant. I was a little slow on the uptake. I’d only figured it out about a month ago myself.

Time seemed to blur together here with endless days of sadness. It wasn’t until I couldn’t keep anything down that it finally clicked into place.

“He looks like shit.”

“I don’t watch the TV or look at the paper.” Heck, I don’t even own a television in the tiny studio I’m living in above a little print shop. Still, I don’t understand how Oscar’s words make me feel. Happy that he looks like shit without me, or remorse because I still love him and hate the idea of him hurting, even if he hurt me?

“I can’t help myself. Gotta watch my news every night.”

“I’m going to tell him,” I say defensively. I don’t want him to think I’ll keep this baby from him, because I won’t. I just want to get it together. Get my head on straight. I keep thinking time will make the pain lessen, but I’m starting to think nothing will.

One thing I do know, I won’t be like my mother. She ran. Took off and left me behind. This might not have been the life I’d wanted, the family I’d dreamed about having, but I’d make it work. I’d pull myself together. Go back to the city and do what I have to do so we can both be a part of the child’s life. This baby will have both of us. I just hope Phillip will be more engaged in this child’s life than he had been in our marriage.

It would kill me if the novelty of a child could wear off like what had happened to me. Either way, it would be better than having no father at all. My father might not have been perfect, but he was still there, unlike my mother. That was something.

“Didn’t think you would. Just taking your time. You’ll get there.” With that, he stands and tosses the box in the trash.

I’m not sure I’ll ever get there. The time isn’t working as I spend my days painting and my nights lying in bed looking up at the ceiling. Letting things eat away at me. I have to go back. The sooner the better.

To get things ready for this child. To work on how Phillip and I are going to be in each other’s lives.

Finishing my cinnamon roll, I lick my fingers clean before I start packing up my art supplies. I put everything in my bag, fold the easel, and put it under my arm. I pull out my phone and call a number I know by heart. I’m not sure if I want her to answer.

“Cindy Reed speaking.” Cindy’s voice comes through the phone, the sound making my eyes water. I miss her. She’s probably going to kill me.

“Cindy, it’s—”

“Molly!” she barks into the phone, cutting me off. “Where the fuck are you?”

I hear someone gasp in the background. It actually makes me crack a smile. God, I really do miss her.

“I’m coming home. I was wondering if I could stay with you,” I ask, stepping off the sidewalk to cross the street in the direction of my little apartment. I’ll need to start packing things up because I know as soon as I get off this phone, Phillip will find me and show up here. Or worse, he won’t.

I barely hear the sound of the car before I feel someone grab me, slamming me down on the concrete, and everything goes black.