In the week following the incident, I had spent many hours turning all the possibilities around, trying to find new views on it. All details seemed to point towards a vile situation, but the specifics of that were unknown. And not knowing was the scariest part.

 

On Thursday, Ginger stayed home, sick. I could barely go through with my work, the day seeming so long and never ending. My classes over, I left without doing any paperwork and drove as fast as I could. The little girl was sick and I needed to see if she was all right. Dawson might have been a good father but I didn’t trust his medical skills. Besides, lately I hadn’t trusted Dawson, period.

 

On my way home, like everything conspired to slow me down, I had to get gas. I couldn’t wait anymore, so I called Dawson. “Hey, I’m just on my way home. Wanted to ask how Ginger’s feeling.”

 

Fine, he told me. No need to worry, just a common cold. He seemed distant. Before I could suggest a visit, he assured me that the little girl would be just fine by the weekend. I felt anger rising inside me. Was I just interested in an easy babysitting job? Or was I more concerned with her well-being?

 

I wanted to ask him what he took me for, but I held my tongue. I wouldn’t have known how to proceed anyway.

 

I heard Ginger’s voice in the background, probably asking who it was that he mentioned her name to. He said she could say hi but didn’t hand her the phone. She seemed fine with just yelling “Hi, Mari!” towards the handset, then I didn’t hear her anymore. I felt on the brink of crying. The bastard was trying to keep her from possibly asking to see me.

 

I hung up, unable to believe such preposterous possibilities, and drove home. I unlocked my front door, eying his house with a concerned look on my face. I couldn’t see Ginger, so I stepped inside and closed the door. For some reason, I felt exhausted. And terribly hurt with loneliness.

 

I sat down, dropping my purse on the floor, starting to feel tears on my cheeks. What was going on seemed like the worst dream I could ever have with Dawson. I felt stupid for having imagined happy times and a future into this relationship. It seemed that, regardless of what he said or what I thought to have seen in his eyes, he didn’t want to be close. Ginger was the only thing bringing us together and he was taking her away when she needed me the most.

 

What cruel man would do that? And what sort of sordid business was he involved with? Drugs? Prostitution? Surely, as a bouncer, he had access to just the right type of market.

 

And Ginger?

 

“Mari!” My heart jumped out of the ribcage. Ginger had cried my name and I darted through the door.

 

She was running towards my house, wearing just a light little dress, barefoot. I kneeled on the grass and hugged her tightly, concerned for the weather that seemed to get cooler by the hour. I intended to have a word with Dawson when I heard him walk towards us.

 

I raised my eyes as drops of rain started falling, big and round, at a slow, but determinate pace. His dark features looked even darker against the cold sky and, for a moment, I felt a stray ripple in my stomach.

 

I stood, still holding Ginger, trying to shield her from the rain. I glanced once at Dawson, then dashed towards his house, where I could change the girl into something warmer, maybe tuck her in with some tea, make her comfortable. To hell with his unwillingness to have me there without prior arrangements.

 

He reached the door before us and held it open. I stepped in and went straight for Ginger’s room. He walked in front and opened the door, leaving me space to get inside.

 

The pink room had never surprised me. I expected him to provide her with anything she wished. I went straight to the small bed in the corner and laid Ginger down. She was mellow and her skin was hot to the touch. I looked at Dawson sharply. He looked down.

 

“Okay, baby, we’re going to sleep now,” I whispered, gesturing for a warm looking bathrobe thrown over a pile of toys. He grabbed it and I dressed Ginger, caressing her burning cheeks.

 

She seemed to be falling asleep, a little smile stapled on her face. I held her close to my chest, rocking her slowly, whispering a lullaby. I felt him watching me and when I stole a glance at him. His face looked open, warmed by the sight like it was something he pictured many times before.

 

I felt confused and an aching knot formed in my stomach, trying to figure what was going on with him. Why the contradiction? I didn’t have time nor was it the right place to ponder the issue, as I felt Ginger’s breath even out, slipping into a calm sleep with, hopefully, sweeter dreams now that I was there for her. That we both were.

 

I carefully stood and Dawson bent to cover her delicately. His manly smell, mixed with the smallest amount of cologne, brought me back into a teen-like lightheadedness. He took my hand and pulled me out of the room. Next thing, I was pinned against the wall in the most powerfully burning kiss ever touching my lips.

 

He didn’t come across as sexual, no. He seemed protective of me, grateful even, for being here. It was as if he always wanted me here, like this. And the hunger in his kiss, like tomorrow the world would end, made me feel a pain I couldn’t describe. His pain, not mine, but I felt it just the same.

 

He drew back to breathe, looking deep into my eyes. Mine were swimming in warm tears, ready to overflow.

 

“Come,” he said, taking my hand again. “Let’s have something hot to drink.”

 

I couldn’t speak. If I did, my voice would break and I knew I would cry and never stop. At the same time, I knew I had to make a decision but I wasn’t sure of anything anymore, I couldn’t make up my mind; I didn’t know what to make up my mind for. The pain simmering my insides was born from the uncertainty of what was happening and I was afraid that, if I asked, the beauty of this moment would perish forever.

 

I sat at the dining table and hugged the hot cup of sweet tea with both hands. I felt naked and raw and I couldn’t look into his eyes.

 

He lifted my chin and smiled but I could see he shared the same pain as me. Something was standing between us and I couldn’t see it. It’s magnitude, I felt it, but I couldn’t see it. I smiled back, as painful as him and we knew we didn’t need words.

 

But regardless of how simple life would be without them, words needed to be said between us. I needed, we needed, for the sake of Ginger it was needed that things become clear. Only that I knew the same struggle went on inside him and none of us knew how to start these words.

 

“What happened?” I asked, barely above a whisper, urging him with my eyes to uncover all that was hidden in his soul.

 

“She was sick, crying, and saw your car. I couldn’t stop her. She just ran out the door,” he said, and I saw he knew my meaning but chose to ignore it.

 

I lowered my gaze, beginning to feel the magic disperse.

 

“I know, I’m sorry,” he followed, looking away. He had a guilty look on his face, a struggle showing its signs on his features.

 

I waited, my lips parted, encouraging him to open up. He didn’t look at me. I suspected he couldn’t.

 

“I…It’s hard. It’s…” he began, wary of choosing his words.

 

“What is it?” I said, raising. My feet took me closer to him and I touched his face, making him look at me.

 

He lost himself in my eyes, and I saw him fighting to draw courage from me. I opened up as well as I could, smoothing my features, trying to offer him a safe place to talk.

 

“It’s just…It’s my job,” he finally said, deepening the mystery more.

 

“Daddy…” Ginger’s feeble voice reached us. I turned to go, but he stopped me.

 

“I’ll go,” he said and I understood he needed the time to collect his thoughts, to ready his words.

 

I nodded and remained alone, feeling strange and uncomfortable. What could it be about his job? Being a bouncer surely wasn’t the worst job and it seemed to pay for a decent life.

 

That started me into rummaging through my unanswered questions, through my dreadful suspicions, but I didn’t have time to lose myself in thoughts. Ginger was crying and I could make out my name. I ran to her room and grabbed her extended arms. She was shaking and the fever had gotten worse.

 

“I’m here, baby. Shh!” I murmured, rocking her gently. “What happened?” I mouthed silently to Dawson.

 

He whispered “Bad dream.”

 

“It must be the fever. We need to get her to a hospital.”

 

And with his nod, our moment of truth had ended. I took her in my arms and he covered her with the blanket. We agreed in silence that his Harley wasn’t suited for this task and took my car. He drove us, fast, and we got to the hospital through a tense silence, like a physical block between us.