Chapter Two
Elizabeth Grace Peele
The preschool was in the middle of recess, Olivia’s favorite time of day. Her bubblegum pink dress swirled as she played ring around the roses with her best friends, Makayla and Britney, while the sun shone down on her hair, turning the auburn ringlets I’d meticulously tamed into a riot of golden fire as she swung around, laughing and singing.
Her hat had been dropped and forgotten the moment she stepped outside, as always, and I hoped the teacher had at least remembered sun screen for the little ones. D’Ante ran up to them with a fistful of flowers he’d picked off the bushes that grew against the chain link, and instantly, the girls chased him back to the bushes, where they started a new game, of restaurant, or house, depending on which of them was talking. The fragile orange blooms were pounded and pressed into plastic dishes used for playing in the dirt, and more flowers were scattered across them before they were served to other little girls in the class who were beginning to wander over, one and two at a time.
“D’Ante is the smartest little boy I’ve ever met,” said Paul, one of the preschool teachers, as he sat next to me in the shade. “None of the other boys understand now, but one day, they’ll hate him for how easy it is for him to talk to girls.” I laughed and nodded.
“Olivia got all skinned up at the park the other day. They were playing, and Shaunte and I were only half paying attention, and somebody said his skin was too dark to be allowed there.” I sighed. “Olivia punched the kid, right in the face, and when his mother and I got to shouting at each other, she almost got one, too.” Paul started to laugh and covered it by clearing his throat.
“They are so young to have to stand for anything, but I’m glad that she is ready to, even though I wish she didn’t have to,” he said with a sigh, playing with the small pearl bracelet on his wrist. Libby put an arm around him for a quick hug. “How about you, Miss. Libby? You ready for your fight?”
“Getting there, Paul. I did talk to my new lawyer, and he’s the best—Andrew used to say so all the time.” Paul nudged her with his shoulder and she gave him a wry smile. “There has to be a better reason than just selfishness in how Andrew left us the way he did. Tucker Hargrave will figure it out. He’s already been thinking about it on his own, so he should be up to speed quickly, don’t you think?”
The recess bell rang and Paul herded children toward the door, and I called Olivia over to me. She was pink and breathless, her eyes glowing, and happily, she still smelled of the sunscreen I sent with her daily. I brushed her off and she ran away, then came back with her hat, before I had a chance to chastise her for not wearing it.
“You burn easier than other children, Olivia. You need to wear your hat, okay?”
“D’Ante doesn’t need a hat.”
“He should wear one, to prevent heat stroke.”
“I wish I looked like D’Ante.” Her pout was so sincere and disappointed, I bit my lip to keep a straight face for her.
“Well, D’Ante is very handsome, but I like you looking like you. You have your daddy’s eyes, and your Aunt Lisa’s hair, and Mommy’s nose. I like that you look like your family.” Those eyes turned up to me, pale green as sea glass, and she scowled at me.
“I still wish I looked like D’Ante’s family. D’Ante looks like chocolate. I look like milk. I hate milk.” I hid my chuckle with a cough and stared into those defiant sea green eyes.
“Fair enough. But since you are you, maybe we can find a name that isn’t something you don’t like? Hmmm, how about vanilla ice cream, or marshmallow, or sugar cookie?”
“I love sugar cookies!” The corners of her little rosebud mouth turned up, and her eyes widened.
“Sugar cookie it is. I think we should go get some lunch, just us girls. What do you think?” In answer, Olivia scampered to the cubbies along the stucco wall outside the school house, straight to the one with her name printed in large rainbow letters. She pulled out her Minnie Mouse backpack and her drawings from morning art class, and carried them over, stopping to pick up papers as they scattered from her little dimpled fingers.
I helped her get all her art into her bag, and we walked together to the car, holding hands. I strapped her in as she sang a song about safety in the car, and we headed toward this month’s Olivia-favorite: a salad buffet called Sweet Tomato, where she could pile all her favorite fruits on a plate with some yogurt and feel like a grown-up as we talked about our days.
“Olivia, can you guess who I saw today?” She looked up at me with her cheeks full of strawberry, juice dribbling from the corner of her mouth as she tried to answer. She gave up and, chewing solemnly, shook her head. “I saw Uncle Tuck. You remember him, right?” She nodded and smiled so big more juice slid down her chin. I wiped her face and waited for her to finish her mouthful. “Would you like to see him and say ‘hello’ sometime?”
“Of course, Mom. He’s my favorite outside-the-family uncle.” I had to smile. The name godfather had seemed too weighty for a little one, so Tucker had insisted on just being “uncle”—but with two uncles on her father’s side, and one on her mother’s, she seemed confused by where he belonged. Andrew had defined him to her as our “outside-of-the-family,” special uncle, and it had stuck.
“I have to meet with him tomorrow. Maybe I should ask him over to dinner with us sometime.” I knew he was right, that two consenting adults spending a night in the refuge of each other’s arms wasn’t noteworthy in the annals of most relationships. But I had felt something so strong when he touched me, that I was still coming to terms with it. What was I supposed to do, when my husband’s best friend made me feel loved and cherished in a way my husband never had?
“Mommy, where did you go?” Olivia’s voice broke through and I smiled. I’d said that to her when she was daydreaming since before she could talk. She was such a little mimic; it made me careful what I said in front of her.
“Sorry, honey. I was thinking about Uncle Tucker, and if he thought I was being rude for not having him eat at our new house.” She chewed on the inside of her cheek, an unfortunate habit she’d picked up from me.
“I don’t think so. Remember, he’s very busy, like Daddy. He can’t always eat dinner, or even breakfast.” Her four-year-old lisp made breakfast into ‘brask-fucst,’ and I hid a smile behind my cheat-day glass of Dr. Pepper, an instant before my heart clenched tightly, thinking again of all that her father was missing of his sweet, brave, audacious daughter. She felt my mood change, and I felt her watching me. I looked back at her, chewing slowly, her eyes glued to my face.
“You were thinking about Daddy.” She made it a statement, and I nodded my agreement.
“I miss him, too. But you miss him more. I bet Uncle Tuck misses him, too. Maybe he can come tell me stories like before!” She exulted in her own brilliance and, kicking her little legs under the table, happily resumed eating. That was enough for me to look past my own misgivings. There would come a time when memories and stories of her father wouldn’t stanch the tears or ease the heartache as much. If that was what she needed now, I would have to keep my feelings to myself and welcome Tucker back into our lives.
Once lunch was finished, and my soda craving had been assuaged, we drove to the townhouse we now called home, and changed into our swimsuits before heading down to the pool. I started to pack my laptop, hoping to squeeze some work in, but accepted that probably wouldn’t happen, not unless Shaunte was out sunning. I glanced at my phone. Preschool was over, so into the bag went the computer, and with sunscreen and computer bag in hand, we headed down to enjoy the sun from the clubhouse just across the playground from our home.
The water was warm in the afternoon sun, and soon, Olivia was splashing around as she floated in her pint-sized life vest, shooting a water gun that D’Ante and his sister were sharing with her. I still hadn’t taken out my computer, letting the sunshine and the sounds of the children playing together lull my anxiety for a little while.
I had been too young to know better when I was swept off my feet by a decent, though controlling man. I’d worked my fingers raw cleaning offices at night, and sold lady’s underthings at a boutique during the day, all so my pre-law husband could finish school and be a corporate attorney. Once he was established, he promised, I’d get my turn. So, I’d drawn designs for my friends’ businesses, and done it for free, because Andrew had thought it would reflect badly on him for me to beg our friends for work.
Now, I was almost a decade behind in the game, trying to make up for lost time with no education, a daughter to raise alone, and my younger, sleazier replacement doing her best to prevent me access to the money that could make it all easier.
Sleepless nights were taking their toll, I told myself as much after I’d broken down in front of Tucker. But it only ever seemed to happen with him—and then I couldn’t stop it from happening. I shuddered to think of how he must have seen me, broken and weak. I ignored the hitch in my chest and promised myself: never again. I had let a man make me too weak to be the mother I needed to be, because I trusted him and catered to his ego and his whims. Never would I let a man come between me and my priorities, ever again.