Reminders of Him

It’s easy to see why Grace hates me.
The closer I get to their house, the more I’m starting to hate me too.

---

I’m not even sure why I’m here without being more prepared. This
isn’t going to be easy, and even though I’ve been preparing myself for this
moment every day for five years, I’ve never actually rehearsed it.
The cabdriver turns the car onto Scotty’s old street. I feel like I’m
sinking into the back seat with a heaviness unlike anything I’ve ever
experienced before.
When I see their house, my fear becomes audible. I make a noise in
the back of my throat that surprises me, but it’s taking all the effort inside
me to keep my tears at bay.
Diem could be inside that house right now.
I’m about to cross a yard that Diem has played in.
I’m about to knock on a door that Diem has opened.
“Twelve dollars even,” the driver says.
I fish fifteen dollars out of my pocket and tell him to keep the change.
I feel like I float out of the car. It’s such a weird feeling; I glance into the
back seat to make sure I’m not still sitting there.
I contemplate asking the driver to wait, but that would be prematurely
admitting defeat. I’ll figure out how to get home later. Right now, I cling to
the impossible dream that it’ll be hours before I’m asked to leave.
The driver pulls away as soon as I close the door, and I’m left standing
on the opposite side of the street from their house. The sun is still hanging
bright in the western sky.
I wish I’d have waited until dark. I feel like an open target. Vulnerable
to whatever is about to come at me.
I want to hide.
I need more time.
I haven’t even practiced what I’m going to say yet. I’ve thought about
it constantly, but I’ve never practiced out loud.
My breaths become harder and harder to control. I put my hands on
the back of my head and breathe in and out, in and out.
Their living room curtains aren’t open, so I don’t feel like my presence
is known yet. I sit down on the curb and take a moment to gather myself
before walking over there. I feel like my thoughts are scattered at my feet
and I need to pick them up one at a time and place them in order.

---

1. Apologize.
2. Express my gratitude.
3. Beg for their mercy.
I should have dressed better. I’m in jeans and the same Mountain Dew
T-shirt I had on yesterday. It was the cleanest outfit I had, but now that I’m
looking down at myself, I want to cry. I don’t want to meet my daughter for
the first time while wearing a Mountain Dew T-shirt. How are Patrick and
Grace expected to take me seriously when I’m not even dressed seriously?
I shouldn’t have rushed over here. I should have given this more
thought. I’m starting to panic.
I wish I had a friend.
“Nicole?”
I turn toward the sound of his voice. I crane my neck until my eyes
meet Ledger’s. Under normal circumstances, seeing him here would shock
me, but I’m already at max capacity for things to feel, so my thought
process is more along the lines of an apathetic “Great. Of course.”
There’s a sharp intensity in the way he’s looking at me that sends a
chill up my arms. “What are you doing here?” he asks.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. “Nothing.” Fuck. My eyes flicker across the street.
Then I look behind Ledger, at what I’m assuming is his house. I remember
Scotty saying Ledger grew up across the street from him. What are the odds
that he would still live here?
I have no idea what to do. I stand up. My feet feel like weights. I look
at Ledger, but he’s no longer looking at me. He’s looking across the street at
Scotty’s old house.
He runs a hand across his jaw, and there’s a fresh disturbing look on
his face. He says, “Why were you staring at that house?” He’s looking at
the ground, then across the street, then toward the sun, but then his eyes
land on me after I’ve failed to answer his question, and he’s a completely
different person than the man I saw at the grocery store today.
He’s no longer the fluid guy who moves around the bar like he’s on
Rollerblades.
“Your name isn’t Nicole.” He says it like it’s a depressing realization.
I wince.

---

He’s put it all together.
Now he looks like he wants to rip it all apart.
He points at his house. “Go.” The word is sharp and demanding. I take
a step into the street, away from him. I feel myself begin to tremble, just as
he steps into the street and closes the gap between us. His eyes are on the
house across the street again as he reaches his arm around me, pressing a
firm hand into my lower back. He begins pushing me along with him as he
points toward the house opposite where my daughter lives. “Get inside
before they see you.”
I expected he’d eventually put the pieces together. I just wish he
would have made the connection last night. Not right now, when I’m only
fifteen feet away from her.
I look at his house, then look at Patrick and Grace’s house. I have no
method of escaping him. The last thing I want to do right now is cause a
scene. My goal was to arrive peacefully and make this go as smoothly as
possible. Ledger seems to want the opposite.
“Please leave me alone,” I say through clenched teeth. “This is none of
your business.”
“The fuck it isn’t,” he hisses.
“Ledger, please.” My voice shakes from both fear and tears. I’m
scared of him, scared of this moment, scared of the idea that this is going to
be so much more difficult than I feared. Why else would he be pushing me
away from their property?
I look back at Patrick and Grace’s house, but my feet keep moving
toward Ledger’s house. I would put up a fight, but at this point, I’m no
longer sure I’m ready to face the Landrys. I thought I was ready when I got
into the cab earlier, but now that I’m here and Ledger is mad, I’m
absolutely not ready to face them. It’s obvious from the last few minutes
that my arrival might have been somewhat anticipated and is not at all
welcomed.
They were likely notified when I was released into transitional
housing. They had to be expecting this to happen eventually.
My feet are no longer weights. I feel like I’m floating again, high in
the air like a balloon, and I’m following Ledger as if he’s pulling me along
by a string.

---

I feel embarrassed to be here. Embarrassed enough to follow behind
Ledger like I have no voice or thoughts of my own. I certainly don’t have
any confidence in this second. And my shirt is too stupid for a moment of
this magnitude. I’m stupid for thinking this was the way to go about it.
Ledger closes his door once we’re inside his living room. He looks
disgusted. I don’t know if it’s at the sight of me, or if he’s thinking about
last night. He’s pacing the living room, one palm pressed against his
forehead.
“Is that why you showed up at my bar? You were trying to trick me
into leading you to her?”
“No.” My voice is pathetic.
He slides his hands down his face in frustration. He pauses and then
just mutters, “God dammit.”
He is so mad at me. Why do I always make the worst decisions?
“You’ve been in town for one day.” He swipes keys off a table. “You
really thought this was a good idea? Showing up this soon?”
This soon? She’s four years old.
I clench an arm over my churning stomach. I don’t know what to do.
What do I do? What can I do? There has to be something. Some kind of
compromise. They can’t just collectively decide what’s best for Diem
without consulting me.
Can they?
They can.
I’m the unreasonable one in this scenario. I’ve just been too scared to
admit it. I want to ask him if there’s anything I can do to get them to hear
me out, but the way he’s glaring at me makes me feel completely in the
wrong. I begin to wonder if I’m even in a position to ask questions.
His focus falls to the rubber starfish in my hand. He walks over to me
and holds out his hand. I place the starfish in his palm. I don’t know why I
hand it over. Maybe if he sees I showed up with a toy, he’ll know I’m here
with good intentions.
“Really? A teething ring?” He tosses it on his couch like it’s the
stupidest thing he’s ever seen. “She’s four.” He walks toward his kitchen.
“I’m taking you home. Wait until I pull my truck into the garage. I don’t
want them to see you.”

---

I no longer feel like I’m floating. I feel heavy and frozen, like my feet
are trapped in the concrete slab of his house.
I glance out the living room window toward Patrick and Grace’s
house.