Page 104 of Falling Slowly
“Would you like to pet one?” The older man behind the stall asked. He was wearing overalls and a tattered baseball cap, an image of old-time farmer. The smell of hay permeated everything.
I made a donation in the jar, and he handed Celia a fluffy white one.
“Willy is very chilled out. He won’t wriggle.”
Celia held reverently still, stroking the bunny’s pelt with trembling fingers.
“Is this your first time?” The farmer asked, and she nodded.
“I haven’t been able to offer her that many experiences,” Bess whispered, her cheeks red. “Not since…”
I squeezed her hand. “She’s only five. She won’t remember much from her earlier years, anyway.”
She could end up remembering me, I thought with a pang. If Bess let me in her life, I could be the only father this little girl remembered. Shit, that was terrifying. Yet, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting it. Wanting Bess. I knew she had doubts, but I could also see her softening. It was in her eyes and the way she let me closer, no longer tensing when I touched her.
I had to find a way to bring up the job, sooner rather than later. But I needed her enthusiasm and help with the campaign. Was I using her? Playing with her emotions? Guilt flipped myinsides like a pancake, and I tried to push it down. I was saving her job. This way, we had a chance.
I’d confirmed the meeting with the client, first thing on Monday. I couldn’t bring Bess there without telling her what was going on in the office. She’d find out. No doubt her mouthy friend Teresa was currently trying to reach her to spill the beans. According to Trevor, the whole agency was in shambles, the stress levels so high that someone was crying or throwing up in the bathroom every time he went to take a leak. This was what my father had achieved, casually dropping a bomb and walking away.
Not that I was there, either, as I should have been, I thought. Guilt reared its ugly head again, making it hard to breathe. I’d been busy wooing a woman I didn’t deserve. A woman my family business had already discarded. My last name would be on her severance package. And it wouldn’t even be a good package. I knew that now. After finding out about Bess’s health insurance, or rather the lack of it, I’d contacted Gran to get her personnel files. When I’d seen her actual part-time salary, I’d felt like throwing up. She’d been busting her ass and saving mine for that?
Gran had warned me about meddling. “Talk to her. Be honest, Charlie. Lay it all down and swallow your own ego. Swallow it like melon.”
Setting aside her belief that my ego was the size of a melon, I insisted, “I’m trying to help her. I’m trying to fix things.”
She’d let out a mighty groan, mumbled something about the men in this family, and hung up. But Gran didn’t understand. I was losing Bess either way. Time was running out. I had to give her the bad news, but I needed good news to balance it out. I had to offer her more than condolences or apologies. What the hell were those good for when your life crumbled before your eyes?She’d already experienced that once and was clawing her way back up.
Earlier, I’d excused myself and called my father again, trying to reason with him. It was no use. He’d agreed for Bess to join the client meeting—to represent the end user, mind you, not the creative team—but he didn’t want to reconsider the restructure. The production team was as good as gone.
I returned to the parallel world of pumpkins and bunnies, searching for the Killian women, trying to wipe the look of desperation off my face.
Bunnies sufficiently petted, we wandered along Main Street, perusing the stalls. With Bess’s permission, I bought Celia her cotton candy, then collected bags of things Bess admired, sniffed or touched. I tried to be discreet, watching her and then making my purchase a moment later, as if due to an unrelated impulse.
“For Gran,” I said, bagging the handmade soap bars and hand cream, then two stuffed bunnies.
“Rhonda likes stuffed toys?” She raised an eyebrow.
“Collects them.” Gives them to employees’ children, more accurately.
They’d find their way to Celia for sure. Thankfully, the little girl was too focused on overdosing on sugar to notice.
“I can take Celia to the merry-go-round,” Kathy suggested, giving me a meaningful look. “You two can talk business… campaigns… if you’d like.”
She nodded at the small amusement park that had been erected in the middle of the town square. Celia didn’t need to be told twice. She sprinted across the road, forcing Kathy to run after her.
“Thank you!” I yelled, then turned to Bess. “I have some ideas I’d love to run past you.”
“Sure. Of course.”
I steered us to a van selling hot drinks. “Pumpkin spice latte? Before we talk business.”
She tried to look nonchalant, but I caught the spark of desire in her eyes. Bess never went out for coffees with the crew at work. I’d always thought she didn’t enjoy their company or didn’t care for coffee. Now I knew better, and it broke my heart she’d lived on such a tight budget for so long. I desperately wanted to make it up to her. Right every wrong my father had caused, and even the ones my family had nothing to do with. I just wanted to see that smile. That spark.
She inhaled the aroma from the tall takeaway cup, and the look on her face evoked a flashback of us together on her sofa bed. I’d barely seen her face in the darkness, but I’d sensed the pure delight that melted away every worry and doubt, if only for a moment. Pumpkin spice obviously had magical qualities, ones I’d happily exploit in the future. She could sip one as I tasted her.
I had plans. So many plans and so little time.
“I mocked up some slides, based on your ideas,” I said, pulling out my phone.
