“I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for.”
“I didn’t know you were hurting so much.”
“You make it better. You make it allbetter.”
“You make it better, too.”
“We’ll see if you still feel that way when the alcohol wears off. I have no idea what you’ve been drinking, but this is the worst you have ever smelled.” He laughed.
Offended, I cupped my mouth, blowing heavily at my hand. My nostrils sucked in the concealed air, trying to catch a whiff of the unappealing aroma, but I could smell nothing but the earthy, floral scent attached to Woodrow’s skin, each time a breeze moseyed by.
“You wanna go see her?”
“Who?”
“The baby. The grave is pretty now. She has a big white cross and everything. And I gave her name, I hope that's okay.”
She deserved a name, even if it wasn't the one I had picked out since childhood.
I nodded, feeling small in his arms as they wrapped around me and pulled me into his chest, where my fingertips met his steady heartbeat.
“What did you call her?”
“Daizee. With an interesting spelling, thanks to Woody. You always smelt like daisies.” A smile spread on Woodrows lips, put there by few happy memories I'd given him prior to the devastation of losing our child.
I found my eyes trailing to his lips, my mouth moving closer. My breath on his mouth as I whispered, “I love it. I love her name.”
I placed a single chaste kiss, innocent like the ones he'd put atop my head in our teens as I slipped from his room into mine.
“Tomorrow.” His mouth parted from mine, staying close enough for our lips to brush as he told me, “I'm taking you to see her tomorrow.”
Excitement shouldn't have been something I felt over going to baby's grave. . . and maybe that wasn't the right word. But my sadness was abated, and I was given solace after a decade of thinking she'd been taken to the trash and dumped there like shemeant nothing.
Woodrow walked with me, both of us leaning on each other emotionally, just like old times, and when he wrapped his arm around my shoulder, I didn't shrug him off. I reached up and held his hand, my scars hidden as I curled into his chest.
After the heaviness of our discussion, we sat in silence for a little while, both of us waiting for an alter to take over. I prayed it was Hell. . . something I never thought I'd ever do. But only because I wouldn't have had the strength to deal with Woody—a child who suffered anxiety issues—not right now. Not in the bustle of this strip while trying to hide my face.
Nothing happened, so I waited some more as Woodrow's eyes slowly blinked, that was always a tell for him. But he was still him when he laughed at the rumbling noise of my stomach—something he somehow heard over the noise of a thousand vehicles whizzing by and even more people. He'd asked me if I wanted dessert then dinner, because his throat was feeling a little sore, and he thought ice-cream might help the feeling pass. I agreed, having been neglected of anything sweet, in any sense, for the longest time.
We arrived at the parlor, which wasn't overly busy. I guess most tourists would rather have a drink in hand than a sundae. . . something I'd have agreed on only an hour ago.
The lady at the counter, with her brown hair pulled back, smiled until her eyes squinted. Her bright yellow dress made it hard to look away from. I hated that the paisley print was grabbing my attention; I still wanted to hide as I stared at her, my cheek still pressed tightly against Woodrow.
“What can I get you?”
Her voice had an accent not belonging to America. The same as the man who stood behind her, cloth in hand, wiping down the equipment.
With his eyes on the giant menu above our server's head, Woodrow made his selection, choosing something called a chocolate float, before telling me to pick anything I wanted.
Coyly, I looked up at the menu board. Woodrow's arm banded around me tighter, his fingers caressing the flesh of my arm, now covered in goosebumps.
“Can I have the birthday bash smash,” I asked the lady in yellow.
The woman didn't look away upon seeing my scars, she only continued to smile, and said, “Of course, I'll bring them over. Take a seat.”
And she did, to the table we sat at in the corner.
