Just Breathe. Susan Wiggs

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СКАЧАТЬ set her glass on the table. A pale mustache arched over her lip, and Will was struck by a jolt of sentiment. He suddenly saw her as the silent child who had come, uninvited, into his life eight years before, clinging to the hand of a woman who had wreaked havoc on both of them and left a raft of emotional wreckage in her wake.

      Then, as now, Aurora’s looks had been striking, wide brown eyes and glossy black hair, creamy olive-toned skin and an expression of bewilderment at a world that had treated her harshly. From the first moment he saw her, Will had made it his mission to atone for the sins committed against this child. He had given up his dreams and plans for the future in order to protect her.

      And not once, not for a single second, did he regret any of the sacrifices he made.

      Or so he told himself.

      She wiped her mouth with her napkin and suddenly she was thirteen-year-old Aurora again, half-grown, her appearance turning womanly in a way Will found intimidating.

      “She’s Salma Hayek,” Birdie had remarked last summer after taking Aurora shopping for swimsuits.

      “Who’s that?”

      “Latina actress who looks like a goddess. Aurora is absolutely gorgeous, Will. You should be proud of her.”

      “What, like I had one damn thing to do with the way she looks?”

      Birdie had conceded his point. “What I mean is that she’s growing into her looks. She’s going to get a lot of attention because of it.”

      “And getting attention for looks is a good thing.”

      “It was for you, little brother,” Birdie had teased. “You were the prettiest thing the high school ever saw.”

      The memories made him wince. He had been so full of himself, he was probably swollen like a tick with unearned pride.

      Then Aurora had come into his life, helpless as an abandoned kitten, and everything else had ceased to matter. Will had dedicated himself to keeping her safe, helping her grow, giving her a good life. In turn, she had transformed him from a self-centered punk into a man with serious responsibilities.

      “Why do I have to be so negative?” Aurora mused, finishing every crumb on her plate. “Gee whiz, Dad. Where do you want me to start?”

      “With the truth. Tell me from your heart what’s so intolerable about your life.”

      “Try everything.”

      “Try being a little more specific.”

      She stared at him, mutiny in her eyes. Then she pushed back from the table and went to get something from her backpack—a crumpled flyer printed on pale pink paper. “Is that specific enough for you?”

      “Parents’ night at your school.” He knew exactly why that upset her, but decided to play dumb as he checked the date. “I can make it. I’m not on duty that night.”

      “I know you can make it. It’s just that I hate it when they expect parents to show up.”

      “What’s so bad about that?”

      She plunked herself back down in her chair. “How about I have no mother. No idea who my father is.”

      “He’s me,” Will said, fighting now to keep anger down. “And I’ve got the adoption papers to prove it.”

      Thanks to Birdie, the family’s legal eagle, he had a father’s rights. Those had never been challenged—except by Aurora, who sometimes dreamed her “real” father was a noble political prisoner pining away for her in some Third World prison.

      “Whatever,” she said, her inflection infuriating.

      “Lots of kids have single parents,” he pointed out. “Is it really that bad here?” He gestured around the room, indicating their house. The wood-frame house, built in the 1930s, was nothing fancy, but it sat a block from the beach and had everything they needed—their own private bedrooms and bathrooms, a good stereo system and satellite TV.

      “All right,” she said. “You win. Everything is just super.”

      “Is this some new class you’re taking in seventh grade?” he asked. “Sarcasm 101?”

      “It’s just a gift.”

      “Congratulations.” He clinked his beer can against her milk glass. During his duty cycle, there was no drinking, of course, but on his first night off, he always had one beer. Just one, no more. Heavy drinking meant nothing but trouble. Last time he’d really tied one on, he had wound up married, with a stepdaughter. A guy couldn’t afford to do that more than once in a lifetime.

      “So spill,” he said. “What’ll make you happy, and how can I give it to you?”

      “Why does everything have to be so black-and-white with you, Dad?” she asked in annoyance.

      “Maybe I’m color-blind. You should help me pick out a shirt for parents’ night.”

      “Don’t you get it? I don’t want you to go,” she wailed.

      He didn’t let on that her attitude was an arrow to his heart. There was never a good time for a child to be left by her mother, but Will figured Marisol had picked the worst possible age. When Marisol took off, Aurora had been too young to see her mother for what she was, yet old enough to hold on to memories, like a drowning victim clinging to a life raft. Over the years, Aurora had gilded those memories with a child’s idealism. There was no way a flesh-and-blood stepfather could measure up to a mother who braided hair, served pancakes for dinner and knew all the words to The Lion King.

      He’d never stop trying, though. “I hate to disappoint you, but I’m going,” he told her.

      Aurora burst into tears. This, lately, had become her specialty. As if cued by some signal he couldn’t see, she leaped up and took off. In a moment, he’d hear a thud as she flung herself on the bed.

      Will thought about having another beer, but decided against it. Sometimes he felt so alone in this situation, he had the sensation of drifting out to sea. He went over to the slate message board by the door. He and Aurora used it for reminders and grocery lists. Picking up the chalk, he wrote, “Parents’ night—Thurs.” so he wouldn’t forget to attend. Upstairs, Aurora landed on her bed with an angry thump.

      Chapter Eight

      As she drove away from town, Sarah told herself not to dwell on Jack and the things he’d said. Instead, her mind worried the conversation as though seeking hidden meaning in every syllable and inflection: You’re not ready to acknowledge your part in this yet.

      Of all the things he had said, that was surely the most absurd. What was she guilty of? Trading the gas-guzzling GTO for a Mini?

      Please come home, Jack had urged her.

      I am home.

      She didn’t feel it yet. She had never been comfortable in her own skin, no matter where she lived. Now she realized something else. Her heart had no home. Although she’d grown up here, СКАЧАТЬ