With Me Read online

  Desperately needing them to stop, I quickly wipe them away, not wanting Joseph to see my weakness, but it’s too late. He stands up from the bench and engulfs me in his arms. I hate that I look weak in front of him. I never wanted him to see me this way, but now that I’m back in his arms, I can’t help but feel loved and secure. They remind me of the only night we were together. Even then I knew it wasn’t love, but I still wished it had been.

  “Why didn’t you try calling my parents house, asking where I was?” I hear his deep voice rumble into my ear that is pressed against his chest.

  Sniffling up the tears in order to answer him, I respond a little broken up, “I couldn’t, we didn’t have a phone where I lived. It’s why I tried writing to you.”

  I hear him sigh, his chest taking in a deep breath as he holds me.

  “I came back for you after boot camp. I thought about you every day during those three months, Kasey. The day I got back, I came looking for you, but you were already gone. I believed your parents when they told me you had changed your mind and went to a college out of state. I was pissed you had left, but I thought that it was probably for the best. A couple of months later, when my parents passed away, I briefly came home. But you were still gone. I haven’t been back since then. I should’ve tried harder to look for you, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that. It’s something I’ll regret for the rest of my life,” he explains, his sorrowful words making me continue to sniffle.

  “I’m sorry about your parents, Joseph,” I mumble, not knowing what else to say.

  I hear a piercing scream from the jungle gym and I recognize it immediately as Josephina’s. Shoving Joseph away, I start running towards the playground without hesitation, needing to get to her. When I reach her, she is on the ground gripping her knee. Tears are streaming down her cheeks, matching the ones I just had.

  Bending down, I look at her knee and see she’s scraped it pretty badly. I know she doesn’t usually cry unless it’s something serious. Wiping her hair away from her forehead, I give her a kiss. “I think it’s time we head home, sweetheart. I think we’ve both had enough of the park today,” I tell her, knowing it’s best we both leave now.

  As I’m about to scoop her up in my arms, I feel Joseph next to me. “Let me,” he says already reaching down to do it for me. As he cradles her up against his body, I take in how tiny she looks next to him. He stands there, waiting for me to move. Snapping into action, I stand up and lead them towards my car.

  Josephina’s cries have now turned to a sniffle, her tiny arms wrapped around Joseph’s neck holding onto him. Every couple of steps I quickly glance at them and see him looking down at Josephina, returning the smile that is on her face. The sight warms my heart, knowing she’s enjoying being held by Joseph. It's as if she knows it's her dad holding her.

  When we finally reach my SUV, I open Josephina’s door so Joseph can place her inside. The entire time, he’s telling her everything is going to be fine in a calming voice. He buckles her in and when he pulls back, I see her face looks worried, almost panicked.

  She keeps her eyes focused on Joseph. “You’re not coming home with us?” she asks him. She’s desperately looking at me with her begging blue eyes, twisting at my heart. As much as I try to be stern with her, it’s near impossible to deny her request when she looks at me that way.

  Joseph stares at me with the same look. It’s at that moment I realize he’s where she’s gotten it from; they look so alike with their matching expression. Hating to feel like the evil villain of the day, I’m forced to ask him, “Would you like to come over for dinner?” hoping I don’t regret my decision if he refuses, but he doesn’t, when he answers, “If you don’t mind, I would love to come over.”

  Josephina starts clapping, cheerfully squealing, and obviously happy that he’s agreed. With Joseph climbing into the passenger seat, I climb into the driver’s side and make my way to my house. Actually it’s not really a house; it’s more like a small sized warehouse. I started renting it a couple of years ago, needing a workspace for my business. I pull up into my driveway and out of the corner of my eye, I can see Joseph peering through the windshield looking at the building. His face doesn’t conceal his disappointment.

  “You live here?” he asks, sounding shocked and curious.

  The look on his face angers me. He’s making me resent inviting him over at all. “Yes, I live here. It’s not a house, but I needed space for my studio, so this worked out great. The rent is really cheap, but what really matters is that I’m able to put a roof over our heads,” I sternly inform him, ignoring the anguished look on his face as I begin to climb out of my car.

  I’m already unbuckling a sleeping Josephina from her booster seat when Joseph is quickly at my side. “She’s completely out. Here, let me carry her,” he offers, already reaching in to pick her up, making me step back to give him better access.

  She’s usually asleep by the time we arrive home on Saturdays, the poor thing. I usually get her up around five a.m., since I have to be set up and ready to start selling by six a.m., but she has never once complained. She’s been doing it since the first time I set up my booth, so it’s the only thing she knows during the summer. After shutting the car door, I walk ahead of them and go to the entrance of my studio. Quickly unlocking and opening the door, I allow him to step in first.

  Leading him over to the area where we sleep, I show him the bed I share with Josephina, and he places her down on it. He covers her up with the blankets, staring down at her as he stands up, admiring her while she sleeps. After a couple of seconds he turns to slowly take in the surroundings.

  I don’t have much of a living space. It looks more like a large working studio than a house, but to me it’s perfect. It allows me to work on my projects and keep Josephina within a close proximity, so I can always see her. It might be small, but it was better than nothing.

  I walk towards my work area, with Joseph closely following behind, as I lead him to a couch that is near the wall. It’s usually where Josephina colors or does her activities during the day while I work. He takes a seat next to me and it instantly brings back the memory of the last night I’d seen him. I force myself to push it aside.

  “So what is it you do?” he asks, still curiously looking around my studio.

  There are several tables in the middle of the room, with items scattered across them. A large table is off to the side with several burners holding large pots and ladles. Against another wall, shelves are lined from top to bottom; it’s where I store items. There are large tubs of containers taking up half of the other walls. It’s what I store the finished soaps in, so the scents don’t mix. .

  “I make soaps. I was taught how to make them when I first moved here to Wisconsin.”

  “You said earlier you were sent away. Is this where you came?”

  “When my parents found out I was pregnant, they had already made the decision to send me away,” I tell him, the somberness taking over my response.

  He still looks puzzled by my response, so I explain. “I was sent to live here in Wisconsin with my aunt. She lives in an Amish community right outside of Madison. In the beginning it was very difficult for me, because I was an outsider who wasn’t raised there and I was pregnant. They didn’t approve of me at first. I had to prove I would be a hard worker and that I wouldn’t be an inconvenience to them. Eventually they allowed me to stay, knowing it would only be temporarily. I left a little after Josephina turned one, when I’d finally saved up enough money to move here to the capital with her.”

  “You said you learned how to make your soaps from a lady?”

  “Yeah, she lived on the farm and needed help when I first arrived. She showed me how to make them when I was pregnant with Josephina. I found I was able to make them quickly and I enjoyed doing it. I started selling them to the locals to help with the cost of living. Since it was something I discovered I liked doing, I continued with it. It’s not making me rich, but it provides enough for me to pu
t a roof over my head and food on the table for both of us,” I say to him as I wring my hands on my lap.

  Although I know he’s absorbed every word, he still looks perplexed. “I still don’t understand why your parents sent you away? Why would they, knowing you were carrying my baby? Why didn’t they speak with my parents instead of sending you away?” he questions.

  Feeling ashamed I never told anyone, I look down at my wringed hands as I convey, “I never told anyone who the father was. Not even my parents. I knew my parents didn’t really like your parents, so I didn’t think it would help the situation. They wanted me out of the house, regardless. Plus, I really doubt your parents would’ve believed me anyways, Joseph,” I finish saying with a whisper.

  Joseph’s parents never got along with mine. Our parents were never the typical neighbors you see on TV where everyone gets along. No, my parents were too religious, and Joseph’s parents were far from it, making them clash.

  Sitting there, still silent, allowing him to absorb the information, I patiently wait for him to say something.

  “Do you have pictures of her from when she was little?” he asks, his voice sounding raspy. His emotions are tearing at my heart. All this time I didn’t think he cared.

  Exhaling deeply, I stand up, heading in the direction of the sleeping area. I go to the dresser that holds our clothes and pull open a drawer in the middle. It’s in the same spot it’s been for the last couple of years. I reach for the envelope containing the photo. I rarely take it out anymore. The fear of further damaging it, keeps me from touching it. Quietly closing the drawer back up, I return to Joseph.

  Returning to him, I hand him the envelope, resenting having to surrender it. I know it was meant for him to have, but when it returned to me, I felt he didn’t deserve it any longer; always believing he was the one that had sent it back.

  He takes it from my hand, giving me a chance to take a seat at his side. I watch him slowly turn it over in his hands, observing the exterior of the envelope, as he closely studies the address and stamp placed on the front. When his finger brushes over the old ink stating, return to sender, my eyes tear up remembering my heartache when I had seen those same words.

  That day felt as if my entire world had come to an end, believing I would never see him again. Thinking he wanted nothing to do with Josephina or me, was painful. It made it worse when I received an answer, from the second letter I had written, that same day. It was from my parents.

  I had written to them as well, informing them Josephina had been born, foolishly hoping they’d ask me to return home. Instead I had received the opposite. They had firmly instructed me to never contact them again. I was no longer a part of their family because of my sins.

  Forcing myself to push the resentment from my mind, I focus once more on Joseph. I watch as he slowly opens the envelope, reaching inside to pull out the photo that is wrapped in the letter. He ignores the letter, folding it up to place it back inside its original pocket of the envelope, keeping the picture in his hand. He’s deeply concentrating on the picture as I tell him, “It was taken the day Josephina was born.” I have to force out a whisper around the lump in my throat.

  My heart feels like it has sunk to the pit of my stomach as I wait for a reaction from Joseph. His silence is nerve wracking and it’s tearing me apart inside. I’m so fearful of his rejection.

  He’s intensely staring down at the picture, never taking his eyes off it. When I look down at it, I see his finger graze over baby Josephina, and suddenly I see a tear falls onto the picture. Quickly looking back up, I see Joseph rapidly blinking his eyes; clearly trying to fight the remaining tears. With his eyebrows drawn, he looks at me. “You said this was taken the day she was born?” I can hear the confusion in his voice as I nod my head. “Then why was this picture taken at home? Why would they let you go home the same day, isn’t that unsafe for you and the baby?” he asks, the worry clear in his voice.

  “I didn’t have Josephina in a hospital. I had her at home, at my aunt’s house actually. The Amish community doesn’t believe in using hospitals when they deliver their children,” I explain to him.

  The concern in his expression is pushing my fear away. “That must have been hard on you,” he says, with a hint of remorse.

  All I can do is shrug my shoulder at him. “I didn’t have a choice, Joseph. It did hurt, a lot. There were times when I wanted to give up, but when they handed me Josephina, it made it all worth it. I would do it all over again for her,” I say, stating the truth.

  He reaches over, grabbing for my hand to squeeze it. My eyes look down to our joined hands and I can see that his hand looks bigger than the last time I remember it. Everything about Joseph seems larger. When he left he was the skinny boy I grew up with. Now he was a large, muscled man who is now a stranger to me.

  My eyes are still looking down at our joined hands as I ask, “What do you do now?”

  “I’m still in the Marine Corps. I’m stationed in San Diego. I just got back from Afghanistan a month ago,” he answers.

  He begins to gently stroke his thumb across my hand, making me realize they’re still joined. I take my hand from his, embarrassed by the feeling that I was getting from his touch. My body was beginning to flutter, as it would consistently do when we were younger. Every time he was near me I grew giddy and excited.

  “I hear San Diego is beautiful, but I wouldn’t know. Besides the bible retreats I would go on with my parents every year and Savannah, this is the only other place I know,” I say with a chuckle, trying to defuse the remorse of having to say it.

  Joseph is about to say something, but I see Josephina walking towards us, still looking sleepy as she rubs her eyes. Eyeing Joseph, she smiles and quickly walks over to me, taking a seat in my lap and facing him. I hug her close, taking in her childish scent. Looking back at Joseph, I see him admiring her in my arms.

  Josephina reaches down, tugging the picture from Joseph’s hand, making me scold her for being rude. Ignoring me, she continues looking down at the picture. Her brow scrunches down as she concentrates on it. “Mommy, who is this baby you’re holding?”

  “That was you, sweetheart, on the day you were born,” I tell her, watching for her reaction.

  Curiously she tilts her head to the side as she concentrates on the picture. “Oh,” she says, “Why would you have it?” she asks Joseph, still focused at the object in her hands.

  “He wanted to see a picture of you from when you were born, that’s all.” Knowing how curious she’ll get if I allow her, I pull the portrait from her hands and hand it back to Joseph. “Why don’t we start getting things ready for dinner? What do you feel like eating tonight?” I ask, trying to distract her little mind.

  “I want spaghetti with meatballs,” she says with enthusiasm, making me laugh knowing it’s her favorite.

  “Okay, spaghetti with meatballs it is then. You’re lucky the meat is already in the fridge. Go wash up,” I tell her, giving her a little shove, so she will do as requested. Josephina grabs onto Joseph’s hand, dragging him behind her to the bathroom to wash up.

  Standing up from the couch, I head to the kitchen and begin to remove the necessary items to start dinner. Within minutes, I see both of them exit the bathroom and join me at the table where I have placed the items Josephina likes to help with. Joseph stands at her side, helping her as she instructs him on what they will be doing. His attention unwavering, he follows her orders of what they will be doing.

  I wash my own hands in the kitchen sink and start chopping the vegetables needed to go into the meat, listening in on their conversation at the same time. At first their conversation begins with simple questions to get to know each other. Joseph asking if she goes to school and what she likes to do for fun. With time, I grow distracted with preparing the food and don't hear what Joseph tells Josephina, which causes her to squeal with excitement. From the way she’s smiling, I have a feeling it isn’t good. She’s only that excited when she’s been promised som
ething, usually something that is huge and beyond her normal expectation.

  “Mommy, mommy, guess what? Joseph lives by the ocean and he said we can go visit him so I can see it,” she squeals, the excitement still clear in her voice.

  My chopping has completely stopped at this point. The hand holding my chopping knife is gripping it so tight that I feel it digging deeply into my palm. Breathing deeply to control the rising anger inside of me, I have to remember he’s still a stranger to her before I turn around and face them both.

  I smile to conceal the anger rising within me. “Sweetheart, you know we can’t afford to travel right now, but it was nice of him to offer,” I say, now glaring daggers in Joseph’s direction. Her excitement dies; her expression now that of disappointment. I see her open her mouth to say something, most likely a rebuttal that I’m used to. “Why don’t you go wash the meat off your hands in the bathroom,” I tell her, grabbing for the bowl with the mixed meat to add the vegetables.

  She stands up from the table and does as ordered, her face still gloomy, already knowing I won’t let her challenge me. The minute I hear the door close I attack him. “Don’t go getting her hopes up about things like that. She’s only four. She’s going to take those things seriously,” I quietly snap at him, trying to keep my tone down so Josephina doesn’t hear me.

  His eyes grow wide. He probably wasn’t expecting me to get angry with him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t think it was a big deal. She told me she loves fish and wants to visit the ocean one day. When I told her I live by the ocean, it sort of slipped out. I don’t see what the big deal is,” he claims, making me angrier.

  “The big deal is that when you tell a little girl something, she expects it to happen, especially Josephina.”

  “She’s four, she’ll probably forget about it in a couple of hours anyways,” he casually states, as if it’s no big deal.

  He might not think it’s a big deal because he hasn’t been the one raising Josephina. He doesn't understand how her little mind works, or what her expectations are. He’s obviously never been around little children long enough to understand that not all of them will probably forget about it. Josephina is definitely not one of them.