Jill Shalvis - The Street Where She Lives

“Excuse me,” the man called. “What are you doing?”

“Taking pictures.” Ben hoisted the camera.

The man squinted some more in disapproval that wasn’t anything new for Ben, but then suddenly he blinked. “Ben? Ben Asher?”

While Ben just looked at him, wondering who the hell knew him and why, the man grinned and thrust out his hand. “Ritchie Atchison.”

“Ritchie.” High school. Skinny runt with an even lower profile than Ben had had.

“Yep.” Ritchie, balding and wearing reading glasses, laughed. “It’s me. I’m principal of this joint. What do you think of that?”

“That you moved up from The Tracks.”

Ritchie laughed again and slapped him on the back. “You know it. Now I’m torturing the kids of the kids who tortured me.” He sighed in bliss. “Nothing better than that. So…I’ve enjoyed your articles and pictures over the years. You hit it big. What are you doing taking pictures here?”

“I’m Emily’s father.” He put his hand on Emily’s shoulder, wanting to grin when he felt her tense. Oh, yeah, he’d definitely turned into a dad, one who was talking to the enemy. “Traffic isn’t moving so I thought she could show me around.”

Ritchie nodded to his camera. “Maybe you’ll share some of those with our yearbook committee. For old times’ sake.”

Ben didn’t do anything for old times’ sake, but he did love taking pictures, and the kids lounging around spitting attitude and spunk drew him. He glanced at Emily, who was saying don’t-you-dare with her eyes. He grinned.

She shook her head and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Love to,” he said in tune to her loud sigh, which he ignored. “Here, hold this, sweetness,” and handed her his light meter.

Over the next hour she became his apprentice assistant. She started out silent, resentment pouring off her in palpable waves, but he kept asking her to hand him something, or her opinion on which shot to get, so she had no choice but to get involved.

“What do you think about them, Em? Should we grab the pic?” He pointed to a couple sitting side by side, nose to nose, lips to lips. Had he ever been that love-struck?

Oh, yeah, he had.

“They were homecoming queen and king,” she said. “He helped me reach a book in the library once.”

“So, let’s give them a shot at fame and fortune.” He took the picture to Emily’s smile.

God, he loved her smile. Wished she’d always smile.

Startled at the click of the camera, the couple looked up. He waved. When they waved back, Emily groaned. “Dad-”

“Look,” he said. A group of basketball players in jerseys sat on the brick planter, huddled over what looked like a play book. He moved closer, tugging Emily with him. She still held Patches, who let out one “hello” bark.

“I’m taking people shots for the yearbook today,” Ben told them, and lifted his camera. “Picture?”

They tossed their arms around each other and yelled “Cheese,” hamming while he snapped a handful of shots.

“Uh, excuse me?”

He and Emily both turned and faced a tall, gangly kid who nodded toward a group sitting on the grass. “Chess Club. Can you get us, too?”

Ben looked at Emily. “What do you think?”

She bit her lip and looked over at the group, where the boy who’d tried talking to her earlier sat. He looked up at her. Smiled.

Emily went beet red. “Your call.”

“Nope. It’s an assistant call.”

The gangly kid looked at Emily with new respect. “Emily? Please?”

She hadn’t taken her eyes off the boy. “Okay,” she whispered.

“So…” Ben leaned in. “What’s his name?”

“Who?”

He laughed. “You know who.”

“Oh. He’s Van.”

“Should we get him in the picture?”

“I don’t care.”

“Em. Should we get him in a picture?”

“Yeah.” Then she giggled. Giggled. His heart lit at the sound.

By the end of the next hour, Ben had used up eight rolls of film, the kids were in hog heaven, and Emily had been transformed into Lady Popular and looking at Ben with hero worship. He loved that she’d come out of her shell a bit, which had been his goal. He loved that he’d brought joy to a few kids with nothing more than his camera.

But the hero thing… He was no hero and never would be. He brooded over that on the drive back. “Em…” He turned down their street and by some miracle got a spot out front of the house. He stared up at the red brick and felt the noose tighten around his neck. “Your mom is getting better every day.”

“Yeah.”

“Soon she’ll be without the cane entirely.”

“Her hair is still short.”

“That’s not exactly a handicap, Em.”

She turned to him, a surprising resentment in every line of her body. “You want to go.”

Beneath the resentment was hurt; he’d be an idiot not to see it. Damn it. How was it he could be nearly thirty-one years old and still be such an idiot? “I don’t live here, sweetness. You know that.”

“I hate her!”

Ben blinked. The intricate workings of a twelve-year-old mind had completely escaped him. “What? You hate who?”

“Mom! She’s making you want to leave! I hate her!” She grabbed Patches and slammed out of the car, running up the walk.

God, how had he managed to screw this up? Ben ran after her and the puppy. “Em, wait.” Of course she didn’t, and by the time he caught up with her, she’d run up the circular staircase, and was heading straight for Rachel’s studio. “Hold on a sec,” he said, catching her shoulders. “Hold on. We need to talk about this.”

“Why?” She set down Patches and took off her leash. “You’re not doing anything wrong, she is.”

“No-”

“It’s true, Dad.” She straightened. “You came here, you’ve done everything you needed to do, and all she’s done is shove you away at every turn and make you want to go-”

The studio door opened to a pale Rachel. She looked at Emily. “I’m guessing you have something to say to me.”

“Yeah.” A sullen expression replaced Emily’s earnest one. “Dad wants to go away and it’s all your fault. You make it obvious he doesn’t really live here, that he has to go the minute you’re better.”

“There are circumstances you don’t understand-”

“I understand! You’re selfish and mean and I hate you!”

Rachel drew back. “Well. That’s new.”

“I mean it!” But Emily’s eyes were wide and filled with tears. “I hate you.”

“Em-” Ben’s heart pinched at the look on Rachel’s face, but she held up a hand halting his words.

“Let her finish.”

“That’s all. That’s all I have to say.” Emily crossed her arms over her chest. She added a shaky little hitch of breath. Ben guessed she was one beat away from meltdown.

“Okay, one thing at a time.” Rachel drew a shaky breath. “You know your dad doesn’t live here, you also know he has to go back at some point. If he wants to go now, there’s nothing holding him here.”

“But there is,” Emily cried. “Me. I’m holding him here!”

Ben’s throat went tight. “You know I love you, Em, but it’s true. I don’t live here. I have to go.”

“But why? I’m here. What else could you want?”

Ben took her hand and tugged her closer, then cupped her soft, sweet, hurting face. “Yes, you’re here, which makes this house one of my very favorite places. But I’ll see you. I’ll call you.”

“That’s not how a real family works.”

“Not all families live together, you know that. And you’re old enough to understand why.”

“Because Mom doesn’t love you.”

Yeah. Rachel didn’t love him. Hadn’t that always been the problem? “As your mother said, there are circumstances you don’t understand, and no, we’re not going to explain them to you. But one thing I can and will tell you, Emily Anne, is that the way you talked to your mother just now is unacceptable-”

“Ben-”

Now he held up his hand to halt Rachel’s words. “It’s okay to be mad at someone you love,” he said quietly to a now sobbing Emily. “But it’s not okay to be cruel.”

Emily buried her chest in Ben’s chest and unable to do anything else, he wrapped his arms around her. Putting his mouth to her ear, he whispered, “I love you. Your mom loves you. You have it pretty good right there, Em, trust me. I’m sorry we can’t give you the rest.”

She squeezed him so hard she nearly stole the life right out of him, and he closed his eyes as he listened to her cry, his daughter, his blood, his only family, the best part of his heart.

Then she pulled back, sniffed, and shoved her hands into her pockets. Looking at her toes, she said to Rachel, “I’m sorry I said I hate you. I don’t, not really.” Then she took off running toward her bedroom.

The door slammed hard enough to rattle the windows.

Patches whined.

Ben let out a shaky breath. “Whew. Twelve is fun, huh?”

Rachel stared down the hallway for a long moment. “If you’ve truly got one foot out the door already,” she said quietly. “Then get the rest of the way out.”

“Rachel-”

“No more buts, Ben, this is killing us. Killing all of us. I understand the possible threat of Asada-”

“He’s more than a possible threat.”

“We both know that threat lessens every day that passes. Yes, there’s Emily, and obviously she wants you to stay, but we both know that isn’t going to happen.”

“We’re…bonding,” he said, feeling oddly desperate.

“So finish bonding.”

“I don’t know how to tell her I’m going.” He felt bare, stripped down to the soul.

“She already knows.”

“She’s hurting.” I’m hurting. “She’s only twelve.”

“She more mature than you give her credit for. Tell her. Tell her soon.”

“Rach-”

“Dragging it out, Ben? How unlike you.”

Yeah. He probably deserved that. “I need a little more time.”

“Fine. A little more time. Take it. Then go, just go.” And with as much grace as ever, she walked away.

A headache started right between Ben’s eyes.

The puppy watched her go and let out a pathetic little whimper.

He scooped her up and got himself licked across the mouth for his effort.

Just go, Ben.

How many times had he heard that now? Damn it, he never stayed where he wasn’t wanted.

Never.

Patches whined again, more softly now. “Yeah,” he whispered, holding her close. “I know the feeling.”

ONE NIGHT shortly after Emily’s blowup they played Scrabble, just the three of them. Rachel sat on the couch in the living room, with Emily and Ben on the floor around the coffee table. Patches lay asleep on Ben’s feet.

Emily, tongue between her teeth, holding back a smile, carefully laid down the letters D-A-D, then beamed at Ben.

With a grin, he added the D-Y, making the word daddy.

Rachel looked down at her letters, the ones that seemed to dance around and mock her with their uselessness. “How come I always lose at this game?” she asked as she put E-S to Ben’s Y, making the word yes.. “Woo-hoo, look at me get the points.”

“It’s all in your attitude,” Ben said.

Emily nodded in agreement and used the S in yes to spell bestest.

“That’s not a word,” Rachel protested.

“See, negative attitude.” Emily tsked and added up her points.

Ben laughed. “Sweetness, are you cheating?”

“She always cheats.” Rachel glared at her daughter. “It’s why she always wins.”

“Fine.” Emily took away the E-S-T and left best. “Happy?”

“I will be if I win,” Rachel teased.

Ben sprawled on the floor and smiled up at her. Beside him, Emily was positively glowing, happier than Rachel had seen her in a while.

The moment was so good, so bittersweet, she wanted to freeze-frame it. A perfect snapshot in time, with everyone’s hearts light and happy.

Ben cocked his head, then sat up and put a hand on Rachel’s arm, looking into her eyes. “You okay?”

“I am,” she said, and it’d never been more true. “I really am.”

He smiled again, and went back to the game.

But left his hand on her arm.

AT THE END of the week, Ben was still there and Rachel didn’t know whether she was sorry or relieved. They’d had coffee together every morning. Lunch, too, at the house if she didn’t have a therapist or doctor appointment, or at a café if she did. They had dinner together as well, with Emily, the three of them somehow finding things to talk about.

Or argue about.

But things were never dull. She’d gotten rather used to his presence, shockingly enough, to listening to him talk, laugh, watching his tall, lean form play basketball as if he were sheer poetry in motion, hearing him mutter to himself in his darkroom, seeing him with Emily. Every part of having him live in the house was both a comfort and a nightmare.