Tom groaned, picking up Gemma, heaving her onto his shoulders as she immediately stuck her sticky, melted ice cream hands into his hair. It was a surprisingly mild day, and he was thankful for it. In past years, some 4th of Julys were so swelteringly hot and humid that it felt more like swimming, while watching the parades and fireworks. People would move slow, in no rush to cause more heat or make themselves sweat more.
It was still a hot day—the temperature somewhere around the mid eighties, but the humidity was low, and there was a nice breeze coming off the ocean. The sun was beginning to lower now, bringing even more relief from the glaring rays. Tom yanked down his tshirt, feeling it slide up as Gemma wiggled around on his shoulders. Her small, sandaled feet tapped gently on his chest, moving to their own rhythm.
“Better?” He asked, eyes looking up. She let out a contented sigh, and he felt a warm, sticky hand wrap around his forehead.
“I can see everything.” She said, elated. Tom chuckled to himself, marveling at her wonder. Though at times exasperating and always exhausting, he loved her awe and admiration of everything. Things were still new and surprising through Gemma’s eyes. It was a gift she inadvertently gave him every day.
“Easy on the hair, darling.” He felt her tug, as if holding onto the mane of a horse, steering him where she wanted to go.
“When are fireworks? I want to watch fireworks.” Gemma asked, and Tom shifted her weight on his shoulders.
“Soon. In like half an hour. It needs to get darker.” He glanced back toward the center of town. They’d light the fireworks off near the pier, on the beach. He wasn’t worried about getting a ‘good spot’, as farther away was actually better for them. Gemma was excited now, but there was sometimes tears when things got too loud.
“I can see everyone! I can see Billie, Tom! Go say Hi to Billie!” She started moving excitedly, squeezing her legs around his neck and smacking him unceremoniously on the top of the head. Tom reached up and grabbed both of her tiny, flailing hands, calming her. He hadn’t seen or spoken to Billie since running into her at the college. It had been a strange, but not unpleasant surprise. He liked the idea that Billie was spending her time with other musicians—students especially. He had a feeling it might help her get back on her feet, or at least a better grounding of things. It wasn’t her normal scene, but maybe that’s what she needed. He’d talked to Sam earlier that week, during one of their runs, and Sam had admitted he and Rachel were worried that Billie was just totally lost.
“Okay, which way, love?” Tom started jerking from one direction to the other, pulling Gemma’s arms out in front of her like some sort of compass point. She laughed, babbling incoherently through her belly giggles.
“That way!” She said finally, tapping him on the left shoulder and pointing just past his ear. Tom turned, his eyes searching the crowd. He saw her hair first, as he often did. He was surprised Gemma recognized her, but she wasn’t all that easy to miss. She had on a baseball hat, a half hearted attempt to conceal her identity, he guessed. Her hair was in a thick braid down her back, a white blond plait, messy and wild. She had on a tiny, strapless dress, made out of some light printed cotton material. It nipped in at her small waist, and flowed out, stopping just above her knees. At the moment, the breeze pushed it against her legs, molding it gently to the curves of her body, the v between her legs.
Tom felt the quick kick in his gut. It wasn’t a new sensation, but it was one that hadn’t been around much until lately.
He took a faltering step forward.
“Do you see her? She’s there! Billie!” Gemma started screeching. She had decided to call her ‘Billie’ instead of ‘Baby’ a few nights ago, after seeing another one of her music videos on the telly. They had talked about it during bedtime—a time when they often had their most serious conversations. Or the most serious you could get with a five year old (which to Tom’s surprise, could sometimes be rather serious). Gemma had wanted to know in more depth why Billie had two names. Tom had simply said that ‘Baby’ was her work name, and ‘Billie’ was the name her friends and family called her. Gemma, having only met her once, nodded solemnly and said she’d call her Billie because she hoped they would be “best friends or maybe sisters” one day. Tom had to then go into a long, probably overly long, diatribe on why Billie Darling would never, ever, ever be Gemma’s sister. But, best friend, that could be a possibility.
“Billie! I see you!” Gemma said, her sing songy voice high and happy. Tom watched as Billie turned around, moving away from the craft vendor she’d been looking at. Her face was surprised at first, not sure who was calling out her name, but when she saw them, she immediately broke into a smile. Tom felt the kick again, and he was sure it wasn’t just Gemma, digging her heels happily into his chest.
“Look at you! Like a tiny princess up there!” Billie smiled up at Gemma, who was laughing. “How’s the view?”
“I saw you from all the way over there! I can see everyone.” Gemma nodded. Tom watched Billie looking up at Gemma, her face smiling and open. He noticed she wasn’t wearing any makeup, light freckles dotted her cheeks and over her nose. A few days in the sun obviously had started to make their mark. She looked a lot different than the woman in the music videos, but he had to admit he liked this version better.
“It does look like the perfect spot.” Billie reached up, gently tugging on Gemma’s sandal. Tom suddenly had rather alarming visions of Billie with her thighs around his head…
He quickly cleared his throat, and his head, and tried to focus. It must be the summer heat, getting to him.
“How are you, Billie?” He asked. Billie looked up at him, her cheeks flushed pink with the heat, her eyes clear and blue as the ocean beyond them.
“Good. Looking at these bracelets.” She turned then, and picked up a bracelet from the vendor table in front of them. Billie held it up, showing it to Tom and then Gemma. It was a delicate silver chain, with rows of what looked like sea glass threaded around it.
“Sea glass! That’s my favorite. Mermaids love sea glass, right Tom? And mermaids are my favorite.” Gemma said conspiratorially, her voice soft as if she’s just been let in on a secret. Tom laughed and squeezed her legs.
“Sure, Gems.”
“Oh? Mermaids love seaglass?” Billie grinned and turned back to the table for a moment. Tom watched her pick something up, talk briefly to the person who owned the table, and then turn around. Billie held up two bracelets—the one she’d been looking at, and another, much smaller one.
“One for you, one for me.” She smiled at Gemma, who gasped with such excitement, that Tom had to laugh. “If it’s okay with Tom that you have it.” Billie raised an eyebrow at him and he nodded, looking down. Billie definitely had a way with kids—he’d give her that. Besides the presents, she seemed to know what to say to Gemma. Billie seemed totally at ease with her. He leaned down, swinging Gemma off his shoulders in an easy swoop, setting her onto the pavement. Gemma was practically vibrating with excitement as she held her arm out, waiting for Billie to put the bracelet on her.
“Oh my gosh. Look at it, Tommy! It’s the most beautimous thing I’ve ever seen.”
“Beautimous.” He heard Billie repeat Gemma’s mixed up word, her voice amused and somewhat delighted. Billie looked up at Tom and they shared a laugh.
“What do you say, rhino girl?” Tom placed a hand gently on Gemma’s shoulder. She held out her tiny arm, marveling at the silver chain and the blue and green stones.
“Thank you, Billie. Tom was right. You are a mermaid.” She said, her voice breathless. Tom coughed, caught off guard by his rather precocious, unable-to-keep-a-secret daughter. He should had been prepared for anything that came out of his mouth to be, at some time, repeated by his little parrot.
“Oh? Tom calls me a mermaid?” Billie shot Tom an amused look, but then knelt down and held out her wrist. Tom watched Gemma helped Billie put her bracelet on, her small, still baby-ish fingers struggling a bit with the lobster clasp. He leaned down, gently taking the bracelet from Gemma after she didn’t quite have the coordination to pull off the tricky clasp. He wrapped the bracelet around Billie’s slender wrist, his fingertips brushing gently across her skin as he did.
“Ah…” Tom shifted his weight, but Gemma kept talking.
“Yes. He said you were a mermaid because of your beautiful hair. Everyone has an animal. You’re a mermaid.” Gemma reached forward, touching the long braid of white blond hair that had fallen over Billie’s shoulder. She touched her with a familiarity mixed with awe that only children seemed to possess. Tom finished hooking the bracelet, and then stood up, crossing his arms over his chest, waiting, not really sure what to say. Billie stayed crouched down, smiling at Gemma.
“So your Dad thinks I have beautiful hair?” Billie asked softly, and then raised her eyes up to Tom. He looked down at the two of them—Gemma with her dark hair and olive skin. Billie with her light features.
Gemma started giggling then. “He’s not my dad. He’s my Tom.”
“Oh, right!” Billie corrected herself quickly. Tom rocked back on his heels and held his breath.
“Well, he’s sort of like my dad.” Gemma shrugged and then reached back without looking, absently mindedly grabbing for Tom’s hand. He reached forward, without talking, and took her tiny, searching hand.
“You’re right. He is sort of like your dad.” Billie smiled as she stood up. Tom caught her eye then, and they locked in on each other for a minute. “So, Gemma, if I’m a mermaid, then what are you?” Billie asked, without breaking eye contact with Tom. He kept his gaze on her, unable to break away.
“I’m a rhino. Tom calls me a rhino girl.” Gemma said matter of factly. Billie broke eye contact, smiling broadly and letting out a little laugh as she looked down at the small girl.
“Rhino? Is that a nice name though?” She grinned and looked back up at Tom, who shrugged helplessly.
“Yes. Rhinos are the best!” Gemma jumped up, her excitement making her energetic. “Tom says I’m like a rhino because I’m tough and I’m grumpy in the mornings, and I’m loud like one.” She nodded, looking satisfied with his choice of animal and descriptions.
“Grumpy in the mornings?” Billie smiled.
“Indeed. The worst.” Tom said softly, raising an eyebrow at Gemma, who just smiled widely at him.
“Do you want to watch fireworks with us?” He asked, a hand raising up and pushing through his hair. He suddenly felt nervous, as if asking a girl out to a school dance. Only this was just a friend—just Billie, and it was just fireworks, not a date. Gemma let out a whooping noise, and started hopping up and down, hoping Billie would join them.
“Yes. Thank you.” She nodded. He nodded as well.
“After fireworks, Rosie is having a cookout. You can come to that too, Billie. We eat hot dogs. Tom can eat four hot dogs.” Gemma offered. Tom opened his mouth as if he was going to protest, but then closed it after a minute with a quick shrug. Billie grinned down at her, and Tom started them walking down the boardwalk.
“Well, that is an offer I can’t refuse.” Billie said, and then Tom watched as Gemma reached up and grabbed her hand. He felt something roll and squeeze in his chest, but he pushed it back and they kept walking forward, a strangely mismatched, but comfortable, chain.
****
I sat down on the sand, next to Tom and handed him a beer, which he took with a heartfelt ‘thanks’. The fireworks had been great. In fact, the whole day had been great. It was straight out of a movie—like the typical small town 4th of July. Sparklers, fireworks, sno cones and cotton candy. I haven’t been to a 4th of July like this in forever. It just doesn’t feel the same in LA. There’s no real way to bottle “small town”. It either is, or it isn’t.
“She did fine. She’ll be okay.” I glance at him, giving him what I hope is a comforting smile. I can tell he’s still a bit unsettled by the mini melt down Gemma had at the end of the fireworks. Just the typical tired, hot, sugar filled five year old existential crisis. He grunts softly and then takes a long drink from his bottle.
“She gets so excited and then, it just hits her—she’s exhausted and irritable, and all the sugar just makes her come crashing down.” He groaned and then laughed softly. “She’s like the smallest, angriest drug addict in the world. Gimme the sugar, man! I need the sugar!” He breaks into a sketchy, sort of American surfer accent, that’s both terrifying and hilarious.
“Is that your impersonation of a drug addict?” I laugh, taking a drink. The beer is cold, refreshing. A few yards up the beach, there’s a small fire going. There’s still a few people around it, including Sam and Rachel. Rosie has long gone to bed, taking Gemma with her—who was, by the end of the night, nearly furious with exhaustion in the way only littles kids can be.
“It’s bad, but yes.” Tom chuckles.
“She had a good day though, Tom. Until the end.” I winced. Tom shrugged and nodded.
“She cried last year during fireworks, but I thought it was because she ate all that cotton candy and threw up. You’d think I would have learned my lesson by now.” He groaned, stretching his legs out in front of him and leaned back on his hands.
“Hey, man, when the kid demands sugar…” I joke gently. He grins and nods.
“I just want to give her whatever she wants, you know? I want her to have everything. And it’s hard. Because there are some things I literally can’t give her.” He gets quiet for a moment, lost in his own thoughts. “So, if there’s something I can give her….like a 4th of July complete with fireworks and hot dogs and rainbow sno cones, then I’ll do whatever I can.” He finishes and then looks at me.
He is such a good man. And to be honest, also a seriously good looking man. It has gotten to the point where it’s nearly distracting to be around him sometimes. The sun from the day (and probably all the days at the beach), have driven his hair to this light brown color that is now illuminated like molten gold in the distant firelight. He’s got these cheekbones that should have been nearly stark or harsh in their severity, but they are softened by his kind, careful blue eyes. Crinkled at the corners from years of smiling and laughter.
“You’re doing the right thing, Tom. I don’t even know you two that well, and I can tell she just worships the ground you walk on.” I say softly, pushing the strange, cloudy feeling of lust from my thoughts. It stays though, lingering in the tips of my breasts and in the gentle itch at my fingertips to touch him.
“Ah well.” He replies.
“It’s funny though, how excited she was for fireworks, and then they happen and she’s terrified.” I say with a smile. Tom nods and takes another drink.
“Kids are funny that way, I guess? Or people in general. Kids just don’t hide it as well. We want something so badly, and when we get it…we’re terrified and we don’t know what to do.” He sighs and raises his shoulders up to his ears, then shrugs.
“How long were you married to Becca?” I ask softly. Earlier, after fireworks, while everyone was busy calming down Gemma and getting food on the grill, I had checked my messages. More messages from Shorty, all begging me to release a statement soon. I’d felt sick thinking about it, so this was a nice distraction. Worry about someone else’s problems for a minute.
“Well, technically married to her for almost five years. The divorce literally went through just a bit before you got here.” He turns and looks at me, an eyebrow raised. I don’t hide my shock but then I wait. “We were truly only married for about a year though. Maybe year and a half.” He makes a face, as if testing his memory.
“What happened? What's your situation?” I ask. He turns and sets his beer down in the sand.
“Are you writing a book about me?” He asks, and then grins. “Or a song, perhaps?” I shake my head.
“Sorry. I’m being nosy. I think I just… need something to get my mind off things.” I answer truthfully. He nods.
“Fair enough. Well, Becca and I met in London. She was there…doing god knows what, and we had…what you would call a whirlwind romance. Five weeks later, we got married. Three weeks after that, she told me she had to go home, back to America. She took me with her, because what else was I going to do? And that’s when I met…her daughter, Gemma. Who she’d given birth to, and then basically abandoned with Rosie right after. Gemma was just over two months old when Becca brought me here. It was the first time she’d ever mentioned Gemma. The first time there was even a hint of…something not quite right with Becca.” He swallowed, and in the dim light, I could see the movement of his adam’s apple, the slow shake of his head.
“That’s pretty brutal. She just left her new born baby?” I whisper.
“Yup.” Tom says, his voice sharp. “Rosie was furious, of course. She’d had no idea where Becca had been for the past 2 months. I was just in shock. It dawned on me rather quickly that I really didn’t know the woman I had just vow to love and cherish for the rest of my life. But…we tried to make it work. I said I’d stay in the US. Gemma stayed with us sometimes, but often with Rosie. It was Rosie who was already attached to her—and honestly, Becca had no real interest in caring for her. And I felt… a bit like I didn’t belong. I barely knew Becca. I didn’t know Rosie. And I definitely didn’t know this crying, helpless baby.”
“I would have left.” I bite my lip, brushing hair from my face as the wind picks up slightly. Tom gives a short, humorless laugh and finishes off his beer.
“I did. I left many times, but Becca pulled me back.” He shakes his head.
“I know the feeling.” I say softly. He looked at me then, and waited. It was interesting to be with someone who listened. Someone who was completely involved in the conversation and not just waiting for their own turn to speak. This is how Tom listened—now, sitting on a nearly deserted beach, and even when he was talking to his five year old not-quite-daughter. Always listening.
“Who can’t you leave?” He asks, his voice direct and gentle. I shrug and gulp my beer.
“Baby Darling.” I laugh. He flashes a small, sad smile and then we both look forward, out over the ocean. We’re quiet for a couple moments, both lost in our own thoughts. The moon shines across the water, leaving a pathway of silver slivers on the ever moving water.
“Well, if you’re anything like me, you’ll get lucky. I didn’t’ have to leave Becca. She left me.” He says this simply, but there is pain behind his words. I know he’s not in love with Becca anymore, but I also know it is never easy to fail in a relationship, or be the one who is left.
“Sounds like Becca’s loss to me. I would have never, ever left if I were her.” I say quietly. He doesn’t read more into this statement than necessary, and I’m glad for that.
“Yes, but that was sort of becca’s thing. She was always leaving. Always. And if she’d never left in the first place, then…I may have never found Gemma. And Rosie. And Sam and Rachel.” He sits up straighter, bending his knees.
“You’ve got a point there.”
“If you’re supposed to leave...leave behind Baby Darling, you’ll find a way. Not all leaving is bad. Just depends on if you leave running in the middle of the night, or waving goodbye in the sunshine.” He flashes a smile, and then leans over, bumping me gently in the arm.