Loving Cassie

You Were Mine

You Were Mine

The bed was cold next to me and the room was too quiet. I couldn't sleep anymore. I'd been laying in bed for nearly two hours now, staring into the dark ceiling, the only sound in the room the flutter of the fan's wings. Today had been going well until there was a knock on my front door and I was served with papers from Dalton. 

He was filing for divorce. 

Once the door had shut, I had simply stared at the folder waiting for something to happen. Deep down, I knew I shouldn't have been surprised. He'd been gone for weeks, not bothering to call except to see if Walker was okay. I'd seen him briefly twice while he was playing with his son, and while I was glad he was there for his little, it hurt to see him. 

I knew without a doubt that he was living with her and I didn't know how to handle it. He was still my husband, and I still cared for him. Sure, I wasn't in love with him, but we had a family together -- and I thought that had to count for something, right? 

But, apparently not.

And now, I was laying in a bed that was too cold, a room that was too silent and in a house that was empty, because he wanted her.  I'd taken to not referring to my sister by her name, it caused me chest pains. It was juvenile and I was better than that but I couldn't seem to help it. I sighed as I heard a sound through the baby monitor, hoping that Walker would sleep through the night. 

No such luck. 

His soft murmur turned into a full blown wail -- a heart wrenching sound. Suddenly, I was struck with the urge to curl into a ball and cry. I knew I couldn't, I had a child to check on. And begrudgingly, I realized that I was the one that was doing all of this for Walker and my husband was off with my sister, not bothering to help. I was glad he had checked on his son, but really? It pissed me off that he wasn't here to help me. I wasn't the only one responsible for the little miracle in that crib. But here I was getting up all hours of the night to change diapers and feed, to rock to sleep, to play with our child. Walker had limited visitation with his father and it killed me to know that it would likely always be like that. 

And with the thought that Walker, the tiny, innocent little boy crying in the other room, would be affected by his father's decisions, a single tear sailed down my cheek. 

* * * * * 

"Walker it's okay, baby." I hummed softly as I rubbed his little back in what I hoped was a soothing circular motion. He'd been fussy since earlier in the day and I wasn't sure exactly what I could do to help him. I'd called his pediatrician and she'd told me that he was probably just had a touch of a tummy ache. My baby didn't feel well and I hated that I couldn't just take it away and make him all better. Instead of quieting down, he fussed even louder and started to fidget in my arms, kicking his little legs in the air. I took in a deep breath through my teeth and rocked him slowly, swaying from side to side all the while patting and rubbing his back. His tiny whimpers were breaking my heart and unlike nearly a month ago, I couldn't call Dalton in here to take him in hopes that his father's touch would calm him. I rarely saw Dalton, which part of me was grateful for, but Walker was the one who was suffering. My poor baby had seen his daddy only twice since he'd moved out.

"Knock knock!" I hear a cheery male voice call through my front door and instantly I'm filled with so much dread and fear that I can barely contain it. I mentally kick myself for putting off telling him and grit my teeth when I realize just how much trouble I'm going to be in.

"In Walker's room, Daddy." I call out, swallowing nervously. My father and I had always had a great relationship and he'd always supported every decision I'd ever made, but I knew this would be one he wouldn't take lightly. He'd never really liked Dalton but had kept quiet about it since I had loved him. Now? He was going to put the shot gun Dalton had bought him two Christmases ago to good use. He'd call it poetic justice. My mind went blank as Walker continued to fuss when Daddy entered the room. For being nearly sixty, my dad still looked good. While the top of his head was bald – a choice he'd made in his late thirties – his face was covered in a salt and pepper colored beard, semi-trimmed to look neat. His eyes were hazel,a color that had only passed on to Carrie between the two of us. He stood a good foot taller, which didn't take much considering I was just a five foot tall. He was wide shouldered and still fairly fit for someone his age. My Daddy was a decent looking man, and I had it on good authority that he had been a heart breaker in his younger years. The thought struck me as a funny one.

"What's Papa's boy fussin' over? Malcom men don't cry, boy." He said gruffly, taking my wailing seven month old son out of my arms. Almost instantly, Walker quieted down, but I was unsure what caused it; Daddy's semi- rough pats on his back or a simple touch from his Papa. Either way, I was grateful. Suddenly the mystery was solved as my son let out a massive wet belch accompanied by the sound of liquid splashing. 

"Sorry, Daddy. He's not been feeling good, guess we know why now." I muttered, rushing to grab a mother's savior; baby wipes. Daddy just made a noncommittal sound in the back of his throat and continued to pat Walker's back, seeming unconcerned with the white spit up trailing down the back of his Metallica t-shirt. It took a few minutes for me to retrieve a wipey, but when I returned, Daddy was laying a sound asleep Walker down in his crib. I was astounded. It took me nearly thirty minutes to get him to settle, and here my dad had done it in less than ten. I felt a little inadequate, but pushed the thought away. I was doing fine and Dr. Sanderson made no qualms about reminding me at each check up.

"Uh,"I barely had the sound past my lips before my father turned to face me with a grim expression, one I knew fairly well. He had news, and I was not going to like it.

* * ** *

We were sitting out on the back porch with a cup of fresh coffee in each of our hands and a baby monitor tucked neatly between us on an end table. Neither of us had said anything since we'd left my baby's room,we had simple gathered the necessary sustenance before we settled outside. It was warm outside and the scent of manure mingled with flowers on the breeze and I was grateful for the peace for a second. For a single moment, the weight of what had happened in the last month was gone and I was free to enjoy the simple Texas sunlight and beauty of the day.

"Carrie came home two weeks ago to visit." Dad said finally, breaking the silence. "She said she had a big announcement to make but she was waiting until this weekend to make it." The irony of her choosing this weekend to announce to my father of her doings was not lost on me. It was not only Father's Day weekend, but Daddy's birthday as well. I ignored his words and took a deep drink of my hot coffee, maybe the heat of the drink would seep into my brain and I'd be able to claim I didn't know about the party.

"Okay. What time?" I asked softly after a few minuets, fidgeting with the handle of my cup. I really didn't want to go, but I needed to, especially if it was the weekend of dad's birthday. At least to make sure that my father didn't murder the father of my son in a fit of unbridled rage.

"Seven." I simply nodded and continued to look away from him. I was bracing myself for the question that I knew was coming next. My father was a keen man, one who didn't miss much.

"How long has he been gone, Cassidy?" I flinched at the use of my full name. Daddy never did that unless he had to, preferred calling me Cass or baby girl more than anything. I waited, biding my time –hoping he'd forget.

He didn't.

"A little over a month." The words were soft and for a second when he said nothing I thought they'd been carried away on the wind. That is until the creak of his chair sounded and a set of firm arms wrapped around me. My heart clenched and the dam broke. I'd done a good job of keeping my feelings at bay since Dalton had left, but I knew that in my Daddy's arms, I could let go of my strength and release my pain. As I sobbed, nothing was said, he simply held me and allowed me to cry. Words were pointless – there was nothing that could be said. Sure, he could placate me with shallow words of comfort, but he didn't and I was more grateful in that single moment that I'd ever been in my life. When the tears died down, I simply sat in his arms and held on, basking in the feeling of protection that only my Daddy could give me.