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“Are you, actually, calling an early day?
Have you gone mad?” he teased.

“No. Just really tired. I think I might be
catching a cold or something,” he said, rubbing his sinuses with a
grimace.

∞∞∞

Ava came up out of bed with a strangled
scream, sweat covering her face and chest. She gasped, cold and
numb with fear, trying to catch her breath.

“Hey, hey, what’s wrong?” Jonathan sat up and
leaned to try to see her face. She dropped her head into her hands
and tried several slow, deep breaths.

“Just a bad dream,” she whispered. The same
dream that haunted her for several months had revisited her. This
time, Jean followed her along the black, jagged rocks where she
cried and called for Jonathan. No matter how many times she turned
to yell for him to go away, to leave her alone with her own baby
screaming in her arms, he clung to her skirt and called her
Mother.

“Talk to me,” he said softly and slipped the
fallen arm of her sleeping gown back up onto her shoulder. She
shook her head, dropped her hands to her legs, and kept her head
down. “It might help.” He put her hand into his and was pleasantly
surprised when she didn’t pull it away.

“I keep having the same dream, at least once
a week. This time . . . it was worse.” Her voice was hoarse from
sleep and fright. He turned toward her and massaged her hand.

“What do you keep dreaming about? Tell me,”
he whispered. She sighed, long, slow, and rolled her head over to
him.

“I can’t.” The house was perfectly still; the
only sound the faint ticking of the bedside clock. The glow of the
moonlit room was enough light just to make out shapes and
outlines.

He pushed the hair from her face. “I meant
what I said last Saturday.” She searched his face, wondering which
phrase he was talking about. “I really miss you,” he whispered. She
could barely make out his eyes; they were so sincere that she felt
her heart’s ice begin to melt, and he could sense it. “It kills me
to be this close to you. I’d do anything to make things right
again. I just want things to be like they were . . . when we were
happy.” He leaned to kiss her and she didn’t pull away. She let him
do what he would, leading the kiss tentatively, as she grappled
between anger and loneliness. After a moment, loneliness won and
she grabbed two handfuls of his hair, urging him on.

“Jonathan! What’s that?” Margaret sat up in
bed, unnerved. “I think someone is trying to break in,” she
whispered. He listened intently for a moment and then suddenly let
out a quiet, hard laugh. “What is it? Why are you laughing?” she
whispered with a hint of irritation.

“No one is trying to break in, Margaret. I
think Jon and Ava worked things out.” Three seconds to process and
Margaret giggled, slightly embarrassed. “Well, that’s good,” she
said with a smile, reclining again.

“Hey, hold on now,” he said and smiled down
at her. “Just what are you doing?”

“Going back to sleep since we’re not being
robbed.” She leaned up, pecked him on the lips, and then settled
under the quilts.

“I have a better idea,” he said, grinning in
the dark, hovering over her. “Let’s give 'em a run for their
money.” She giggled wickedly and pinched him playfully on the
thigh.

∞∞∞

The next afternoon, Jonathan returned home
early. He had worked at a breakneck pace to get home as fast as
possible to Ava. He practically skipped home, swinging his lunch
pail as he walked, whistled, and greeted some birds nesting in a
tree with a cordial hello. He stopped only briefly to pick some
wild daisies that grew alongside the patchy, gravel road.

Once inside, he waved to his parents, who
were on the couch listening to the radio with a glow of their own.
He stooped toward the floor to pat Jean’s head as he was creating a
new drawing. He took the stairs two at a time and pushed the door
open, smiling.

Ava glanced up and immediately went back to
her letter writing, sitting on the side of the bed. In one graceful
movement, he rounded the bed and pulled her up by one arm, spun her
around and dipped her back, kissing her. He pulled away briefly
with a lopsided grin. “Honey, I’m home.” He leaned in again, and
his lips landed on her cheek.

“Jon, what are you doing?” she asked with
annoyance.

“Well.” He lifted her up. “I was trying to
come home and sweep you off your feet, but you don’t look very . .
. swept.” He raised one eyebrow curiously. She backed away from
him, gave a little shove in the process with an annoyed look and
bent to gather her scattered papers.

“Everything go okay here today?” He pulled
off his wool cap and scratched his head.

“No better, no worse,” she said quietly.

“Well, then, what’s wrong?” he asked. She
ignored him and continued gathering her things. “Ava, I thought–”
She spun around, stopping him mid-sentence.

“Look, Jon.” She crossed her arms and exhaled
roughly. “Last night, well, it doesn’t change how I feel.”

“But,” he began, staring at her in disbelief,
“I thought things were okay with us now. I mean, with how you were
last night.”

“That was purely . . . need,” she said
firmly. His head fell slightly as he gaped at her. He looked down
over himself and back at her.

“You . . . used me?” he cried.

“No more than you used me,” she said coldly
and turned away.

“Hold on. I didn’t use you. I was the one
saying I love you, remember? I said that I missed you, and I was so
happy to be close to you again.”

She looked back before leaving the room. “I’m
sorry you misinterpreted it.”

April 10th 1930

Ava sat staring at the silver and white box
on the bed. The tag read Happy Birthday in beautiful script. She
had forgotten her own birthday and struggled with whether or not to
open it. She wondered briefly if it would sting him to find it
unopened on the bedside. She didn’t wonder what was inside, only
whether or not to take the opportunity to emotionally slap him one
more time. She sighed heavily and decided to wait, gathered her
clothes and set out for the bathroom. She found the door locked and
waited patiently outside, leaning against the wall. A few moments
later, Jean opened the door, and she met his smile with a cold,
unyielding expression.

“Good morning, Madame.” Ava walked into the
bathroom, closing the door just as Jean squeaked out, “Happy
Birthday.”

An hour later, she sat down to breakfast
alone and picked at her oatmeal. Margaret had taken Jean out to the
garden with her after their breakfast. On the counter, she saw
unfrosted layers of what was going to be her birthday cake.
Everyone will expect me to smile while they sing and be happy as I
blow out candles. She was tempted to grab the platter and run out
to dump the layers in the thick shrubs that lined the front yard.
She decided she would go to Claire’s instead and hide out until
bedtime, if necessary. They can just eat cake without me. And choke
on it.

∞∞∞

“Jon, I’m not the smartest guy in the world,
but I really don’t think that’s such a good idea,” Aryl said,
leaning against the side of the boat and shaking his head
slowly.

“Well, I think it will work,” Jonathan
insisted. “If she thinks some other gal in town has taken an
interest in me, it’ll get her attention. Lately, all I’ve done is
mope around and beg her to talk to me. I plead with her to stay
with me and I swear, I think she likes it.”

“Of course, she does, dummy. You’re paying
retribution,” Caleb snickered.

“I shouldn’t have to. This isn’t my fault.
The entire relationship happened before Ava, even Jean happened
before Ava, and I had no idea the kid even existed! I know it’s a
shock and not the ideal situation, but she is hell bent on making
me hurt every single day and I’m sick of it. I think she needs to
be under the impression that there's a little competition. Make her
realize what she’s taking for granted.” He crossed his arms,
delighted with his master plan to win back Ava’s affections. Aryl
shook his head with a grim look.

“No. I wouldn’t go through with it. You’ve
got a woman scorned, a pregnant woman scorned.” He shook his head.
“I think you’d be walking into very dangerous territory, my friend,
and me and Caleb can’t run this show without you.”

“We’ll see how her birthday present softens
her up. I’ll keep it in my back pocket for now.”

∞∞∞

Ava found Claire sitting on the swing in the
backyard, blankly staring. Her voice pulled Claire from her faraway
gaze. “What are you dreaming about?” Claire blinked a few times to
adjust her eyes.

“Oh, nothing, really.”

“No, c’mon, what’s wrong?”

Claire brought her shoulders up to her ears
and held them there for a second. “It’s just that . . . .” She
dropped them and smiled. “It’s just that now that we’ve decided to
have a baby, I’m not sure if it’s the best time, you know? Things
still seem so unstable. I feel like everything could fall apart in
the blink of an eye. And what then?”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve got some time to think
about it. It only happened on the first try with me because it was
the cruelest possible twist of fate.”

“Ava, what’s happened to you?” Claire asked
brusquely.

“You know full well what’s happened to
me.”

“Yes, I know, but . . . you’re not doing
yourself any favors by alienating yourself from Jonathan. You’re
only making it harder on yourself.”

“Oh, am I? If Aryl had his bastard child
dumped in your lap, I suppose you would handle this with so much
more grace and tact than I have. You’d just accept him with open
arms? Tuck him in at night and bake him cookies?”

“I’m not saying that, Ava,” Claire said,
frustrated. “I just think that there’s nothing you can do to change
the situation. So, you might as well try and make the best of it.
Aryl tells me a lot of what Jon tells him while they are out. He
loves you, Ava, and this whole situation is killing him. He wants
to make it better, he just doesn’t know how.”

“He can put it back on a boat to Paris,
that’s what he can do,” she said coldly.

“He’s just a child, Ava. This isn’t any more
his fault than yours.”

Ava refused to answer her, staring forward
with a set face as they swung slowly. “You don’t understand,” she
spoke softly. “No one understands except–” Her eyes blurred with
tears. “Except Maura.”

Claire turned to face her. “And what would
Maura tell you to do?” Her tone was icy. Ava pushed off the swing
and quickly walked away. “Ava, don’t leave,” Claire called after
her.

∞∞∞

Jonathan found Ava in the room, lying on her
side, staring out the window. He spotted the present unopened in
the garbage bin as he turned to walk back out of the room.

“She won’t come down,” his mother told him
when he sat down to dinner. “Said to have cake without her.”
Jonathan began eating while Jean filled him in on his day.

April 13th 1930

Sunday afternoon was beautiful and despite a
light, salty breeze, the perfect temperature for a picnic. Ava
spread a blanket under the shade of a nearby tree and opened her
book. The others gathered around the picnic table as Jonathan
introduced Jean to each of them. Arianna immediately began having a
conversation with Jean in French, and he seemed overjoyed to find
someone to converse with in his native tongue. Everyone, despite
Ava’s occasional glares from afar, thought he was the most adorable
thing. They gushed over his manners and remarked in very hushed
voices of how much he looked like Jonathan, who was beginning to
take on the beam of a proud father. Claire began to talk to him
about drawing, and he pulled out some of his pictures from his
knapsack to show her. Like Jonathan, she looked at the drawings and
back to Jean repeatedly, astonished. “These are amazing, Jean,” she
said.

Arianna made sure Jean understood.
“Magnifique! Superbe!”

“Merci,” he replied to Claire.

“That means thank you,” Arianna said.

“We know,” Claire reminded her, laughing.

Jonathan called Ava over when everyone began
to eat. Whether ignoring him or not hearing him, she didn’t
respond, so he walked over to where she lay in the shade.

“We’re all eating now.”

“That’s nice,” she said, eyes on her
book.

“Aren’t you going to join us?” he asked with
a hint of frustration.

“Maybe in a little while.” She glanced at the
group encircling Jean. Jonathan turned to leave, muttering a
frustrated, “I give up.” as he went.

After lunch, Aryl pulled out a baseball and a
couple of gloves from his bag. “C’mon, Caleb,” he said as he tossed
him one of the gloves.

“Nah, I’m gonna stay here with Ahna.” He
tossed the glove to Jonathan and went back to rubbing Arianna’s
back. “You’ll have to make do with him.”

“Funny.” Jonathan got up and walked past Ava,
far enough away to catch one of Aryl’s powerful throws.

After some impressive throws, Jonathan saw
his opportunity.

She stood about fifty feet past his friends,
playing with a small dog. He took a deep breath, pulled his arm
back, twisting to the side and threw the ball with every ounce of
strength he could muster. It catapulted through the air, arching so
high and traveling so fast that Aryl didn’t even bother to run for
it but simply watched as it flew overhead and well past the group.
The collective oohs and ahhs from the group caught Ava’s attention,
and she looked up.

“Sorry!” he yelled. “I’ll get it.” He started
running toward the ball and as if rehearsed to perfection, a young
brunette was already heading to pick it up for him.