Crossing Oceans Read Online Free Page A

side. “Hey, I’m sorry,” he said.
    Feeling self-conscious about the raccoon eyes I undoubtedly had, I rubbed away the wet mascara. Trails of black now marred my fingers. “What are you sorry for?”
    “Honestly? I have no idea. I’m always saying stuff to upset women.” He tucked his hands into his jeans.
    “It wasn’t you. I’m just going through a lot. I’m the one who should be sorry for acting like a freak.”
    He exhaled. “Want to talk about it?”
    And then I remembered a time years ago when he’d asked me the same thing. Ninth grade. I’d just learned I hadn’t made the cheerleading squad. I stood against the chain-link fence that bordered the soccer field. As my classmates chattered and laughed, I wept silently into the bend of my arm. I had thought no one was watching.
    A younger Craig asked if I wanted to talk about it, just like now. I shook my head, wanting to talk about it, just not to him.
    Just like now.
    “Thanks, Craig.” I softened toward him then, reminding myself the true nature of people didn’t change. The considerate boy he had been was still a part of the man standing before me. “But it’s personal.”
    “Stuff with your dad?”
    “Actually, Isabella’s dad.”
    “David Preston.”
    My heart froze. “How do you know?”
    “It’s not rocket science. You two were dating.”
    Shame filled me and I looked down. “You must think I’m . . .”
    A gentle hand guided my chin up, forcing me to meet his gaze. “I think you must be very strong.”
    I snorted. “Yeah, real strong.”
    “You’re raising a child on your own. I mean, I sure couldn’t do that.”
    “You’d be surprised what you could do if you had to.”
    “It can’t have been easy,” he said.
    “Easy? No, it definitely wasn’t that.” I felt the weight of that burden anew. “I sold my blood more than once to buy diapers, and if I ever see another ramen noodle, it’ll be too soon.”
    “See, that’s what I mean, Jenny. You’re an amazing woman. Not everyone is that strong.”
    “If I was so amazing, I wouldn’t have needed to be.”

Chapter Three
    I lay with Isabella until she drifted off to sleep, then made my way down the stairs. Mama Peg reclined in her easy chair. Veins protruded atop her feet like earthworms, which told me her legs were swollen and probably hurting. Of course if I asked, she’d only deny it.
    Not taking her eyes off the TV, she reached to the end table, blindly felt around, and lifted a coffee mug resting on its Reader’s Digest coaster. Meanwhile, Lucy Ricardo whined at Ricky, mesmerizing my grandmother as though she hadn’t seen the episode a hundred times before.
    The last step I touched down on creaked under my weight. Mama Peg aimed the remote at the set, muting it, then turned to me.
    “Hey,” I said.
    “Hey, kid. Your dad’s on the porch having his evening pipe.”
    I plopped down on the love seat. She cleared her throat and stared at me expectantly.
    “What?”
    “I said your father’s on the porch.”
    “Uh-huh.”
    “Alone.”
    Oh. “What kind of mood’s he in?”
    “He’s been giddy ever since he found out you were coming home.”
    I thought she needed to clean her rose-colored glasses but didn’t say so. Facing forward, she hit the remote again. Ricky exclaimed, “Oh, Lucy!” and I took it as my cue to go.
    When I opened the front door, the groan it made echoed my sentiments.
    My father glanced over as he slipped the pipe from his lips. “You want to hit that off?” He motioned to the porch light smothered by fluttering moths of various sizes. I ducked back in, flipped the switch, then joined him again.
    He sat in the same rocker he had occupied most summer nights ever since I could remember. The moon cast a soft glow over him, hiding his gray and wrinkles and making him look like the man I once called Daddy.
    I took the porch swing, curling my fingers around the cool metal chain suspending it. The sweet scent of pipe tobacco flooded me with