caught?”
“Nope, he got out through the fire escape window when the neighbors barged in and then left the country. Your mother didn’t want to press charges for a variety of reasons she didn’t disclose.”
“So, let me get this straight.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She could name the intruder and chose not to press charges against him. Instead, she moved. Why would she do that? And how did she know him?”
“I’ll answer the second question, and you can speculate on the first. She knew him because she had a daughter with him and left him.”
It took a moment for all the pieces to settle into her brain. “You mean, my father?” That would just be too twisted. He’d taken her in after the accident. Why would he have been harassing her mother?
“Mm-hmm. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found that out, but that’s what the records say and I’m sure your mother had no reason to lie. I can tell you with a hundred percent certainty that your parents were never married.”
“She did list him on my birth certificate, though.”
“He was probably at the birth. How long they were together after that, I can’t speculate on, and I don’t know why they fell out. Your father never talked about your mother?”
“Oh, he talked about her plenty when he thought I wasn’t in earshot.”
“In unflattering terms, I bet.”
“Bingo.”
He’d called her mother every synonym of the word “harlot” that existed in English and several other languages as well.
She’d always hated him for that. She’d only been four, going on five, when the accident happened, but she’d always found her mother to be a woman of impeccable character. She was sweet and smiley. She doted on her little girl, and never spoke a word of ill about Janette’s absentee father.
What must she think of Janette now? She probably hated her for not coming. For not calling. For abandoning her when she could have come back. But, Janette hadn’t known she was still alive. Hadn’t known anything .
A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away before it reached her chin.
“You still gonna go see her?” Dell asked. “I can ask around and find out what her mindset’s like. Sometimes, long illnesses change people.”
She had one mind to say no, because she was scared and not going would be easiest, but she didn’t want to have this on her conscience one day as a regret.
“I’m going to go,” she said, and pulled her shirt up to dry the tears that were now falling freely. “Just tell me where to go.”
“I’ll get you the info and who you need to talk to. You don’t want to just drop in unannounced. I’ll find out who her primary caregiver is and we’ll work something out with that person.”
“Thank you.”
“No sweat. I’ll call you.”
He hung up.
She stood there a while longer with the quiet phone pressed to her ear, and just cried.
How fucked up was her life? She’d become a woman who wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything, because the people in her life hadn’t felt anything for her . She’d been traumatized and couldn’t even remember it, and as a grown woman, didn’t feel safe in her own home.
And now here she was, using the only man who had ever been able to spark anything in her as a crutch without even being able to tell him why.
That wasn’t fair for him, but what else could she do? She didn’t have anyone else to trust.
She set the phone on the dresser, locked the bedroom door, and moved through the bathroom to the adjoining room.
As she locked his door, she noted that Stephen hadn’t moved a muscle during her call. He was still flopped at the end of the bed, though his expression was more peaceful now.
She picked up an afghan from the basket near the dresser, unfurled it, and covered him.
Then she picked up another and curled onto the club chair near the bed with it. She watched the rise and fall of Stephen’s chest, and meditated on
“Nope, he got out through the fire escape window when the neighbors barged in and then left the country. Your mother didn’t want to press charges for a variety of reasons she didn’t disclose.”
“So, let me get this straight.” She closed her eyes and pinched the bridge of her nose. “She could name the intruder and chose not to press charges against him. Instead, she moved. Why would she do that? And how did she know him?”
“I’ll answer the second question, and you can speculate on the first. She knew him because she had a daughter with him and left him.”
It took a moment for all the pieces to settle into her brain. “You mean, my father?” That would just be too twisted. He’d taken her in after the accident. Why would he have been harassing her mother?
“Mm-hmm. You could have knocked me over with a feather when I found that out, but that’s what the records say and I’m sure your mother had no reason to lie. I can tell you with a hundred percent certainty that your parents were never married.”
“She did list him on my birth certificate, though.”
“He was probably at the birth. How long they were together after that, I can’t speculate on, and I don’t know why they fell out. Your father never talked about your mother?”
“Oh, he talked about her plenty when he thought I wasn’t in earshot.”
“In unflattering terms, I bet.”
“Bingo.”
He’d called her mother every synonym of the word “harlot” that existed in English and several other languages as well.
She’d always hated him for that. She’d only been four, going on five, when the accident happened, but she’d always found her mother to be a woman of impeccable character. She was sweet and smiley. She doted on her little girl, and never spoke a word of ill about Janette’s absentee father.
What must she think of Janette now? She probably hated her for not coming. For not calling. For abandoning her when she could have come back. But, Janette hadn’t known she was still alive. Hadn’t known anything .
A tear slid down her cheek and she wiped it away before it reached her chin.
“You still gonna go see her?” Dell asked. “I can ask around and find out what her mindset’s like. Sometimes, long illnesses change people.”
She had one mind to say no, because she was scared and not going would be easiest, but she didn’t want to have this on her conscience one day as a regret.
“I’m going to go,” she said, and pulled her shirt up to dry the tears that were now falling freely. “Just tell me where to go.”
“I’ll get you the info and who you need to talk to. You don’t want to just drop in unannounced. I’ll find out who her primary caregiver is and we’ll work something out with that person.”
“Thank you.”
“No sweat. I’ll call you.”
He hung up.
She stood there a while longer with the quiet phone pressed to her ear, and just cried.
How fucked up was her life? She’d become a woman who wouldn’t allow herself to feel anything, because the people in her life hadn’t felt anything for her . She’d been traumatized and couldn’t even remember it, and as a grown woman, didn’t feel safe in her own home.
And now here she was, using the only man who had ever been able to spark anything in her as a crutch without even being able to tell him why.
That wasn’t fair for him, but what else could she do? She didn’t have anyone else to trust.
She set the phone on the dresser, locked the bedroom door, and moved through the bathroom to the adjoining room.
As she locked his door, she noted that Stephen hadn’t moved a muscle during her call. He was still flopped at the end of the bed, though his expression was more peaceful now.
She picked up an afghan from the basket near the dresser, unfurled it, and covered him.
Then she picked up another and curled onto the club chair near the bed with it. She watched the rise and fall of Stephen’s chest, and meditated on
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