“Why did you stop talking to her?”
Olivia cocked her head. “I never stopped talking to her. More like the other way around.”
“I’m confused.”
Olivia inhaled and sat up straighter, re-adjusting her position on the couch before answering. “It’s time I told you the truth, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Tell me.”
“When I started to use drugs, things naturally changed between us. We began to argue all the time. I kept my life outside the house a secret, hidden, and your grandmother stopped trusting me, and for good reason.”
“But she was your mother. How could she turn her back on you?”
Olivia lifted her pointer finger in the air. “Hold on. You have to understand something, Harper. My mother—your grandmother—was a good person. She tried to reach out to me—on many occasions. Gave me a roof when I had no place else to go. Put food on the table and clothes on my back—and yours.”
“But I don’t—”
“Hold up. Please, let me finish. My mother hated what I was turning into and felt helpless to fix it. You were a small child at the time. One day, after stopping by unannounced to drop off some groceries, she saw the way the place looked, the way I looked.” Olivia shook her head. “Long story short, she lost it. Demanded that I give you to her, but I wouldn’t let her near you. It was easier to blame her and make her the bad guy than face the truth.”
“I always thought she didn’t want me.”
“She loved you, Harper. I stole her from you, along with her jewelry, which I pawned for drug money. My thought process at the time was so twisted. I thought nothing of digging into her wallet or lying to her.” Olivia twisted her fingers. “I violated my mother’s trust, over and over—her own daughter. All she wanted to do to was get me help, but I turned my back on her. Told her to mind her own business and leave us alone. Accused her of interfering in my life. Told her that the only reason she wanted to take you from me was out of jealousy. Accused her of not wanting me to be happy. Can you believe that?” Olivia blinked back tears. “I told her I hated her—to leave and never come back. I’m not making an excuse, there is no excuse for how I treated my mother, but at the time, my addiction took over.” Olivia held Harper’s hand, kneading the top gently with her thumb. “Eventually she couldn’t take anymore. Told me to leave her alone and not contact her until I got clean.”
Harper had assumed a major blow-up between her grandmother and mother had occurred, but she had never been privy to the details before now. In her mind, she believed knowing them would somehow ease the pain and emptiness she lived with inside. It didn’t.
“By the time the state put you into foster care, we weren’t speaking and lost all contact. That’s why she never came to get you.” Olivia shook her head and lowered her gaze. “I pushed my mother away and hurt the people in my life who cared and loved me, all to get the next fix.” Olivia paused to catch her breath, her eyes moist and glazed. She’d tell Harper the truth—or most of it—but would leave out the sordid details no child should ever have to hear. Particularly about the nights faced alone, curled up in a ball fighting the elements and other predators—animal and human. Olivia wanted to forget the countless times she woke up in some random alleyway next to a strange body or below an underpass after wearing out her welcome at a friend’s house. She’d purposely gloss over the things done to make ends meet until landing a real job. Olivia swore she’d take those dark memories to her grave.
Deep breath.
Olivia glanced up. There was no mistaking the longing for closure in Harper’s eyes. My baby.
Olivia weighed her words carefully, not wanting her daughter’s pity for something she had brought on herself. Nor would Olivia say anything to make her child carry the burden of her past mistakes any more than she already had. No. Some things were best left unsaid.
Olivia sat up straighter, more determined. “By the time I got clean and got you back, she had already passed away. After all that, I never got to tell my mom how much I loved her and how sorry I was for everything that happened.”
Harper cupped her mother’s hand in hers. “Mom,” she said softly. “Where’s Grandma buried?”
Olivia furrowed her brow, puzzled. “At the cemetery. The one in town.”
Harper nodded. “Maybe you and I can go visit Grandma together—once your ankles don’t look like sausages. Tell her everything you didn’t before and wipe the slate clean.”
Olivia’s face flushed. She hugged her daughter tightly, whispering in her ear. “I am so blessed to have you in my life, you know that?” she said, voice cracking. “I love you so much. I promise I won’t let you down ever again.”
Mother and daughter embraced, holding onto one another tightly when a loud pounding at the front door startled the pair.
Harper drew back. “Who’s that?” she asked, her surprise matched only by her mother’s clenched jaw.
“No idea.”
Three more insistent knocks followed before Harper stood. “I’ll go.”
“No. Stay here. I’ll go.”
“Don’t be silly. Your ankles.” Harper pressed her mother’s shoulder, gently pushing her back down onto the couch. “Rest.” Harper darted to the door.
“Ask who it is before you open it!” shouted her mother, but as usual, Harper wasn’t listening.
Two more insistent knocks before Harper reached the door and swung it wide open.
“Harper Leigh Crane!” declared the man. “Look at you! All grown up.”
There, perched on the front porch stood Harper’s worst nightmare with two legs.
“Well? Aren’t you going to invite me in?” asked the man, conceit smeared across his weathered, moist face. The face that wore the same cheekbones, the same shaped nose, the same deep-set eyes as hers.
“Shit!” Harper slammed her shoulder against the door, but he moved faster and managed to block the entrance with the heel of his boot, positioning his own shoulder and strength to pry it the rest of the way open.
“Now, Harper Leigh. Is that any way to treat your long-lost daddy?”
CHAPTER 5
Irwin
Irwin replaced the dead, wilted flowers from his previous week’s visit with the fresh bouquet. He drew a hanky from his coat pocket and brushed the accumulated dust and occasional leaf off the top of Gilly’s headstone before settling in to catch her up on his news. The fact that the gravesite overlooked a highway as opposed to a fancy green meadow mattered less to Irwin than his being able to come and visit as often as he liked, no matter the day, from dawn to dusk. However, it did little to alleviate the grief or mask the loneliness that shadowed his now almost reclusive existence. Today’s news would be especially painful, and although Irwin didn’t consider himself a religious man, it was the one time in his life he wished he could find solace in prayer or supplication.
Irwin stood, fixed his posture, and cleared his throat. “Winter’s coming, Gilly. There’s a brisk cutting chill in the air. I can feel it in my bones. Remember how much you loved a good snowstorm? What did you use to say?” Irwin snapped his fingers. “Ah…yes. I remember. ‘A fresh coat of fallen snow has the power to blot out the world’s imperfections—at least for a little while.’”
Irwin bent over and massaged his knee. “These days, my old bones refuse to cooperate. Takes all I have to roll out of bed and get to work on time, not to mention having to deal with people. There’s no shortage of crazy these days. People complaining, griping about their life, talking to themselves.” Irwin tugged a few weeds from the bottom side of Gilly’s headstone and glanced up. “Okay, I agree. That does sound like me, but you’d gripe and complain too if you had to work with Ledbetter. Something about that guy rubs me the wrong way—and he never shuts up.”
A car horn sounded in the distance. A breeze lifted his coat collar.
“Windy day this past week. Most of the leaves at the house are down. I’ll probably spend a good portion of tomorrow raking a
nd bagging.” He plucked a small pebble from the earth and rolled it around in his palm before tossing it to the side. “You would think that with all the leaves on the road, people would be smart enough to drive slower, but not these idiots around here. They think they’re a bunch of road-racers, spinning out in minivans. Matter-of-fact, just the other day, I saw a deer dart in front of a car way ahead of me. The driver tried to swerve, but since he was speeding, he wound up skidding on a pile of wind-swept wet leaves and into an oncoming truck. The truck driver turned so as not to have a complete head-on collision but wound up hitting a light pole instead. I’m thinking he must have cracked something in his undercarriage because gallons of animal waste came pouring out all over the road.” Irwin shook his head. “You should have seen it. Chicken blood, everywhere, gushing down Main Street. It looked like something out of a horror movie. Of course, you know the local paper. They had to have a field day with that. Coming up with witty headlines like, ‘Red River Flows on Main Street’ and ‘Red September Comes to the Poconos’ or some such foolishness.”
Irwin enjoyed sharing funny anecdotes with Gilly about the people he worked with or came across at his job. During the warmer months, he’d bring a blanket and sit and read to her for hours. At other times, he came to talk or ask her for advice. Today would become the latter.
The air felt nippy. Irwin put his hat back on and stuck his hands in his pockets. “I have a strange situation going on that I wanted to run by you. I’m honestly perplexed. You taught teenagers. You understand how they think.” Somewhat disconcerted, Irwin felt his cheeks redden. “There’s a young girl, I’d say about fifteen, sixteen, no more. She comes to the library every afternoon and stays until closing. No parent, no friends, not even a cell phone from what I can tell. Nothing. She just sits in the chair facing the reception desk and reads or, when she’s bored and has nothing better to do with her time, stares at me. I’ve caught her laughing at me.” Irwin shrugged. “Personally, I find her outfits rather painful to look at, but you would like her. I’d say her style is a cross between biker girl and a hippie gone rogue. Oh, and she wears work boots all the time and has this weird, wild hairstyle down to her waist. And the rings…wears one on every finger—and I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s got them on her toes.” Irwin tugged his earlobe. “The thing is, she’s, I don’t know…sad maybe? Lonely. Always has her face planted in a book. Thin thing. Too thin. I don’t think she gets enough to eat.” Irwin lifted his hand as if stopping traffic. “And yes, before you say it, I know, she sounds like a mini-me, all but the too thin part.”
Irwin crossed his arms over his chest. “Interesting.” He nodded. “I thought about that too.”
She could be a runaway or maybe has a hard home life.
“Like I said, she’s a skinny thing, and I never see her eat, and don’t forget, we close at eight.” Irwin rubbed his hands together. “She’s obviously smart if one goes by the books she reads.”
In the far distance, Irwin noticed a young man kneeling by a grave. He watched as he placed a hand on the top edge of the headstone, bowed his head, and openly wept. Irwin diverted his eyes.
“And so, why am I bringing this up now? For starters, because this girl scares me half to death. Don’t laugh, Gilly. I’m serious. This girl is forever invading my space. Sends me these strange, cryptic messages and then hides them in books with a supposedly enigmatic meaning in the title. Why can’t she bother somebody else? Regan, for example. She’d be a perfect specimen to annoy—or better yet, why not that arrogant, supercilious scoundrel, Roger? He deserves to be harassed.”
Irwin lifted his head up to the sky. “Fine,” he moaned. “I admit it. I’m sort of amused by her, but honestly, I don’t know what to do. I am a single, old man.” Irwin chuckled. “You’re a riot, but you’re right. That does practically give me pariah status.” Irwin shrugged and plucked a brown, crisp leaf from the ground and crumpled it in his hand. The wind whipped the particles about.
“Okay, but listen to my side first. You and I both know I have no business whatsoever befriending a rebellious, strong-willed, smart-ass teenager. That’s a no-no in any civilized society.” Irwin readjusted his hat. “Look, I’m not up for this kind of drama in my life, Gilly. Not me. No, sir. There are hordes of underpaid social workers better trained for this kind of thing, and besides, the kid has trouble written all over her. More problems I don’t need. I’ve got enough of my own to contend with.”
Irwin edged closer to the headstone, waiting for his lonely heart to sense a reply.
“No, I’m not like you, Gilly. I have no compulsion to save the world. And I certainly don’t make a habit of bringing home strays, if one doesn’t count Cornelia and Bones.”
Irwin rolled the bottom of his shoe over another small pebble peeking up through the grass. “I wish I had the power to push rewind and set everything that went wrong four years ago back on course.” Irwin took a deep, cleansing breath. “Enough of that madness. I need to change the subject now.” This was the conversation he dreaded having. For years, he had practiced in his head what he would say when the time came, and now that it was here, he felt at a loss for words.
“I spoke to Dakota’s doctor yesterday,” he started. “She’s been trying to reach your…” Irwin quickly corrected himself, “Dakota’s father. The last number she had for him no longer works. Big surprise, right? She thought I might have an address or phone number for him, which we both know is ridiculous at best.”
Not long after Gilly died, her then almost ex-husband, Stanley the Slime Ball, couldn’t claim the substantial life insurance payout fast enough. Without so much as a goodbye, he hightailed it out of state, his twenty-four-year-old secretary in tow, leaving behind his helpless, comatose child to fend for herself. Irwin dreamed of running the bastard over with his car and feeding his remains to the bears.
“I’ve tried my best to keep an eye on your little girl, but the doctors say her body’s tired, Sweetheart. She’s having difficulty breathing on her own and had to be intubated last night.” Irwin stopped, the words lodged in his dry, scratchy throat. “I’m so sorry, Gilly. I know this isn’t the news you were hoping to hear.” Irwin inhaled another deep breath and blew it out slowly. “I guess what I’m trying to explain, but not doing a good job of it, is that it’s time.” Irwin lowered his head as if in prayer. “They want to go over final options.”
No further words were needed; the implication of his delivered message hung in the air painfully clear. Irwin stood stiffly at the foot of Gilly’s grave, silently brooding. He had done what he had promised to do, but the outcome ripped him apart, nonetheless.
Please forgive me.
Irwin kissed his two fingers and placed the kiss on the top of Gilly’s stone.
Next stop: the center to visit Dakota. To reach his car, Irwin had to pass the weeping man still kneeling, lost in his own cycle of hell. For a second, the younger man glanced up at Irwin and their eyes locked. Each offered the other the briefest of nods before both turned back inward. But in that almost infinitesimal exchange, they had shared it all.
As Irwin walked back to his car, he couldn’t fathom the cruelty of love and why he couldn’t have vanished on the day Fate wrenched Gilly from his life.
***
That evening, Irwin relaxed in his favorite reading chair, allowing memories of Gilly and Dakota to wash over and consume him. Gilly had given him so much when alive and, in many ways, even in death. The inexplicable closeness he felt for her child had always been something Irwin had a hard time processing, especially given the fact that he only knew Dakota through her mother’s stories, photos, and aspirations.
With Dakota’s absentee father living somewhere on the planet, Irwin felt obliged to honor Gilly’s memory through the care of her daughter. On the day Gilly died, he made a solemn vow to be Dakota’s caretaker, no matter what the outcome. For four years, he sat by Dakota’s bedside, every week without fail.
In the beginning, his visits were for Gilly
, but then, inexplicably, something changed, and Dakota became so much more to Irwin than a guilt-ridden promise or a deathbed obligation. In Irwin’s heart, Dakota became his child. His little girl. She’d never know how even prior to the accident, Irwin had cheered for her success from afar—much like a proud papa. He would have gladly stepped up and become the dad she needed—and wanted—if she would have had him. And now, he would have to say goodbye to her as well.
Shortly after he’d arrived at the center, Dakota’s doctor had stopped by to speak to him. “Sorry to interrupt,” said Doctor Rollins after tapping at the slightly jarred door.
Irwin motioned to stand.
“No, please, sit,” she said, waving him back down. “I wanted to let you know, we think we’ve found Dakota’s father,” she confided. “I had my secretary leave a message with his wife.” Due to the extenuating parameters of this highly delicate situation, the staff over the years, including Doctor Rollins, had pretty much dropped protocol. While technically, Irwin didn’t have the legal rights to make medical decisions for Dakota, the fact that she had literally nobody else willing, didn’t go unnoticed.
Irwin solemnly nodded and placed a bookmarker between the pages of the latest novel he chose to read to Dakota. He had already finished reading Pride and Prejudice, War and Peace, Doctor Zhivago, and Gone with the Wind to her, as well as a few other rather long novels. This time, Irwin chose a shorter contemporary fiction story, something not too long given time was no longer on their side.
Face stone cold, he asked, “And?” Irwin worked hard to contain the overwhelming loathing he held for the man he had never met. Irwin despised anyone who deserted their children. He’d known firsthand the lasting devastation, neglect, and abandonment produced.
Unlikely Friends Page 5