by Terri Osburn
“Or broke,” Donna added.
The latter had occurred to me but not the former.
“What if she’s coming back to town?” Lindsey licked salsa off her finger. “Or maybe she’s already here.”
Josie flipped the envelope again. “The postmark is from San Francisco.”
“She could have mailed it before she left.”
“Surely she’d give her more warning than that.”
“Guys,” I cut in, “we can sit here and guess all day, but there’s no way to know until I open it.”
Handing it back to me, Josie said, “When does your dad get back?”
“I pick him up at the airport tomorrow afternoon.”
A silence fell over the table until Becca said, “Whatever it is, we’re here for you. You know that, right?”
Yes, I did. I nodded and slid the letter into my purse. “Enough about me today. What’s going on with the rest of you?”
“I’ve got nothing personal, but the exhibit is moving along,” Donna said as the waitress returned with our orders.
As the food was laid out around the table, Josie’s fajitas sizzled and Lindsey made a moaning sound as she sniffed her huevos rancheros. We dug in as Lindsey shared how the new school year was going, and Josie went on about a coworker who wouldn’t stop making some sort of fish dish in the break room microwave. They had yet to discover the culprit, but apparently the entire office was on the case and no one was above suspicion.
I scooped up a bite of my burrito and locked eyes with Becca. She and I had been roommates in college and though all of us were close, she and I had a special bond. Probably because we were the two introverts of the group. The look spoke volumes and I understood the message loud and clear. She was thinking along the same lines I was. Whatever was in that letter probably wasn’t going to be good.
“Are you going to eat those beans?” Lindsey asked, pulling me from my thoughts.
“You can have them.” I scooped the refried beans onto an entree plate as Donna shared the latest news on her exhibition.
For the rest of the meal, I forced myself to stay in the moment. These were the important women in my life. The ones I knew would always be there for me. The one who existed only in an unopened letter didn’t deserve more attention than they did.
Chapter Six
Despite a thunderstorm rolling through the middle of the country, Dad’s flight landed on time. Due to an accident on 376, I did not. Swooping in as another car pulled out, I put the car in park and hopped out to open the hatch.
“I’m so sorry,” I said as he lifted the suitcase into the car. “Two lanes were closed on the interstate.”
Dad kissed me on the cheek. “No problem, pumpkin. I haven’t been out here long.”
Average height, slender build, and receding hairline, James Knox had a smile that could charm a snake into buying snow skis. He was quiet and quite possibly the least threatening person on the planet, but that was his secret weapon. No one saw him coming. He wore dark-rimmed glasses with lenses thick enough to magnify his dark-brown eyes. They also made him look smart, which he was.
When I’d fallen behind in my math classes back in junior high, we hadn’t bothered with tutors. Dad spent extra time with me every night until I’d brought my grade up to an A plus. When I’d struggled with physics my senior year of high school, he’d found every online video available and by the end of the semester, he could have passed the exam as well as I could.
He never embarrassed me because I loved his enthusiasm and his endless supply of positivity. Even when he’d asked my friends goofy questions or warned my dates that he may look harmless but he knew people who knew people that wouldn’t like his little girl getting hurt. Dad was my hero, my mentor, and the best man I would ever find.
Which was why I hated to even bring up the letter. Geraldine had hurt him as much, if not more, than she’d hurt me. I’d always assumed she was the reason he never dated or remarried. Not that I ever asked him about dating, or his lack thereof. By the time I was fifteen, even I’d grown tired of people asking him why he hadn’t found a mother for me yet.
As if those were sold in stores. Or a man couldn’t possibly raise a little girl on his own. Despite the insulting questions, Dad had kept a smile on his face and never let it get to him.
“How was the flight?” I asked.
“We got out of Dallas late so I had to run to make the connection in St. Louis, but we left on time from there.”
“Are you hungry?”
“I am, but if you’ve already eaten you don’t have to stop.”
I’d had a late breakfast and not eaten since. “I skipped lunch, actually. Do you want to stop somewhere in Robinson?” This was the large shopping area on the way back into town from the airport.
Trying not to sound too excited, Dad said, “I could go for some Eat’n Park.” I knew when I asked that this would be his answer. The man loved Eat’n Park.
“Then Eat’n Park it will be.”
Less than ten minutes later, we were seated in a small booth against a window, our order in—since we both got the same thing every time—and I debated whether this was a good time to bring up the letter. The night before I had the thought that maybe what was inside was important. What if she had some medical issue that could eventually affect me and she’d wanted me to know? Or what if she’d come into some money and decided—out of guilt or regret or both—to send me some.
I’d give it to Dad, of course. He’d never gone after child support and she’d never offered. Something I was unaware of until the subject of paying for my college had come up. Not only had he raised me with no assistance from the woman who gave birth to me, but he’d managed to set up a college fund that had made it possible for me to graduate debt free.
If Geraldine needed to pay anyone back, it was Dad.
“I have something to talk to you about,” I said after the waitress delivered our drinks—mine a milkshake and Dad’s a Cherry Coke.
“I need to talk to you about something, too,” he said. The smile of pure joy on his face said his was good news so I let him go first.
“What is it?”
“You can go first.” He was trying and failing to hide his grin.
“Not with that look on your face. What happened? Did you get a big promotion or something?”
Dad shook his head. “This isn’t about work.” Leaning his elbows on the table, he said, “Well, there’s a connection, but it isn’t that.”
Now I was really curious. “Tell me already. What is it?”
Twirling the straw in his glass, he looked out the window and cleared his throat. Squirming in his seat, he finally clasped his hands on the table and said, “I’m not sure how you’re going to take this.”
Crap. They were transferring him. There had been the threat in the past, but he’d always managed to convince his higher-ups that he needed to stay in Pittsburgh. If he was happy about it, then I would be, too. Unless he was moving out of the country. I’d have a really hard time pretending to be happy about something like that.
“It’s clearly good news so I’m sure I’ll be happy about it.” Another white lie. I was dropping those way too easily this weekend.
“Okay.” Sitting up, he crossed his arms, then uncrossed them and cleared his throat again. “Here it goes. I’m seeing someone.”
My brain went blank. “You’re what?”
He grabbed my hand across the table. “I know this is a surprise. It surprised me, too. Nessa and I have known each other for years, and—”
“Nessa?” I repeated. Like the imaginary sea creature?
“Vanessa, actually. Vanessa Broneicki, but she goes by Nessa. She works in accounting, and we got to know each other while on the bowling team together this summer.”
My gut reaction was to be happy for him. Or it would be once the shock wore off. This was all I’d ever wanted. Okay, not always. There had been a time when I’d feared he’d meet a woman with two mean daug
hters who would make my life miserable.
I might have watched too many Disney movies as a kid.
But other than that, I wanted him to find love again. I guess I just never thought it would happen after all this time.
“Is she nice?” I asked, unable to think of anything better to say. “What’s she like?”
“She’s two years older than I am and has two daughters.” My worst fears were coming true. “One lives in New York City, and the other lives here in town with her husband and their little boy.”
Wow. Built in grandkids. I hadn’t even thought of that. Dad had been barely eighteen when I was born, and my mother had been seventeen. They’d gone to high school together in Uniontown, which was where I’d spent my first eighteen years until going off to college. My existence was the result of two kids getting carried away in the back seat of a Chevy Cavalier. Not the most auspicious start to life, but they’d married and started their little family.
Seven years later, my mother had decided that domestic life was not for her. That we were not for her. She’d taken off for California, and we’d picked up the pieces.
At this point, I had no idea what to say. What I knew for sure was that we would not be discussing the letter today. He was happy. He was finally moving on. Dragging up the past in the form of the woman who broke his heart and abandoned the both of us would only ruin his newfound joy.
A wave of fierceness rose in my chest. I would not let her hurt him again.
“How long has this been going on?” I asked. “Can I meet her?”
“She’s dying to meet you.” The waitress arrived with our food so we paused until she walked away. Spreading the butter on his pancakes, Dad said, “Our first real date was two months ago, but like I said, we’ve known each other for a long time.”
I reached for the ketchup. “Dad, I’m so happy to hear this. I can’t believe you didn’t mention her sooner.”
“Like I said, I wasn’t sure how you’d take it.”
“If I ever gave you the impression that I didn’t want you to be happy—”
“No, honey, that isn’t it.” He set the small pitcher of syrup down beside his plate. “It’s been just the two of us for a long time. Bringing someone else into the picture felt… well… I just wasn’t sure if we were ready for that.”
We’d had plenty of time to be ready. “Dad, it’s been over twenty years. Please tell me you haven’t stayed single all this time because of me.”
“Goodness, no. I mean, when you were little I didn’t want to bring someone into your life that might not…” He trailed off so I finished the sentence for him.
“Stick around?”
“Yes,” he said, his shoulders dropping. “After what happened with—”
“That was a long time ago,” I said, cutting him off. “Today is about you and Nessa and if the look on your face when you talk about her is any indication, she makes you really happy. That’s all that matters.”
The smile returned. Not as bright as before, but almost there. What happened in the past was still a wound for him. One I would never reopen for anything.
“Enough about me,” he said, slicing into a pancake. “What was your news?”
I needed a story and fast, but nothing came to mind. Reaching, I said, “I was thinking about looking at new cars.”
“Really?” he said, glancing up from his food. “I thought you wanted to go without a car payment for a while.”
Yes, I did. Which was why I wasn’t at all thinking about new cars. “You’re right. It’s a bad idea.” I picked up one half of my burger and said, “Tell me more about Nessa.”
I’d picked the right topic because he didn’t press about the car thing. For the rest of the meal, Dad talked nonstop about his new girlfriend—a term that would take some getting used to. She sounded quirky and fun and perfect for him. I really hoped that was true, because if she ever hurt him, Ms. Broneicki would answer to me.
A sleepless night meant needing an extra cup of coffee to get moving on Monday morning. The forecast said clear skies so I walked down the hill to work, then half a block from the library, the drizzle started. Did I bring my umbrella? Of course not. I blamed the brain fog.
After dropping Dad at his house and staying long enough to accept the gift he brought me—a coffee mug featuring the Dallas skyline—I drove home lost in thought about the letter. Sharing with Dad was out of the question now. Maybe once he and this Nessa person had been together for a while, things would change, but until then, he didn’t need Geraldine stepping back into his life.
Which left me with a conundrum. Was I going to read it?
Part of me said just get it over with. What if I was making a big deal out of nothing? But how could whatever she said not be a big deal? As the letter once again mocked me—this time from the coffee table—I paced my small living room, debating my next move. On one hand, I hadn’t expected to hear from her ever again, and no matter what she said, I wanted nothing to do with her. I’d spent more of my life without a mother than with one and had turned out just fine. I had the best dad in the world, and that was the only parent I needed.
So why open it at all?
I paced again and played the other side of the argument. What if she was dying? What if she was homeless and needed money to get off the streets? No matter what I’d come up with during lunch on Saturday, I knew myself well enough to know that I’d never let anyone suffer if I could do something about it. Even the mother who didn’t want me.
With a loud huff, I stomped in frustration before picking up the letter and marching to the tiny desk in the corner of the room. Before I could change my mind, I opened the bottom drawer, tossed in the envelope, and then slammed the drawer shut. And that was where it would stay. For now.
The stomping had initiated a tap on the ceiling below from Mr. Banks, and I yelled down an apology into the floor vent that had become our means of communication. Once that little trick had been discovered, I’d placed a thick rug over the vent, but it did come in handy at times.
“Good morning, Miriam,” I said as I hung my damp sweater over the back of my chair. The air conditioning tended to make the library quite cold in the summers so I always carried a sweater with me. I wouldn’t be wearing it today until it dried out.
“Good morning,” she returned with an extra lilt in her tone. “How was your weekend?”
Had it really only been forty-eight hours since my meeting with Jeffrey had kicked off what could be called a series of unfortunate events? The who did I tick off trifecta, one might say.
“Eventful,” I replied. “From that blush on your cheeks, I’m guessing yours was as well?”
Miriam giggled. “Our one-month anniversary dinner stretched through the whole weekend. We both left my apartment at the same time this morning.”
So things were definitely moving along. I could barely remember that high of new love, when the sun shone a little brighter and you felt as if you might never stop smiling. Becca was in that phase, and now so was Miriam. Lucky them.
“You’re practically glowing,” I said, genuinely happy for her. “You need to bring him in here soon so that we can meet him.”
With a slight frown, she said, “He’s going out of town on business but I want to introduce you soon.”
“I can’t wait.” I logged into my computer and opened my email to find a message from Jeffrey.
Ms. Knox,
I will be meeting with the consultant next Friday. I’ll need a detailed summary of each program on the list (attached) including costs and funding sources. Please have this to me no later than two days prior so I can review and request further information if necessary.
J. Chamberlain
“Did you just growl?” Miriam asked.
“Jeffrey sent me an email.”
She rolled her chair over to mine. “What did he say?”
“He wants detailed summaries for every program we run, and he wants them by the middle of next week.”
<
br /> “As if you can just whip that up out of thin air.”
I kept folders on every program, but they didn’t include this kind of detail, especially the programs that had been running for years. Some for decades.
“I have to do it. He’s meeting with the consultant at the end of next week. The more information I arm him with, the better chance we have of saving our programs.”
Miriam rolled back to her own station. “I’ll help if I can, but I’m up to my eyeballs in the history event for next month.”
We’d been gathering local stories since the start of the year, focusing on lesser-known characters who’d played key roles in the city’s history but were rarely talked about. From Hugh J. Ward, a resident of Hazelwood who invented the game of Bingo, to Gus Greenlee, who’d dabbled in everything from running nightclubs to managing boxers and had even owned the Negro League’s Pittsburgh Crawfords baseball team.
Miriam spearheaded the project and had done an amazing job curating an array of facts and figures from an assortment of sources. An exhibit would be on display for two weeks the following month and then carefully archived for anyone who wanted to learn more about the real people who had shaped the city.
“I’ll take care of it,” I said. “I just wish I could attend the meeting instead of Jeffrey. I don’t trust him to stand up for the programs like he should.”
“Morning, ladies,” said Thomas as he stepped up to the counter. “How was your weekend?”
“Good,” I said out of habit. “How was yours?”
“Nothing special since I was here for most of it. Miriam, I found some Pittsburgh Press articles from 1930 talking about that 805 thing you were researching. I put them in a folder on your desk.”
“Oh, thank you.” A second later, she made a squeaking sound that caused both Thomas and I to look her way. Miriam covered her mouth, her eyes shifting from Thomas to me and back. “Could you grab me some printer paper from downstairs?” she said to him.
“Sure.” He looked confused but marched off toward the stairs.
Once he was gone, she rolled my way. “I am the worst friend ever. How could I forget to ask how it went with Fletcher and his girlfriend? Was it hard? Is she pretty?” Holding a hand up palm out, she shook her head. “Forget I asked that. It’s petty and sexist. Are you okay?”