by M. Leighton
He got the last laugh.
And I’m not sure I can live with that.
But I’m not sure how not to.
“How…how do you live with this?” I feel a sob expand in my chest. “How am I supposed to live with this?”
It escapes before I can stop it. I’m livid, and I’m devastated, and I don’t know what to do about either.
“It took me a while to figure that out.”
That just makes me angrier. “How can you be so calm about this?”
Dane jerks me to a stop and towers angrily over me. “I hate that man. With everything that’s in me, I hate him. You don’t know what my life has been like since I found out. If he hadn’t died, I’d have destroyed him and everything he loved, but that lying son of a bitch cheated me out of that, too. He stole everything from me. He even stole you.” Dane is huffing, his wrath more than evident.
“I…I don’t…”
We both fume and pant.
“What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Strangely, Dane seems to calm somewhat. “I’ve wondered the same thing. I’ve let hate rule my life for the last two years. It’s like drinking poison. Every day. But honestly, you being back here…it sort of put things in perspective. If I keep doing it, keep drinking it, I keep letting him win. I’ll be giving him what he couldn’t take, the only thing he didn’t take. My future. But I won’t.” He shakes his head adamantly. “I won’t give him one more thing. Not one more. Not even one more day.”
I listen to his words. I hear them. But he has no idea the true depths of what Alton stole from me, and from him. And when I tell him, not only will he hate me, but he’ll hate Alton all over again. I’ll be stealing what tiny bit of peace he’s managed to obtain in his life. I will have earned his hatred, fair and square, ten times over.
On the verge of tears again, I shake my head, looking away. “I need some time to think about this. Can we…can we do this another day?”
He nods slowly. “Sure.”
I spin on my heel and start walking the other direction. “Maybe tomorrow.”
He nods again and watches me go.
He doesn’t try to follow.
All the way home, my insides burn with fury. Impotent rage. I can’t confront Alton. I can’t make him pay. I can’t even confront my mother, can’t ask her if she knew. I can’t burn a bridge with her because the only person who would suffer is Celina.
But I want to.
And it feels like it’s killing me that I can’t.
This is just one more thing I’ll have to swallow, have to live with, have to try not to let eat me alive. There is a mountain of hurt built up in me, and it seems to be growing larger and larger every day.
I can’t sleep again.
Shocker.
I’ve spent the last two hours staring out my window into the great, black nothingness. I’m brimming with turmoil and I have no idea how to make it stop.
I head downstairs to the kitchen where I fire up the kettle and make myself a cup of lavender tea. I’m setting the empty pot back on the eye when I hear a soft voice from somewhere behind me.
“Momma?”
I turn to find Celina standing under the archway, running a hand through her long, sandy hair.
“Did I wake you?”
“No. I can’t sleep.”
“Want some tea?”
In the glow from the nightlight, I see her nod. I give her my cup. “Take this one. Go sit down in the living room. I’ll be right in.”
I make another cup for myself and join my little girl on the couch. Her legs are folded up under her and she’s facing my end, so I assume the same position facing her. I smile at her over my steaming mug.
“Nervous?”
She nods again.
Her appointment with the new doctor at Duke is tomorrow. Although I try to break things down and keep them as positive as possible, she still knows that this is an important visit. This visit could give us a lot of hope, or it could dash a lot of hope.
“If the blood transfusions were still as effective as they were, I’d never put you through this. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. I know.” She’s quiet for a couple of minutes before she asks, “Did we move here because of money?”
My heart sinks. These aren’t the types of things I want to fill my sick child’s mind. “Celina—”
“I’m not a baby, Momma. Don’t give me the whole ‘it’s my job to protect you’ speech again. You’re just avoiding telling me the truth, and it’s making me worry more.”
“Where on earth is this coming from?”
I’m stalling. Lord help me, I’m stalling because I don’t want to tell my daughter the truth and I don’t want to lie to her either.
“See? This is what you always do, but I have a right to know. This affects me, too.”
“I know it does, and I’m not trying to—”
“Yes, you are. I know you’re doing it because you love me, but I’m telling you right now that I want to know. I need to know. Please.” Tears glisten in her eyes and distress is written all over her face. I had no idea my evasiveness has been causing her so much grief. I thought I was protecting her, but it appears I’m only making things worse.
“I’m trying to do the very best things I can for you. You—”
“Mom! You—”
“Let me finish.” Celina snaps her lips shut. “I’ve talked to more doctors about more treatments than you can imagine. I don’t want one man’s opinion on what’s best for you. I want them all. I want to know what the best of the best think, and I want to know all the pros and cons and side effects, and it’s pretty much the general consensus that the experts in hematology, the ones with the most experience with aplastic anemia, are at Duke. So. That’s the main reason we’re here. We’re closer to Duke, it has the better care, I found a job that I can work from home. It’s win-win.”
“And it’s the town you hate. The people you hate.”
“I don’t hate anyone, Celina.” At least no one that’s alive.
“You know what I mean. This place made you miserable, and now you’re back here because of me.”
“I’d do anything for you. Anything at all.”
“I know, but I don’t want you to. I don’t want you to be miserable. Being miserable because I’m sick is bad enough.”
“I’m not miserable. And you being sick doesn’t make me miserable.”
“And I know part of it has to do with money.”
“Celina, we’re fine.”
“So you aren’t spending all your money on me?”
“Nope. I’m not.”
“You promise?”
“I promise.” And I’m totally comfortable making that promise because I’m not spending all my money on her. Just the vast majority of it. But she doesn’t need to know that. She doesn’t know that I’d sell the clothes off my back if it meant getting her the treatment she needs. Moving back here, changing jobs, and uprooting us, facing my old demons…it’s all worth it. For her.
“I love you, Momma.” Her words are so low, I almost don’t hear them.
“Of course, you do. You can’t not love me,” I tease as I tug on the tips of her hair. When she leans forward, I press my lips to her forehead and try to keep my voice as steady as possible. “I love you, too, baby girl. You’re my whole world.”
She sits back, dunking her tea bag a few times before taking a sip. “So, the guy who showed up here.”
Dane.
She’s asking about Dane.
Holy shit.
My muscles have seized. I’m not even sure I can blink. But my lips still work, so I sip my tea and utter as casually as possible, “Yeah. What about him?”
“You know him?”
“I do.”
“How well?”
“He used to work here when I was young.”
“Is that all?”
Celina doesn’t look up when she asks; she just stares down into her mug.
> “We dated. Sort of. If that’s what you mean.”
“He…he looked surprised to see me.”
“I’m sure he was. I haven’t seen or talked to him in fifteen years. He had no idea I have a daughter.”
“You told me my father was a guy from your hometown, but that he was dead. You said his name was James.”
I nod, sipping my tea, even though my heart is in my throat. I’m praying she’ll drop this. What I told my child about her origin is another inadvisable faux pas from my past. I knew Momma and Alton would never bring it up, and I knew no one else knew, so I thought it wouldn’t be an issue. Of course, I wasn’t expecting Dane James to live here anymore either.
“Is that true?”
I close my eyes and blow into my steaming mug.
Oh Lord.
Oh Lord God.
Don’t let her corner me. Not now. Not before her appointment. Not before she’s married with her own kids and can understand why I’ve done the things I’ve done.
“Momma!”
“What?”
“You said he died. Is that true?”
“I did.”
“Is. That. True?”
“Honey—”
“Is…is he my father?”
I wish for a moment that a hole would open in the floor and it would swallow me up. Just take me out of here, out of this place where I’m surrounded by my mistakes. Impugned by my deceptions.
“Why would you think that?”
“Tell me the truth, Momma.”
“Your father…” I let the word hang in the air as I think of what to say, and how to say it. It’s when I look up at my daughter, at the face that’s nearly a mirror image of my own, that I know what I have to do.
It’s time.
“Yes. That was your father.”
She doesn’t gasp, so much as she just inhales loudly. Slowly. Deeply. Like she’s physically taking it all in.
Much to my surprise, however, rather than getting mad or acting hurt, she just starts to nod. Her only verbal response is a quiet, “I thought so.”
“You thought so? But why? What on earth would make you look at him and think he’s your father?”
“It wasn’t the way I looked at him, or the way he looked at me. It was the way you looked at him and the way he looked at you.”
I rub one hand across my throbbing forehead. What are the odds that I’d come back here after fifteen years and find that Dane James is still here? Like right here?
“I’m sorry I wasn’t completely honest.”
“So his name is James?”
“Dane James. James is his last name.”
“Why would you keep this from me? I’m old enough to know.” She’s being surprisingly calm and rational. That in itself is almost enough to worry me.
“The circumstances of my leaving Shepherd’s Mill weren’t good ones. I didn’t think I’d ever see him again. Not that I didn’t want to. I was trying to do what was best for him. It was…it was just a bad situation. I could never tell him about you, so I thought for your health and happiness it would be best to just tell you that he was dead rather than let you wonder and worry about a father out there that you couldn’t see or touch or talk to.”
She nods several times, avoiding eye contact, which, in a strange way, hurts me worse than if she were to scream and rant. “I understand.”
“Do you? Do you really? Because I’m thinking that you couldn’t possibly, and that you have every reason in the world to be upset with me right now.”
“It’s fine, Momma.”
“Celina—”
“It’s fine.”
Why can’t I just take this gift and let it go?
I don’t know, but I can’t. I don’t want her bottling up feelings that could rot her soul. I’m a big girl and I knew there would be consequences for my actions.
I just didn’t expect them all to fall out of the sky at the same time.
“Are you sure?” I won’t believe her even if she says yes. This is too huge.
“I know how much you love me. I know you’d never do anything to hurt me on purpose.”
“That’s true. That’s all very true. But, Celina, if you’re angry, let’s talk about it. Or if you’re hurt, let’s hash it out. I know you must have questions, so ask.”
“I do, but I don’t think I want to ask them yet.”
“Why not?”
“I just…” She shakes her head and that’s when I see her level of fatigue. This is just too much for her right now. She’s not sleeping well, her body is under attack, she’s been taken out of her familiar environment. Her stress level is probably already off the charts. “I want to think first.”
She’s smart enough to put things that can wait on the back burner.
How did I have a child so smart? How could this intelligent, mature, pragmatic, gorgeous creature have come from me? How could I have anything to do with such amazingness?
“I understand. And it’s fine, babe. We can talk about it some other time. Any other time. Whenever you’re ready.”
“Okay. Have you… Did you tell him about me?”
Will the hits not just stop for God’s sake? Can I never outrun the many levels of my own selfishness and stupidity?
“Not yet. He was very angry with me for leaving.” I pause, my pulse pounding. “Why? Do you want me to tell him?”
She pauses as well, clearly considering the query. “Maybe not yet.”
“That’s fine. I respect that. We can talk about it more later.”
She seems relieved. “Okay, Momma.”
“For tonight, why don’t you head back to bed? Maybe you can sleep now.”
As if on cue, she yawns. “I am pretty tired all of a sudden.”
“I sprinkled some fairy dust in that tea. I hope they don’t do a urine test tomorrow.”
Celina gets up and hands me her mug, shaking her head and muttering, “You’re so weird.”
I grin. “But I’m awesome.”
She climbs the stairs, still shaking her head.
This is us.
This is what we do.
And as long as I have us, I’ll survive.
Chapter 25
The drive home from Duke is quiet. We both have a lot to digest.
Celina rides the entire three-hour trip with her earbuds in and music on. The mother in me wants to ask her if she’s okay, to reassure her that everything’s going to be fine, to hold her in my arms and protect her from every curveball life throws her way.
But I don’t.
She’s a mature fourteen year old and this is what she does. She takes in information, she considers it, she asks questions, and then she decides.
I shoot a sideways glance at her. She appears to be calmly looking out the window, her body at ease, but I know the wheels are turning. Her mind is spinning, going over all that the doctor said, sifting through that information and picking out nuggets that matter the most to her, which are slightly different than the ones that matter to me.
While she is mature for her age, she is still just a child. Her thinking is very short-term. That’s to be expected. She wants the easiest path for now. But I’ve learned that the now will eventually be the past, and the past is what we have to live with in the future. And she has so much future left, so much life out ahead of her. It’s my job to help her make the best decisions in the now so that she doesn’t have regrets in the future.
Only that’s harder than I ever thought it would be.
My choices are combing through endless pamphlets and reports and papers to determine which is the lesser of an array of evils. My job is to figure out what will give my child the best chances for a healthy, normal life, yet not completely disregard how it will affect her now. It kills me to think of her suffering, and there’s a significant chance that’s what she’ll face no matter what we decide.
So, although my heart is heavy and I want to help her as much as I can, I’m giving her the space she needs to deal with
this in her own way. I hope that’s the right thing to do. My mother always tried to control everything. She wanted to run my life according to hers and what she felt was best. She never took into consideration what I might want or how I might feel. I fault her less for that now because I do believe she loves me in her own way and she really did want a good life for me, but I still wish things could’ve been different. A lot of pain has resulted from her inflexibility. I don’t want that for Celina. More than my own wellbeing, I want her to be happy. Every day of her life if possible.
When we arrive back at the house, Momma is waiting for us. I see her open her mouth to ask how it went. I catch her eye and shake my head the slightest bit. She snaps her lips shut and walks back toward the office, from whence she came. I roll my eyes and follow Celina up the steps. She goes left to her room; I go right toward my room-slash-home office. I want to be close by if she comes looking for me. Besides that, I have work to do.
Only she doesn’t come looking. Celina remains holed up in her room until Momma comes and gets us for dinner. She comes out and we go down to eat. She converses about as much as usual, even though there’s a tension at the table as my mother waits for one of us to tell her how it went. I’m determined not to get into it with her until I’ve had a chance to talk to my daughter.
After dinner, Celina excuses herself back to her room and I begin the cleanup. Momma hangs around for a few minutes longer than usual, waiting. I smile as I pass her, but say nothing. Eventually, she walks away without a word, which makes me feel kind of bad, but my primary concern is Celina. Always. My mother’s feelings come a very, very, very distant second place. Probably not even that. I am glad, however, that she isn’t pushing, that she at least has the sensitivity to wait until we’re ready to talk about it.
When the dining room and kitchen have been restored to their eerily spotless state, I return to my room, this time to pour over all the information I brought home from Duke. There is hope in all of it, but there are also risks and side effects. There is no way forward for her that isn’t going to dramatically affect her in some way, whether now or later.