I stare at my phone again, flipping through the pictures of Mira and me, and stopping on the ones of Jack. I miss him. And her.
“You’re not afraid I’ll yell at you again?” I ask as she closes the door behind her.
“You’re not that scary,” she says.
I look up at her and she gives me a small smile. “Why did you come here?” I ask. “Not that I don’t want you here. I just . . . what made you come?”
“I had a feeling you needed me. I’m not sure why. And since we were driving up the coast anyway, we decided to make a slight detour.”
“Thanks,” I say. “For visiting. I’ve missed you.”
“I missed you, too.” She sits down on the bed next to me. “I just wanted to let you know we’re staying the night then leaving tomorrow. Carson wants to drive up to Seattle and spend a few days there. I’ve never been.”
“That sounds fun.”
“We’re going to Florida for our honeymoon, but that’s still a month away. Might as well take a vacation while we can, since we don’t have school right now. I guess I am taking an online class, but I can do that anywhere.”
“Is college hard?”
“It’s different, but interesting. If you work hard and enjoy your major, it’s great. You’re coming to the wedding still, right? Even if you’re mad at me?”
“Of course. I wouldn’t miss it.”
She nods. “Good. It wouldn’t be the same without you there.”
“And I’m not mad at you.”
“Good to know.”
I stare at my phone again and can feel her eyes on me. “Is that Jack?”
“Yeah. How did you . . .?”
“Your mom may have mentioned him. She says something happened between you two and she hasn’t seen him over here for a while.”
“Yeah. I really screwed this one up.”
“Still not talking then?”
“No.”
“What can I do to help?”
“Nothing. I can’t even do anything myself.”
“Have you tried talking to them?”
I shake my head. “They won’t talk to me.”
“You can still fix it, I’m sure. You just have to think outside the box.”
“Sometimes things are too broken to fix.”
“But sometimes they’re not.”
I shake my head. “I’ve thought about how to fix this so many times, but I don’t know how. I don’t know how to do anything anymore. Move on. Go forward. I can’t even tell my friends the truth about my life.”
“So, that’s what happened? You lied to them?”
“I told them my dad died when I was little.” I pause, not glancing over to see the look I know is on her face. “I didn’t want to tell them the truth. What would they think of me? Of him? It was just easier to lie. Or I thought so anyway.” I laugh, knowing how stupid this whole thing sounds. “What kind of a person does that? Pretends her dad is dead? What’s wrong with me, Oakley?”
“Nothing’s wrong with you. You’ve just been through way too much.”
I close my eyes and lean back on my pillow, taking a few calming breaths. “I don’t know what to do.”
“Apologizing to your friends is one thing. A first step.”
“They won’t listen. I’ve tried texting.”
“Talking is much better than texting.”
“I know. I’m afraid to face them in person. I hate contention.”
“Me too.”
“But if I do talk to them, then what? What if they don’t forgive me?”
“If they are truly your friends, they’ll forgive you. Communication is the first step in any relationship. I learned that the hard way with Carson. I liked keeping things in. He likes to talk. I’ve learned a lot from him. Good things.”
I put my head in my hands. “I’m such an idiot.”
“Nope,” she says. “You’re not.”
“And then there’s my dad. I’m scared—terrified to read his letters. I don’t know what to say to him. I don’t know how to forgive.”
“You know, sometimes you don’t know what to say until you’re in the right moment.”
“It’s going to be so hard for me. After all he’s done. I don’t understand how my mom is just fine. She doesn’t seem mad at him at all anymore.”
“I’m sure she’s not fine. She can hide emotions just like you can.”
“She seems like she’s forgiven him though. She’s happier now. Other than when she’s talking to me, I guess, because I haven’t made things easy for her.” I glance at her. “How can I forgive someone who has hurt me so deeply?”
“Time,” she says. “You don’t have to forgive everything yet. But you can start working toward forgiveness. You may not be able to fix everything, but holding in so much anger will eventually be too much for you. Forgiveness is hard, but necessary.”
I think about the other letter I haven’t read. The one from the family of the couple Dad hit. Have they forgiven Dad? He took actual lives away from them. Could they forgive him so easily when I can’t forgive him for the same thing?
And I didn’t even lose anyone.
There I go. Being selfish again. Why is this so hard for me?
I sigh. “Why do you always have to be right? You should be a therapist or something.”
She shrugs and scoots next to me, leaning back on my pillow. “I’m just that awesome. But I don’t want to be a therapist. There are better people for that profession. I’d get too attached to people and worry about them too much.”
I lay my head on her shoulder. “Worrier.”
“You know it.”
We both laugh.
She slips an arm around me and gives me a squeeze. “You know you’ll get through this, right? That’s what Nelsons do. We overcome hard things and come out better for it.”
“Most of the time,” I say, thinking of the most obvious Nelson. Dad. Maybe he’s overcoming things in his own way. “You’re better than me at that.” I glance up at her. “Do you still miss him? Your brother?”
“Every day. But I know Lucas is looking out for me.” She smiles. “And you too.”
“He is.”
CHAPTER 32
“Life appears to me too short to be spent in nursing animosity or registering wrongs.”
—Charlotte Bronte, Jane Eyre
After everyone’s in bed that night, I sit on my bed, staring at the unopened letters. More have come in the past few weeks, all stuffed in the same drawer as I vowed not to read them. But then I took them out and Oakley found them.
I’ve been staring at them for hours, it seems, trying to be brave enough to open one. Maybe even read it.
Anger pours out of me as I blame Dad for so many things.
Again.
But then something unexpected hits me. A realization I know has been inside, and have acknowledged, but I’ve tried to push away every time it shows itself.
I really do miss him.
It’s a truth I want to ignore. But how can I not miss him? He’s been part of my life since I was born.
Dad is not an intimidating person. He never has been. Before, he was loving, helpful, always looking for ways to serve others, held a steady job. He had a good heart. After, he still had a good heart, even after all he put us through. I’ll never know exactly what made him turn to the drugs, since Mom doesn’t talk about it, but there must have been something there, under all the smiles, eating away at him. Something he wouldn’t talk about or get help for.
I suspected depression for years, since some days he’d miss work and lie in bed all day for no reason at all. But I’ll never know. Not until Mom decides to tell me.
I can’t keep expecting him to be who he was before.
It’s not fair to me or him.
We’ve both changed. For better and worse. But we can still try to have some kind of relationship. He is my dad, after all. And I’m his only daughter. I can’t just wish him away when I know, deep down, I still n
eed him.
And he needs me.
Focus on the good memories. The good outweigh the bad, even if the bad are the most recent and unforgettable.
I pick up an envelope in my trembling hand. The first one he sent, weeks ago. The week we moved here.
I slide my finger under the glue to open it, then pull the folded paper into the palm of my hand.
I take a deep breath and open it, tears filling my eyes before I even see what’s written. The paper shakes in my hand, but I tell myself to be brave.
I can do this.
I can be brave.
So I read.
CHAPTER 33
“Let us never underestimate the power of a well-written letter.”
—Jane Austen, Persuasion
Lucy,
I’ve sat here for days, wondering what to say to you. What to write on this clean sheet of paper, knowing you may not read it. Actually, knowing you won’t read it. I know you. We are similar in how we grieve, drown ourselves in anger. I’m sorry you got that trait from me. But anyhow. I know I’ve disappointed you in so many ways. I know I messed up. I’ve let you and your mother down, especially you. I’m supposed to be the example. The person you look up to. Your dad.
All I am to you is a stranger now. And I regret that so much it hurts. There are no words to express how horrible I feel. The guilt I have to live with because of those two lives I took because I was so careless. I’ll never get over it. Never. And when I saw the look on your face the last time I saw you, I knew you hated me. That look haunts me when I sleep. I’ll never get over that either.
I love you.
I’m sorry.
For everything.
Dad
Tears drip down my face, off the tip of my nose, dropping on the letter. I set the piece of paper down and rip open the next envelope, wanting—no, needing—to know what it says. I didn’t realize how much his words would affect me. Dad has always had a way with words, just like Oakley does. I guess it’s a Nelson thing. He’s always been so intelligent. So why did he waste it all on his addiction?
I sniff and wipe my eyes, unfolding the next letter.
Lucy,
You haven’t written back, which is what I figured would happen. It’s alright. I know how you feel about me. I just want you to know I’m doing well here. It’s nice to have someone to write to. Good therapy.
The food isn’t great, but it’s food. The accommodations aren’t great, but it’s a place to live. I’ve been working out a bit, but you know how scrawny I am. It will take a while to get muscles. I’ve detoxed, which was the hardest week of my life, getting off those drugs.
Please never use drugs. Being an addict is not how I imagined my life would go. I never planned it. I met the wrong people, had some mental health issues, and it all spiraled down from there. And for that, I’m sorry. I regret it all. I had a wife and daughter who loved me for me. I should have gotten help in other ways, instead of listening to my so-called friends.
Life here is okay, but boring and uneventful. I know I need to get used to it. I’ll be here for a while. Which I deserve. But it’s still hard not to see you every day. You probably haven’t changed a whole lot, but I’m sure there have been subtle things. Maybe your hair is different. You’re taller maybe? I wish I knew. I wish I could see you. Apologize.
As for me, I no longer have a beard. I’m clean shaven, hair cut short. I actually look quite handsome. In my personal opinion.
I hope you’re moving forward. Thriving. Making friends. Send your mother my love, even though she won’t accept it.
I love you. I’m truly sorry. I’ll always be sorry.
Dad
So he did have mental health issues. I reread the letter again, looking for anything I may have missed. He could have gotten help. He could have gotten better. I shake my head, knowing one choice messed up his entire life. And mine. I wish I could go back in time and change things. But there’s no way. I reach for the next letter and open it quickly.
Lucy,
I’m going to keep writing, even if you don’t write back. I hope that’s okay, and I hope you won’t hate me more because of it. Your silence is discouraging, but I don’t blame you at all. It’s my own fault and I know it.
I’ve heard from my brother twice. He told me Oakley’s getting married. That’s great for her, especially all she went through with Lucas. He was a good kid. She is too. I’m happy for her and I’m sure you are, too.
I’ve thought about the future a lot. I have time, you know. I thought maybe when I get out of here we could maybe get together for lunch every other week.
That is, if you want to see me.
I know you won’t leave your mom alone, and you may even be married with children by then. But I swear to you, I’ll be different when I get out. I’ll savor the time spent with family. I’ll be a good example. I’ll love you, and if you have a family of your own, I want to be part of their lives.
This is only wishful thinking, though. You have every right to tell me to stay away. But I want you to know I’m going to try. I don’t want to miss anything else since I’ve already missed so much and will continue to miss everything for the next fifteen years.
That’s such a long time.
I hope you’re doing well. I think of you every day. I pray you’ll forgive me every day. And I’ll apologize every day for the rest of my life.
I love you. I’m so sorry.
Dad
Guilt crawls through my chest, making me feel horrible. He thinks I hate him. For good reasons, but still. I open the next letter.
Lucy,
I hope you are doing well. I think of you often and hope you’re enjoying Oregon. I’ve been sick this week, so I’m not going to write much. As always, I love you. More than anything in this world. Do wonderful things. Make good choices. Don’t follow in the footsteps of your old man.
I’m still sorry.
Dad
I pick up the last letter and open it. The infamous letter that Mira saw and what brought our friendship spiraling out of control. I need to talk to her. To Jack. And most of all, I need to think of a way to write Dad back. If I can put adequate words on paper. I’m not sure I can do it. Yet.
Lucy,
I’m feeling a lot better this week. Some kind of flu crud going around here. One of the guards must have brought it in, or maybe a new guy, since it’s not like we can go anywhere to pick up a stomach bug.
Anyway, I heard from your mother last week. She says you’ve cut and colored your hair. Purple? Sounds fun! She also told me you’ve stopped drawing. Please don’t stop doing things on account of me. I know how much you love art. I know it’s something I like, too, but don’t let that stop you. You have so much talent. Don’t let it go to waste.
I hope you are doing well. Your mother says you’re struggling a little. I’m sorry about that. It’s my fault, I’m sure. Just know that things will get better. If they can get better for me, they can get better for you.
You are confident, beautiful, and strong. You can face anything. Even backlash from people knowing your dad is in prison.
Honestly, this is the best thing that could have happened to me. I’m reflecting a lot on the past, leaving it behind me and looking toward a better future. I’m going to do better. Be better. Love unconditionally. Care about my family more.
I’m sorry it had to happen this way. I’m sorry for all I’ve done. I miss you more than words can say and I hope to see you again. Maybe. When you’re ready. If you can find it in your heart to forgive me.
I love you.
I’m sorry for everything.
Dad
I set the letter down, wiping more tears from my eyes. I pick up a pen, grab a piece of paper.
Where do I begin?
I write.
CHAPTER 34
“Heaven knows we need never be ashamed of our tears, for they are rain upon the blinding dust of earth, overlying our hard hearts. I was better after I had cried, than be
fore—more sorry, more aware of my own ingratitude, more gentle.”
—Charles Dickens, Great Expectations
My pen shakes in my hand as I run my fingers over the smooth paper for the tenth time. I have no idea where to start, what to say. What do I say?
I’ve never had a problem with words.
But words obviously have a problem with me.
They have so much power over everything.
They cause pain.
They help heal.
They bring hope.
Oakley said the right words would just come when they were supposed to.
Then why aren’t they coming?
I get up and walk over to the chair at my desk and sit. I close my eyes, begging them to reveal themselves. Wishing the letter would write itself. I pray. I cry.
Then, I write one single word.
Dad.
Tears come again, spotting the paper in a few places when I’m not fast enough to catch them.
And suddenly, the words come. They flow from my brain, all of my emotions suddenly overflowing and spilling out. Nothing holds me back. I squeeze the pen tighter.
And write.
Dad,
It’s taken me a long time to process things. To get my thoughts together enough to answer you without being angry. Words have been hard lately. Not knowing what to say has been my weakness in all this. I still don’t know what to say. But I’ll at least try.
I’m still angry.
Part of me might always be angry. But I’m trying. I know people make mistakes. Most apologize. Some are forgiven.
I think the word that describes me right now is “trying.”
I’m trying to overcome everything that has happened.
Trying to move on.
I want to thank you for trying, as well.
Thank you for continuing to write to me, even though I couldn’t bring myself to write you back until now. It will take me a while to forgive you, but I’m trying. I’m trying to focus on the good times. I’m trying to remember how much you mean to me. You were always a good dad. You were always there for me and I know you loved me. And still love me.
The Summer of Lost Things Page 20