Mom’s eyes flash with fear and immediate relief, as they always do, when I talk about the fire. As a parent, she came close to her worst nightmare that night. Losing her child. I squat down and put my hands on Mom’s knees, so we can be close to eye level. “They wanted me to talk to Dad first. When I did, we figured out that all this time, Dad’s known who he is, but not about the fire. He didn’t tell Dad, and you didn’t either. This man knew dad from when he was a pastor. He lived a few streets away from us and after the fire, he left and came here.”
I can tell it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. I don’t know if it’s truly hit bottom forme, and I’ve had time to process it.
Amazement flashes across Mom’s face. Gratitude. That same terrible, gut wrenching fear. She jumps out of the chair,tugging me with her. “I have to thank him! I triedeverythingto find him.”
“I know, Mom, but he doesn’t want to be thanked.” She stares at me blankly. I try not to wince when guilt washes over me. “I tried to thank him, but it was only supposed to be over the phone. This person is a part of Dad’s club too. Dad made me promise I would respect his wishes for privacy. I- I told Dad I would, but then I didn’t. I went to this man’s house.” Mom’s eyes cloud with worry. “No. It’s not- uh- like that. It’s fine. He was angry and hurt, but I think we came to an understanding. I apologized and told him if he ever wanted a friend or needed someone to talk to, I’d be here, but I wouldn’t press the issue again. Dad still doesn’t know I did that. I have to tell him. But- that’s all it’s going to be between Shadow and myself. Just friendship, if that.”
Mom blinks. “What else should it be?”
Bomb blast number five. Six? Eighty? In my mother’s world there’s no sleeping with anyone before marriage. I kept all my boyfriends from her at high school, because it was easier that way. Ignoring her question, I whirl around and quickly fix our coffee. It’s something for my hands to do, but it’s also a way for me to hide everything I’m thinking and feeling. Do I even know what that is? I know that my face is as hot as the rest of my body. And that it happens whenever I think of Shadow. That my lips are tingling from that kiss.
I set Mom’s mug on the table and sit down across from her, holding mine in my hands. I try very hard to breathe evenly, but I’ve always sucked at hiding my emotions.
“I’m glad I got to tell him thanks, even if he didn’t want to hear it,” I say, studying the tabletop. “How many days did you get off work?”
“A week,” she responds softly. “I thought it would take at least that long for me to convince you to come back home.”
Her tone says that she’s not going to attempt it again. She’ll let me make my own decisions, no matter how hard it is for her.
“We have a week then. If Dad’s open to it, will you at least talk to him?” I set my hand on the table, palm up, and I’m so relieved when she takes it.
“What would I say?”
“That you’re sorry and that you don’t hate him. That you were scared and angry, but it’s been well over a decade and you’re not that person anymore. Maybe say you want to move forward. All three of us. That no one has to be right or wrong anymore. That we’re still family, even if you’re not married, because you’ll always have me in common. And that maybe you’ll try to work on understanding why he had to leave.”
She blinks rapidly, her eyes filling with tears again and her breathing getting ragged. I can’t hold out either. Tears trickle down my cheeks to match hers.
“I’d ask when you got so wise, but you’ve always been this way. Ever since you were a little girl. I have no idea how you turned out so good with so much hate and stubbornness coming from me. You have a lot of your father in you. I’ve only ever looked at you and been so, so proud that you weren’t like me.”
“Mom!” I clench her hand hard. “I’m more like you than you realize.”
She hears that for what it is. That I’ve never hated her. That I could never hate her. That yes, she’s been stubborn and maybe even cruel, bitter and angry, but she’s also an amazing woman. She figured out a way to survive after my dad was gone. She sheltered me far too much, but in her mind, I know she was just trying to keep me safe.
“I didn’t tell your dad about the fire because I was afraid that if I contacted him, the only thing that would spew out of me was hate, and that if he found out about how I’d almost let you die, he’d come and take you away from me.”
That confession rocks me, but I guess, in a way, I’ve always known that was Mom’s reason.
“Oh, Mom. That night was terrifying. It changed all of us.” I thread our fingers together. “It was no one’s fault. I can’t imagine what being a parent feels like, always living with the fear of losing the people most precious to you. The way you deal with that is to try and control everything. I understand, and I’m not angry with you. Good people still make mistakes. It doesn’t mean it was all bad, and it wasn’t. Dad’s done the same thing. He didn’t just go off and start a new life here and forget about us. He does have a family here, in the club and with Rita and the kids, but we were always his family too.”
“You were always his daughter.”
“He never wanted to exclude you. He still doesn’t. If we went for breakfast now that you’re here and talked it out, I know that you’d see that.”
She heaves out a shaky sigh at exactly the same time I do. I know that I’m asking a lot. This is as monumental as me meeting Shadow. Except that I know what I’m saying is true. Dad doesn’t want to hide. If Mom apologized, he’d be open to forgiveness.He’d do it for more than just me. He’d do it for her, and for himself.
“I’m scared a few hours of conversation isn’t going to fix all the things that went wrong or what I’ve done and said.”
“It won’t take a few hours. All it needs is an apology.”
“Words are just words. Sorry doesn’t mean anything.”
“I know some people think so, but Dad isn’t one of those people, and neither am I. Dad’s the kind of person who has always held onto hope and believed that people can pick a different path.”
“I used to call that faith,” Mom admits. Her face isn’t quite so crumpled now. There’s something in her eyes I haven’t seen since I was maybe six or seven.
Hope.
I don’t know when she got so tired. I wish I could have done something about it for her before now.
