“Your dad made me stop caring about what other people thought. I could have worn a size 22 bikini and not given a rat’s ass what anyone thought. But it took time. Maybe I’m regressing a little.”
“Hey, I’ve seen the plus size models. You look as good as they do.”
“You’re too kind.” Aurora ruffled Katie’s hair, which earned her a grimace. “You are your father’s daughter. You win. I’ll wear the leopard one. And just for you, I won’t even take a cover-up.”
Katie beamed. “You could throw that black maxi dress over it.”
“It’s a bit cold for that, still. I’ll figure something out.”
Katie wriggled in her seat as her mom finished the topcoat. “I can’t wait to tell Jade I can come over Saturday!”
“Dunc, man! Guess what happened today!”
Duncan looked away from his locker at his classmate, Eric, who was strolling toward him.
“What?”
“Aurora Wilson got detention again!”
“Detention? You’ve got to be joking.” He blinked rapidly at the other boy in disbelief. Aurora Wilson had never had detention in her life.
“I swear! She was late to math again. And you know how Mr. Jones is.” Eric found this humorous, but Duncan just squinted at him.
“I still don’t believe you. Aurora is never late.”
“What are you talking about? She’s always late to sixth period.”
“Oh.”
Sixth period. They had choir together in fifth period. After Mr. Robinson had wrapped up choir that day, Aurora had been talking to Dave. Lucky dog. So, he’d stolen her pencil box and ran out of the room to get her attention. That back brace of hers restricted her movements, making her an easy target. He’d gotten halfway to the gym before she finally caught up with him, panting. It hadn’t been the first time he’d done something like that.
“Yeah, he reamed her out, and she was even crying. The only thing missing was popcorn. Anyway, I’ll see you tomorrow.”
Eric left Duncan staring at his locker, a knot of guilt in his stomach. He had probably been the reason she was late every single time, and Mr. Jones hated tardiness …
Duncan nursed a glass of whiskey at his desk. Ryder’s birthday. It was the same every year—digging through a box of photos of Ryder and torturing himself by rereading the letter that ended it all.
Duncan,
I’ll never understand why you would give up your family for this silly little business. It’s never going to amount to anything. You could have got a job working for my dad, but instead you had to disappear to California and leave me as a single mom. I hope it’s worth it.
The judge says I can’t get child support since you’re not making any money. I just want you to sign over your parental rights so my boyfriend can adopt Ryder when we get married. It wouldn’t be right to make him travel so far between us. Then you can get off scot-free like I know you want to, and we’ll have someone to provide for us. It’s what’s best for your son.
Sincerely,
Mariah
She could send all the forms she wanted, but he’d never sign a single one. It wasn’t enough to take his possessions; she wanted his rights as a father. Ryder would have never known he existed. As it was, he was probably a nameless, faceless entity that Mariah didn’t discuss with his son.
“Scot-free”? He had begged her to follow him. But he wasn’t enough.
Any communication from that point forward was through the lawyers, including his fight for visitation, which was unsuccessful. After the second attempt at seeing his son, the attorney commented it was the most one-sided custody battle he’d ever seen. They had tried again about five or six years ago, once Ryder was old enough to fly as an unaccompanied minor. The judge threw out the case because Ryder didn’t know him. It was damn obvious that fathers had no rights in Pennsylvania.
He continued to click through the photos one by one, the last line of her letter tormenting him. Thumbing through the legal papers, he came across the final document. Technically, it was an email from her lawyer to his, but it summarized the final decision: “If your client contacts mine again, we will file harassment charges.”
Harassment.For wanting to see his ownson.
Shoving the papers back in their folder, he threw back the whiskey, and it burned all the way down his throat.
