A Forty Year Kiss

27

He wanted to buy Jessie the world, but there is only so much for sale in most small towns. So, they arrived at her group home late in the morning bearing the bounty of a six-pack of orange soda, a box of popcorn, and a few packages of Reese’s peanut butter cups. It would have to do, for just then.

Blueberry rode in the truck with them, one of Charlie’s navy-blue bandannas tied dashingly around his throat. From the back seat, he poked his head between their seats, smelling of pet shampoo.

When they walked through the front door into a common area, Jessie burst from the soft depths of a Naugahyde recliner and hustled towards Vivian, wrapping her in a tremendous hug. He tried to imagine what that hug might feel like, but a moment later did not have to. When Vivian introduced him as Uncle Charlie, Jessie gave him a hug only slightly less enthusiastic.

He could not and did not care to stop the tears that ran down his face. She was shorter than him, and stockier, and he would have liked to press his nose into her hair and smell her, but he was crying so hard now that Vivian came beside them to wipe his face with a Kleenex. Now Jessie was rocking him side to side, like they were dancing clumsily at a wedding, and he could not believe that he had lived all these many years without her, without even knowing she existed, and then, if only briefly, there was a sharp pang of sadness, for he feared, and knew, that there was so much less time ahead of them than behind.

When Jessie quite abruptly stopped hugging him, Charlie worried that he had done something wrong, but it was only that she noticed Blueberry, he saw, as she dropped to the floor and pressed the big dog to her.

Oh, she kept saying happily, oh, oh, oh.

And that was all they did for more than an hour. They found a quiet corner of the common room and talked easily. Jessie held the dog. Patted the dog. Rubbed the dog’s belly, scratched his ears, and the area beneath his mouth. Blueberry made a sound like a low growl, and she looked at Charlie, confused.

He only makes that sound when he’s extremely happy, Charlie said. He must really like you.

Such a good dog, she intoned, lying down beside Blueberry as if he were her own dog, and Charlie supposed that he was, or could be.

They remained that way for some time, and through an open window came the smell of fresh-cut grass and the sound of wind rushing through new spring leaves.

On the ride back to his house, she said to him, You really aren’t angry at me? For not telling you?

He pursed his lips tightly, glanced at her, then gripped the steering wheel tightly.

I’ve been thinking, he began, how long a time forty years is. More than half of my life. I’ve known people, from our youth, that didn’t make it to forty. I don’t know if you think about folks like that, but I do. Friends of mine, killed in drunk driving accidents, overdoses. I guess I’ve been feeling lucky to make it this far. That some people don’t need all this time to mature, but that maybe I did. That maybe, if you’d told me even five years ago, I would have been angry. I would have been irate. I know I would have been. I would have felt aggrieved. The victim. Righteous in my, uh, newfound knowledge.

He reached for her hand.

But I never felt that, Viv. Not for one second. I’ll remember that moment for the rest of my life. How many sixtysomething-year-old men get a present like that? A daughter. Out of nowhere. A chance to be someone’s father. You gave me that.