Chapter 22
Chapter Twenty-Two
ECHO
July 2014
D ylan and I are driving to a town I haven’t been back to in over thirteen years. Ever since I saw Dustin, I’ve been out of sorts. I’d like to say we’re driving there on the sole basis that I already miss Lynsie—which I do—but it’s not the driving force within me.
“How much longer?” Dylan asks.
I glance over and smile at my son, who is intently playing some game on his handheld PlayStation Vita. “Are you hungry? We can stop at the next food exit.”
“Yeah, I could eat.”
My nerves are a bit shot. Okay, more than a bit. More like completely frazzled at the ends. Far worse than any split ends I’ve ever seen. At least with those I can snip them away. Can’t do that with my nerves. Though it would be nice. Just a quick and easy trim, and I’d be all good.
That’s a lie.
The closer and closer we get to my past, the more frayed they seem to become. And if I was able to just snip away the deadness, I’d end up having none to nurture back together.
“Whatcha want to eat?” I ask my son as we stand in line.
“Number five with a mountain dew. I’m gonna go take a leak.”
I want to growl at his choice of word, but I don’t. In all reality, it could be worse. “Wash your hands.”
He looks back at me, curling his lip up. “Ma.” He shakes his head, then turns back around.
We sit in silence as he chows down on his hamburger, and I pick at, dismantle, and eat tiny bites of the fries I ordered. I don’t really have the stomach to order anything, but I can’t make it obvious that my anxiety is at its peak. I’m trying to play it cool. But it’s impossible. I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions—especially when I’m upset.
“So this town we’re going to”—Dylan breaks the silence, dipping a fry into his ketchup—“is this the same town my dad is from?”
For being such a simple question, it carries one hell of a punch. It’s fifty questions packed into one.
I’ve always been honest with Dylan. It’s something Brian and I agreed on from the get-go—the reason Dylan has his dad’s last name. But running into Dustin two months ago kind of wrecked that loyalty and trust thing I had going with our kid. As much as I wanted to run home that night and tell Dylan I saw his dad, there was no way I could. Far too many unknowns. I couldn’t even tell Brian. There’s no way I can tell him now. Not while they’re overseas together.
“Yes. Yes, it is,” I finally reply.
“Cool,” he acknowledges. His face seems more accepting now that he’s come to that conclusion, and I love the fact that he got his go-with-the-flow demeanor from his father. “Think you can show me around?”
“I’d love to.” I smile at the idea but dread it as well. I just hope I’m able to keep it together in front of my son.
“Good. I’d also like to meet my grandparents while we’re there.”
I choke on a fry. “What?” I cough, then slurp a drink of my soda.
“Aren’t my dad’s parents still there?”
I stall. I know for a fact they are because that’s one of the reasons Dax and Lynsie moved there. But I can’t tell him that. And there’s no way I’ll be introducing him to his father’s parents before I introduce him to his father.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” I lie. “Let’s just worry about seeing one set of grandparents for now.” I raise a brow, knowing he loves spending time with my parents.
His eyes light up with excitement at the realization. “You didn’t tell me I was going to get to see them.”
“I didn’t really get to plan any of this out in advance. With everything that’s been going on and all. I just have a lot I need to figure out.”
“Ma,” he says, bringing my attention back to him. “Add you and Grandpa making up to your list.” He tosses his last fry in his mouth and crumples his trash together in a ball. “He misses you.”
I want to counter and say, “He’s the adult…he’s had plenty of chances to reach out and hasn’t.” But my father isn’t the only one at fault for this continued rift. I’m also an adult, and if we both wait for the other person to make amends, it’ll never happen. We’re too much alike. And truth be told, I miss my dad, too.
I nod in agreement. “You’re right. It’s time for me to stop running from my past.” I let out a heavy breath and relax my shoulders. It’s as if coming to terms with what needs to be done has lessened what I’ve been carrying for so long.
EVERYTHING LOOKS THE same as we pull into Jasper, Georgia. It’s as if time stopped when I left. Memories play out in front of me as I drive down Hickory Street; the main street that goes straight through town. It used to be the main drag all school-aged drivers did on the nights after games. Or when the football and basketball teams played out of town. Fellow classmates who didn’t go to the game parked backward in this gravel parking area, waiting for the buses to come strolling back in town. They’d always hoot and holler from their tailgates or the trunks they were perched on. It was something I never got to experience.
On my left, I see the diner Dustin took me to for our first date—good ole Tootie Fruitie’s. Of course it wasn’t considered a date to anyone but the two of us and possibly our waitress. I smile as I picture us sitting in the booth in the back corner.
“Please tell me this isn’t the town,” Dylan groans from his seat. “There’s nothing here.”
He's right. There's not much physically to this town, but it holds all my favorite memories. This town is where Dylan was conceived. To me, this town holds everything of value.
“Sorry to disappoint you, kiddo.”
“Shoot me now. This is going to be so boring. Way to end summer with a bang.”
“Way to be optimistic, buddy. We just got here. I’m sure there will be fun things for you to do.” I haven’t told him about the plans my mom and I discussed.
“Highly doubtful,” he mutters as I start navigating through town, not even realizing where I’m going until I park in front of my old house. The house that now has a ‘for sale’ sign staked into the front lawn.
My parents bought it when we moved here. I truly think they believed we’d live here much longer than we did. I’m sure they never expected things to go array in a town with less than five thousand occupants. As far as I’ve ever known, they never sold it after we moved but left it open to rent out to missionaries and such, people coming through needing a place to stay.
“This used to be the house I lived in when I was in high school.” I look over at Dylan and smile, hoping showing him my memories of this town and how we’re linked to it will bring some sort of understanding to him. After all, the little turd did ask me to show him around.
“Cool,” he says, unmoved. “I hope the place we’re staying at has a pool or something.”
I try not to roll my eyes. “You better hope it has a pool or I might have to enroll you in summer school to show you how bad your summer can truly be,” I half threaten.
“I’d almost willingly go.” He laughs, finally returning to his normal joking self.
“I want to see something,” I say quickly, unbuckling my seat belt, and open my door.
I make my way through the pristinely manicured yard, heading for the back fence. It still catches, so I push on the handle, lift up on the gate, and hit it with my hip. Voilà. It opens.
“I didn’t know you were a ninja,” Dylan says from behind.
Blowing the hair out of my face, I turn to face my son. Short of giving myself a pat on the back, I’m mighty proud of myself for remembering this nifty trick of the trade.
“Well, you know”—I try to play my skill off—“a ninja would have just jumped the fence or swung from a tree.”
“I think you underestimate yourself sometimes, Ma.” He pats my back, walking past me through the gate.
When did my son become so smart?
“So this is where the magic happened?” Dylan asks, looking around the yard. His question causes me to choke.
“Ahh, the magic, what magic?” I ask, propping my hand on my hip. I know he’s smart and all, but my son doesn’t need to know about any kind of magic yet.
“You know. Where grandpa helped you perfect that pitch of yours you’ve yet to show me.”
“Oh.” I let my hand fall and my body sags a bit. “That magic.” I wave my hand. “Yes, this is one of many yards where grandpa taught me a few tricks. But this is the yard where I had finally perfected it.” And the last yard I ever played ball in with him. Or played ball period.
“What kind of magic did you think I was talking about?” He frowns with suspicion.
I shrug my shoulders and turn away. “You know. Houdini,” I say with the wave of a hand. I walk toward my old window to see if the carving from so long ago is still there. The old white windowsill is now worn and peeling, but the carefully knifed out D+E 4ever is still visible, barely. After all these years, the proof of the love we once had still exists.
Arms come around my waist from behind and I cover my mouth, trying to hold back a sob.
“That’s why this place means so much to you. This is where all your memories of you and my dad are.” Dylan isn’t asking. He knows. He sees what I’m touching and can tell what it means to me.
As I let my finger trace the letters that represent the love we once had, I’m held tightly with the arms the love we shared created. Both of these realizations slam against me, forcing me to release the sadness I’ve been holding inside for so long.
“Excuse me, miss, but can I help you?” I know that voice. I quickly wipe my face with the back of my hand.
“Hey, Mom.” I put my arm around Dylan, pulling him close to me. I’m suddenly nervous and hold on to him with everything I have. Because he is everything I have.
“Echo!” She hurries over and places her hand on my arm.
“It’s good to see you.” I’m shocked at my own admission and how easily those words slide from my mouth. But I can feel the heavy weight I’ve carried for the last thirteen years melting away. While my mother and I have had somewhat of a relationship since I took off, it still hasn’t been what it should be. I’ve kept her at a distance, keeping her closed off. I only allowed her into my life for Dylan’s sake. She wraps her arms around me and Dylan, and I don’t fight it like normal. Instead, I hug her back.
“I’ve missed you too, Mom.” My lip quivers with emotion as my body melts into her, finding comfort in her arms. Arms that I’ve truly missed and have at times wished could hold me and comfort me.
Over the years, I made it my mission to meet up with my mom at least twice or more a year for her to take Dylan for a week so he could have a relationship with his grandparents. I never wanted him to suffer and miss out because of me. Besides those times, emails, cards, missed phone calls, and scattered FaceTiming has only made up for so much. My dad is the only one I’ve stayed shut off from in its entirety. I’ve never had the inkling to change that until now. I’m just not sure how we can mend what destroyed us. It’s usually easier to get over the past when you don’t have it staring you back in the face. But when your past follows you to the present and will be in your future, it tends to make looking beyond it all the more difficult.
Dylan represents my past. He represents what my dad cursed and ruined. But to me, he represents love. He’s the proof that earth-shattering love does exist.
“Excuse me. But you guys are kind of smooshing me.”
My mom and I loosen our grip on each other and laugh as we both look down at Dylan, who lets out a sigh of relief.
“I wasn’t expecting you guys to show until this evening,” my mom says as we make our way through the gate, walking toward our cars.
“So what now?” Dylan asks, needing to be entertained.
I look out to the street where kids are playing. A teenage girl on rollerblades flies by, bopping her head to the music pounding through her headphones. She reminds me a lot of myself and how I used to jog everywhere I went since my parents never bought me a car. Heck, I probably would’ve anyways even if they had. A warm breeze twirls my hair around, and a faint smell of a grill in the distance catches my nose, causing my stomach to growl.
“So what brings you back? You didn’t really mention why when you called last week.” She’s not prying. She’s concerned. I get it, I really do. But it’s not just a quick answer. If I tell her the immediate reasoning, I have to tell her everything that has led up to it for it to make sense why I’m so torn. Trust has been lost on both sides, and now it has to be gained. It’s not that I don’t trust her. It’s more that right now I don’t trust myself. I’m still trying to figure it all out.
“We just needed to get away for a while, and my best friend moved here at the beginning of the month, so you wanting to meet here worked out perfectly.” Everything I said is the truth. Partial truth but truth nonetheless.
“Well, for whatever reason it is, I’m glad you got a hold of me.” She knows I could have snuck back here and not bothered to inform her. Maybe if everything back home was where it was six months ago, that might have been the case. Hell, I wouldn’t even be here if that were the case.
My mom stops at the back of her car and looks over at the house. “The only thing I had planned while waiting for you guys was to work on the house some. The people who moved out did minimal cleaning. The realtor told us we needed to get someone in to clean it if we weren’t planning on making the trip ourselves. She also recommended doing some simple updating to make it more appealing. But we just haven’t had the time to do that.”
“You mean you.” I point out. I don’t see my dad making the four-hour trip here to help.
She looked downward and to my dismay, her voice broke slightly. “He’s changed.” But without clarifying, she veers off and asks, “So are you guys hungry?” There’s hopefulness in her voice as she glances back and forth between me and Dylan. Dylan tugs on my arm, and I look down into his pleading eyes, begging for us to do something besides continue standing here.
I give him a smile before looking back up at my mother.
“Starving,” I say, my appetite making its return in full force.
“It’s such a pretty day out. What do you think about walking to the diner down the street?”
“Sounds perfect,” I answer, wrapping my arm around Dylan as we head for Tootie Fruitie’s.
The waitress seats us up front in a window booth. I smile as the cushions slightly squeak as the three of us sit down.
“Gross. Who farted?” Dylan asks with his face twisted in disgust.
“Oh, shush. It’s the seats.”
“Mmmhmm. That’s what I’d say too.” He grabs a menu, and I just shake my head, not even bothering to reply. I look over at my mom, who’s watching the two of us with happiness in her eyes and a smile.
“Kids,” she says, letting out a sigh of contentment.
“Yeah, they’re so great,” I reply sarcastically, then reach over, ruffling Dylan’s hair.
“Ma,” he whines, pulling away from me. “I’m not very hungry. So.” He closes the menu and places it in front of him and looks at me. “What would you recommend?”
“Hmm.” I scan over the options. “For a growing boy who isn’t very hungry, I’d recommend a chocolate shake and fries.”
“Eww.” He scrunches his cheeks to his eyes. “Disgusting.”
I laugh at his reaction. “That’s exactly what I said to your dad the day he ordered it for us.” I chance a glance at my mom, who I never got to talk to about my first love and our experiences. She watches Dylan and me intently, with sadness evident in her somber features.
“And what did he say?” Dylan always liked hearing stories about his dad when he was younger. But as he’s gotten older, it no longer seems to be very important to him. I believe it’s because the older you get, reality begins to fully sink in. You realize life isn’t a fairy tale anymore.
A big smile spreads across my face as I hear Dustin’s voice in my head. Then I say aloud, “Don’t knock it till you try it.”
“And did you?”
“I did.” I nod.
“And did you like it?”
I scrunch my nose and shake my head. “I did not.” I laugh.
“Guess I’ll try it. It can’t be that bad.” He shrugs.
“Whatever you say,” I mumble under my breath.
My mom remains quiet, watching intently.
Fifteen minutes later, I’m feasting on my burger and fries. I cut my eyes to the side, watching as Dylan lightly dips his fry in the chocolate shake.
“Gotta get more than that.” I grab his hand and dip it in more, using his fry as a spoon. “Don’t be skeered ,” I taunt.
He stares at it, and I have a feeling he’s going to do so until the chocolate melts off. Then out of nowhere, like it’s a now-or-never decision, he closes his eyes and throws it in his mouth. My mom and I watch as we wait for a sign. His face remains neutral and eyes closed until he finally swallows. He keeps us anxiously waiting, taking his sweet time. Slowly, his eyes begin to open, and he looks over at me, then at my mom. “What?” He knows what.
“Well, whaddya think?”
“I think it’s not that bad.” He grabs another fry, dips it, and then tosses it into his mouth.
I smile over at my mom and Dylan, who are now talking about the Atlanta Braves, his favorite baseball team. That’s where my parents live now and apparently, they have season tickets.
My phone rings, and I instantly smile. “Hey, Lynsie.”