Chapter 5
Chapter Five
Olivia
“ H ere’s how you lock in the rack to the hitch.” The young man currently mansplaining how to attach the bike rack to my SUV missed the delicious eye roll I sent to Rosie. But her responding giggle said she got it.
He paused and glanced at us. “What’s that?”
“I didn’t say anything,” my daughter responded. “But, just to let you know, you’ve threaded that backward.”
I loved it when she stood up for herself. The years of taking her camping and hitching the pop-up camper were paying off in her general knowledge.
He glanced back down to the hitch, scratching the back of his neck. “Huh, you’re right. I should probably let you do it, then.” Teenage attitude laced his tone as he stood and handed her the pin.
Rosie puffed her chest and stepped forward. “Watch and learn.”
Pride swelled in my chest as Rosie anchored the rack and then watched intently while he loaded and secured the bikes. My daughter was growing into a capable young woman. Doing things for herself, proving herself. She ran through the cable lock sequence with him and then looked to me with sparkling eyes.
We took our shiny new mountain bikes for a spin, then stopped for a post-ride ice cream.
It had been a long week, after an equally long summer, so it was time for my girl to enjoy all her favorite things. We flopped onto the couch in our bare townhouse, waiting for the pizza delivery guy, worn-out after a fun day.
“Mom, I need to tell you something.”
A thread of discomfort shivered down my spine at her tone. “What’s wrong, honey?”
Next to me, my baby girl fidgeted. Like me, she tended to twirl her rings when she was nervous. Whatever was on her mind had her worried. “You know that day I was asking you about the people at the fire department? And I had those pictures from my friend Shae?”
“Yes.”
“Don’t you think I look a lot like one of them?” She voiced it as a question, but I knew my girl.
My eyes slid closed even as my heart dropped to the pit of my stomach.
I didn’t know how she did it. But Rosie had figured out that her biological father was here in this very town.
“Rosie, honey,” I started, already dreading the conversation I knew she deserved.
“Mom, just wait. There’s something I need to show you.”
She rose and went to her book bag, rummaging around inside. I tried to sneak a look, but she held whatever it was behind her as she returned, curling a knee into the couch and sitting facing me.
Then she handed me a picture from a lifetime ago. I took the four by six with a shaky hand, staring at an old image of a younger Mac, his arms around a younger me. The edges of the photo were dinged, one corner slightly bent.
“This was one of the guys in the calendar. I mean, he’s old now, but it’s still him. With you.”
I was unable to respond. All I could do was trace a finger over the younger version of myself. Looking at the picture of the two of us, I was transported back in time to a perfect day on a tropical beach. I was snuggled up to him, my back to his chest, his arms wrapped around me. We were smiling. Happy. And if I was honest, maybe even a little bit in love after a week of spending every minute of every day together.
“Who is this, Mom?”
I finally found my voice. “Where did you get this?”
“I found it in the attic when I was hiding out from Tim and his bad moods one day.” Toward the end of our marriage, she’d done that often. “There was an old trunk with letters and journals. When I moved one of the journals, this photo fell out.”
I blanched as the underlying meaning of what she was telling me sank in. Rosie had had this all along. And the journals…
She stood and returned to the backpack, bringing a familiar leather-bound notebook back with her. “There are letters in here. But I didn’t read any of them.”
I met her gaze to check for honesty. I needed to know she wasn’t playing games with me. Those letters had been my only outlet as I grieved the loss of what might have been, the mourning heart of a young woman. Not something I wanted my teenage daughter to read.
“Honest, Mom.” Her eyes were warm with understanding as she lifted the book to me.
I took it with trembling fingers. Why was it that I could be such a badass, working in a badass field, and yet my hands shook as I faced the reality that my baby-child had managed to find her father, when I had been unable to do so for so many years?
She perched on the edge of the couch, watching me.
“Mom. This is my dad, isn’t it.” Her voice sounded gentle and wise for a fourteen-year-old girl. And I hated that she had this lot in life, having to find her biological father, especially after the way the man who’d raised her had treated her.
Clearing my throat, I dropped my hand to my lap and forced my eyes to hers. “Sweetheart, I… do you remember when you were eight years old, and you asked me and Tim why you didn’t look like either me or him?”
“I mean, yeah. I know Tim isn’t my real dad. Plus, after he literally yelled it to the world when I busted him with that cheating hoe?—”
“Rosie—”
“—anyway. Yeah. I knew he was my stepdad. That’s not what I’m asking. Come on, Mom, you’re smarter than this. Stop avoiding me. I’m asking you if the man in this photo is my dad. Because I think it is.”
A thought rang loud in my head. I was proud of her for standing up for herself, even if I was the one in the hot seat. Followed quickly by how disappointed in me she must be. But based on when she’d had that fight with Tim and the time that she’d had those journals…
“When did you find this picture?”
She swallowed thickly. “A while ago.”
“Before Tim and I split?”
She nodded, and my insides churned. My daughter had been raised in the internet era and had online sleuthing skills I couldn’t fathom. I never started a social media account for myself, but I’d let her start her own monitored accounts a few years ago. Now I had to admit to myself that I’d been lax in the monitoring.
“So, you knew, and somehow you found him online. And then you found out about the job, and you told me. All in an elaborate effort to come here and meet some random old boyfriend of mine in hopes he’d be your real dad?”
“Well, when you put it that way, it sounds bad.” She slumped back on the couch, crossing her arms over her chest. “I wasn’t trying to cause trouble, Mom. I didn’t do anything wrong.” Her normal teenage petulance made an appearance. This was good, familiar.
Still, she deserved the truth.
I ran a thumb over the book again, unable to find the words to say. Finally, after tense moments of silence, I replied, “I wasn’t trying to hide him, sweetheart. I just didn’t know where he was or how to find him. And then so much time went by, and I didn’t know if I should or if you’d hate me. If he’d hate me.” There was so much to unpack, so many half-truths and so much regret.
She perked up. “You met him, didn’t you? He works for you?”
I nodded, my gaze drawn to that photo and the memory it represented.
“Did he recognize you?” The hope in her voice almost crushed me. “Does he know about me?”
“No, sweetheart. He doesn’t know.” For some odd reason, the old shame of being unwed and pregnant by a stranger rose like a knife to my heart. This whole move, the job, now this new obsession of Rosie’s to find her dad… it was overwhelming.
I sat forward, the journal blurring as I fought back tears. I placed it on the table in front of us and took my baby girl’s hands in both of mine.
“I don’t know what you think of me,” I started, my voice trembling, “and I don’t know if I want to know. I am so ashamed that you found out about him. That you went through this without telling me, because I’m sure you had lots of questions.”
I paused, racking my brain as to how to continue. Knowing that I just needed to get it all out and give her the whole, honest truth. She deserved it. Mac deserved it.
“I was scared when I realized I was pregnant. I knew who the father was, but I couldn’t find him to tell him. Things were different then. Plus, I was just starting a dangerous career that kept me away from home every third day. I was terrified. When Tim and I started dating and fell in love, I was grateful because he stepped up. He treated you like you were his, he loved you as his own, and once upon a time, he took care of us.”
I paused again as the words stuck in my throat. “But no, Mac doesn’t know about you. I tried, but I could never find him to tell him about you.” A tear leaked from the corner of her eye, leaving a wet trail down her precious cheek, and her hands twisted in mine, gripping them hard.
The simple hold gave me courage. “Sweetheart, I love you more than life itself. I can’t help feeling that I’ve disappointed you. That my mistakes are hurting you. I thought Tim would be in our lives forever. But marriages fail, and when he started treating you badly because of resentment he held for me… ”
It broke my heart that he’d taken his attitude and anger at me out on her. That I’d brought her into this world not knowing where even to start to find her father. She was innocent in this mess, and I’d carry the guilt for my lifetime. Not just the guilt toward Rosie, but the guilt toward Mac as well. I’d done them both such a grave injustice by taking the easy way out.
I gave her hands a squeeze because, above all else, she needed to know the rest—the most important part. “Please know, I never thought twice about whether I should keep you. You were a gift. You are a gift. The most precious thing in my life. I’ll find the courage to face Mac and tell him about you, which is the fair thing to do. No matter what his response is… always know that I made the choice to keep you and love you.”
She was silent, watching me, letting my words sink in. She’d always been a smart girl with a big loving heart, and knowing who her father was—and not having contact—would eat at her. She’d proven that by orchestrating a whole move to the same town as him without my having any knowledge.
“Did you love him?” she whispered.
And that was her real issue. She needed to know she was created by love—as if it made any difference at all.
“Almost from the moment I met him. Telling him goodbye was the hardest thing I’d ever done.”
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Then why…?”
I lifted a shoulder. “We shared first names only and agreed to keep our time together lighthearted and fun. A fling. I was young, starting a new career. He was older and getting over someone else, and I knew he wasn’t ready to jump right into a relationship with me. The only thing I regret is that I didn’t have a way to contact him to let him know about you.” My voice broke as I finished, and then my girl pulled me into her arms and offered me the same comfort I’d given to her countless times over her life. And being the pathetic fool I was, I allowed my daughter to hold me.
“No matter what, I love you,” I whispered into her neck.
“No matter what, I love you too, Mom.”
I pulled out of her arms and sat back, cupping her face and stroking her hair. She really was the most beautiful girl in the world. “We’ll decide when the time is right, but for now, I’m going to ask you to let this go. It’s not the right time to bring this up. But thank you for showing me this picture.”
Her eyes searched mine. “You just…” She paused and started over. “You look so happy in it. I just want you to be happy, Mom.”
Oh, my sweet, soulful child. “I was happy. The day that photo was taken, we’d had a great day on the beach. It was the day before we were leaving, and we made the most of it. But I am also happy now. We have so much to look forward to.”
“Will you tell me about him?”
I hesitated. This path, her questions, all of it… what good could come from it? She’d want to know everything about him. She’d want to meet him and try to know him. What if he wasn’t open to the idea? What if he rejected her? She’d already been devastated by one other father figure. I didn’t want to take the risk of her getting hurt more.
“Honey, give me some time to think it over. To get used to the idea that I have to see him on a regular basis. I’ll tell him, I promise. Because he deserves to know. I never intentionally hid you from him. But can we just take things slowly for now? Get settled and get our bearings, and then we’ll decide what to do. ”
The doorbell rang, ending the heavy conversation. I jumped up to answer it while Rosie cleared away the journal and photo, and then we stuffed ourselves full of pepperoni. She didn’t mention it again, but somehow, I knew—things were going to change. I knew it, could feel it. And I couldn’t stop it. I just hoped we’d all come out unscathed on the other side.