The entire time I spent with them that day, I couldn’t get Jennifer and Chloe out of my head. It was on my way back home that night that I decided I was ready to open that envelope. I needed to see the pictures of my daughter, my own flesh and blood and I needed to come clean with my parents about her. It became harder and harder each time I saw my father knowing I held this information from him and that each day could be his last. He could die before I found the strength within myself to come clean.
Present
Now that school is out for the summer, I try to make it by two or three days a week to visit and check in on my parents. I know it’s hard on my mom to try and do it all on her own, so my visits give her a chance to get out of the house. I believe she’s scared to death that something is going to happen to him, though, so she doesn’t go too far away. I know she is physically and emotionally drained being by his side every hour of the day. But she’s devoted to him—through thick and thin, the good and the bad.
I pull up in the driveway and see Grace standing in the doorway holding Brady. I love seeing both of them together--so happy, so carefree. The best part of all—they’re mine—the loves of my life, the energy that keeps me alive and going.
I’m mentally exhausted from spending the afternoon with my dad. Grace has already fed and bathed Brady; she’s just kept him up long enough for me to see him before putting him down for the night. While supper is heating up, I take a quick shower before joining Grace at the table. We talk about my dad’s condition, how he’s getting worse every day and I don’t think he’ll make it much longer.
It’s such a sad site seeing my mother suffer as well. Although they both still have heath care coverage, neither of them thought it necessary to have a cancer plan. Isn’t this usually the case, though? Financially, it’s gutted them both. The last thing my mom needs is to worry about who’s going to pay the medical bills.
Several of my mom’s friends from church have placed plastic containers for donations all over the county—in gas stations and local restaurants—just to help in any way. While it isn’t’ much, every nickel and dime adds up. The church has also done bake sales and taken up love offerings numerous times. My brothers and I help where we can, but we all have families of our own to tend to, too.
When we’re done eating, I help Grace tidy up the kitchen then make my way to the living room. I relax in my recliner and flip the channels until I find a movie that looks interesting. I barely remember Grace tossing the blanket over me and dimming the lights. Shortly after midnight, I wake up and make my way back to the bedroom, crawling into bed beside her.
Sadly, though, I’m struggling to fall back asleep. The photos from Mr. Steadham cloud my mind—they’re eating at me to pull them out, to take a peek at them. I’m sure spending time with dad earlier has something to do with it, too.
I slowly crawl out of bed, careful not to wake Grace, and quietly open the nightstand drawer. Even though the bedroom is dark, I don’t need a light to know where the envelope is. Hidden between the pages of the magazine on top, I flip through it until the envelope slips out and falls to the floor. I move my hand around over the carpet until I feel it, merely inches from my knee. These photos—well, they’re priceless.
Grace knew about them from the moment Mr. Steadham handed them over, but she never questioned what I did with them after we’d gotten home that day. I never bothered to bring them up and she never bothered to ask. Now, in the stillness of our bedroom, I press the envelope to my chest and ask myself if it’s time. Is it time to see what my daughter looks like?
As quietly as possible, I walk from our bedroom and turn left towards our spare bedroom that we converted into an office. Brady’s room is directly across from it. I hesitate for a moment in the hallway and listen for the faint sound of Brady’s breathing. When I’m confidant he’s sound asleep, I take a few steps backwards into the spare room, shutting the door behind me.
Not wanting to turn on any lights, I feel my way around the room. When my fingers brush over the lamp switch, I flip it on and allow my eyes to adjust to the faint, dim light. Holding the envelope in my other hand, I pull out the desk chair and take a seat. I’m about to see a picture of my daughter for the very first time.
I turn the envelope over and slide one finger underneath the flap. I make a small tear, knowing it’s now or never.
Mr. Steadham had already informed me there were two photos inside—one of Chloe and the other a family shot. Both images had been found on a social media site and printed from there. Funny how I had spent many hours searching site after site trying to find some sort of information on Jennifer and the private investigator was able to pull the images in just a matter of minutes.
I’d kept an image in my head throughout the years and figured our daughter had probably taken after her mother, but nothing could prepare me for what that lay on the desk before me. A beautiful teenage girl with long, straight dark-blonde hair stared back at me. She had on a cheerleading uniform and was posing with her pompoms.
She’s…she’s gorgeous.
I can’t tear my eyes from the photo. I realize I’ve been holding my breath after several minutes. Her eyes…they’re just like mine. My daughter. I can’t believe I’m seeing her for the first time. I feel the tears begin to pool in my eyes, and I have to look away and blink several times.
After what feels like forever, I finally take a look at the second photo.
It’s the perfect family shot—Jennifer...well, she looks the same, just a little older. Her hair is still long, and she really looks happy with her…family. Her husband is a clean cut, good looking guy and they both look great together. The longer I stare, I recognize him as the guy from the restaurant that day long ago—the one who stood up and threatened me if I didn’t leave her alone. Who would have thought Jennifer would marry the guy! I bet they’ve had one heck of a time explaining to their friends how they met. The situation that day wasn’t a pretty one, that’s for sure. They can’t claim it was a romantic meeting or love at first site like some couples like to boast about.
The younger girl in the photo looks a lot like the guy, but I don’t see much resemblance to Chloe. Maybe up close the girls favor, but this image doesn’t show much in the way of them being sisters.
Chloe. I can’t believe it. My…my daughter.
I bring my finger up to wipe at a stray tear. I’m not supposed to cry. I’m not supposed to be getting all teary eyed over seeing these photos. I should be happy that she’s healthy, that she’s turned out to be a pretty, young lady. Instead, I’m sad I’ve missed out. Her childhood has almost passed me by.
I turn on my computer and look down at the bottom corner to see the time. Have I really been looking at these photos for over an hour? I open up the desk drawer and pull out the mustard-yellow envelope from Mr. Steadham. Every possible way to contact Jennifer is inside. I pull up the medal clamps and slide out the documents. It’s now…or never.
I click on the email tab on my computer and wait for it to pull up. I ask myself one more time, can I do this? Can I really go through with this?
Once the blank document appears, I scan the paperwork until I find what I’m looking for—Jennifer’s email. I begin to type the address in the sender box, and after several attempts, I finally type it correctly.
I write a couple of sentences, then erase them all. I’m not exactly sure how to go about saying what it is I want to say. I mean, I know, but I don’t want to screw it up. After all, time is valuable and if I don’t get it right the first time, my father might not make it. Finally, I get the first paragraph typed and I’m satisfied with what I have so far. One sentence, then another; I keep on typing. The words flow from my heart and I hope to God she doesn’t feel I’m making this up.
I sincerely hope she reads this carefully and takes into consideration everything I’m saying.
July 1, 2014
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: Hello
Jennifer,
I realize I’m the last person you ever expected to hear from, and I hope you will at least read what I have to say before you delete this message. I also want you to know I’m not trying to cause any trouble or make you feel threatened in any way. The last thing I want to do is upset you and your family.
I’d like to start out by saying thank you for reading this far into my message. I honestly didn’t know if you’d open the email or just delete it. Second, I know many things have happened in both of our lives over the years, and I want you to know I’m deeply sorry for all the trouble I put you through. There are no words I can say to take away the pain and grief I caused you back then, but I honestly hope you will find it in your heart to forgive me. You are a good woman and I was wrong.
For many years I have wanted to contact you to beg for your forgiveness, but I could never get enough courage to do so. I’ve even attended some therapy sessions just to try and help me cope with everything. I had hoped, over time, it would get easier to deal with the pain, but it hasn’t. Thankfully, my wife has been very understanding and supportive. If it wasn’t for her, I’m not sure I would still be here today.
When you left me all those years ago, I made some pretty bad choices. I was hurt and angry and didn’t know how to deal with your leaving. You were the only positive thing I had going, and I screwed that up. I couldn’t accept that you didn’t want to be with me anymore. Rather than causing more turmoil, I should’ve been doing more to support you and our unborn child instead of being a deadbeat.
I spent a couple of months in jail and realized there was so much more to life. I was a disappointment as well as a disgrace to my family, but I was the only one that could change that. I ended up back home with my parents and thank goodness they were willing to give me one final chance to turn my life around.
At first I had a very hard time finding a job but eventually found one working at a construction site close to the beach. It was difficult working out in the sun all day long, but I managed to stick it out. I made decent money and was able to put a good bit into savings. Yes, you read that right. I started saving up my money and it felt good. I felt proud for once in my life. At the end of summer when the job was completed, my supervisor offered me the opportunity to travel with his company to another site. I was hesitant at first but decided to take him up on his offer. If nothing else, my parents were able to see I was dedicated to the job.
Eventually the work started dwindling down and I made the decision to move back home again. I had a decent amount of money saved up so I enrolled in a couple classes at the university. I had no idea what I wanted to do with myself, but figured after taking some core classes I might find something to interest me. For the most part, I made pretty decent grades and stayed out of trouble. You would be amazed at the person I had become. I also met someone that was patient and willing to help me with a lot of the personal frustrations I was experiencing. You see, after all that time, I still felt bad for the way our relationship had ended and knowing I had fathered a child that I knew nothing about.
I decided to try my hand at teaching and graduated with a degree in education a few years ago. Yes, I am now a P.E. teacher and coach at the middle school I attended when I was younger. Would you believe I love it! I continued to see Grace, the girl I met when I first started taking classes, and we eventually got married. Grace has been such a positive influence for me. She is also a teacher but has taken the year off to stay at home and raise our son, Brady. I was very honest with Grace and told her all about you and the baby. It wasn’t easy for her knowing I already had a child, but together, we got through it. The hardest part was trying to talk about a daughter I didn’t know anything about. I couldn’t tell her one single thing. Not even her name.
My intent for this email was not to brag or boast about my life, but I wanted you to know I’ve changed. I’ve grown up finally and made something of myself but it still doesn’t excuse my behavior from all those years ago.
A few weeks ago my father was diagnosed with cancer and hasn’t been given long to live. My mom stayed after him to find out why he kept feeling so bad, but by the time he decided to get checked out, the doctors informed him there wasn’t much they could do. My mom was heartbroken because my dad had been so stubborn. She stays by his side but he’s declining rapidly. We’ll be lucky if he makes it another couple weeks.
This leads me to the purpose for this email. Jennifer, you have to believe me when I tell you I’m not the same person you used to know. I worked out all of my problems with my dad and I’m proud to say our relationship now is better than it has ever been. But it’s hard knowing he’s not going to be around much longer.
My parents enjoy spending time with Brady, but I can’t help but feel so guilty because they have a granddaughter they don’t even know exists. Hell, I don’t know anything about her and it’s eating me up inside.
I hired a private investigator, and it didn’t take long to find you. After all these years, I had no idea you were only a couple hours away. Please, don’t misinterpret my purpose for this message. I’ve thought long and hard before making the decision to finally send it to you. I know you’re going to tell me no without giving it any thought, but I’m going to ask you to search deep within your heart. Is there some way we can arrange for my father to meet his granddaughter? I know her name is Chloe and based on the information from the private investigator, your husband adopted her many years ago. This tells me he is a good man.
Jennifer, I’m begging you to please give this some thought. If there is any way possible, I really want my father to see our daughter before it’s too late.
Sincerely,
Brian
Once I’m finished with the email, I sit back and wonder if I can really hit the send button. My eyes begin to burn and I look down at the time. Five o’clock in the morning—I’ve been working on this email for over four hours.
More than anything, I’m thankful Grace didn’t wake up and discover me missing from our bedroom. Just as the thought enters my mind, I hear a faint noise from out in the hallway. I’m not sure I want Grace to know just yet about the email so rather than save it and worry about it later, I go ahead and hit send.
I power down the computer, turn off the lamp, and quietly open the door. Much to my surprise, though, the hallway is empty. I figure it must be my imagination playing with my mind. I glance back at the computer as the screen turns from a faint glow to nothing but black. The blinking light turns off and there’s nothing I can do now; the email is out of my hands. Suddenly, I feel a tightness in my throat. Did I do the right thing? Should I have waited to let Grace read it first?
I walk down the hallway and stand in the doorway to our bedroom for a moment before making my way back over to my side of the bed. I slowly pull back the covers and slide in. Grace stirs slightly, and I move over closer. She rolls on her side and I bring my body up behind her.
“I love you, baby.” I whisper softly in her ear not even sure if she hears me or not.
She leans back into my body and I wrap my arm around her. Taking my hand in hers, she brings it up to her lips. “I love you, too.”
Eventually, I drift off to sleep and try to forget all about the email.
****
The hospice nurse stopped by at eight o’clock this morning to check on my dad and to do her duties. I promised mom last night I’d be back first thing this morning to take care of the yard work before it got too hot. Between my brothers and me, we take turns so one of us doesn’t get stuck doing it all of the time. Regardless, I’ve got the time during the summer with school being out, so I really don’t mind. I almost feel it’s my duty, more so than my brothers, because of everything in the past. I sort of owe it to my folks.
When I’m done, I talk mom into sitting outside on the porch with me. I know the fresh air will do her some good. Inside, the house is spotless, but the smell of sickness fills every room, making it harder and harde
r to deal with what’s happening.
I wonder sometimes how my mom does it, watching him sleep for hours at a time. She leaves his side to grab a bite to eat and to go to the bathroom, but that’s it. Sadly, she’s even skipped taking a shower for days at a time simply because my father was scared if he couldn’t see her, that maybe she’d left him for good.
My mom is an incredible woman. I know my dad hasn’t always been the easiest man to live with, but for better or worse, in sickness and in health, she’s dedicated to him one hundred percent. All the way until…the end.
On this particular morning, the sky is overcast and the threat of rain lingers. I’m glad I got the yard tended to before the rain arrives. Mom sits down in the chair beside me, and I hand her the cup of coffee I made for her. I notice my hand is trembling, and I’m careful not to spill it on her.
On the way over this morning I made up my mind that I was going to break the news. I wanted to come clean about it all; I no longer wanted to keep the secret I’ve been hiding from her and dad all these years. I figured if I could tell her first, then she’d help me explain it to dad. But how do you tell your parents that the only grandchild they have is not actually the only one anymore? That they have a granddaughter, too.
“Here you go, mom. It’s hot.” I say as I pass over the cup. She pulls it up to her chapped lips and takes a small sip.
“Mmmm.”
“How’s dad doing this morning?” I ask although I know his condition is still the same. No matter how many times I pray, I know he’s not going to be here much longer. It makes this…this moment that much harder.
“He was in a fair amount of pain after you left last night, but the nurse on call got permission from his doctor to increase his pain medication. He did seem like he slept a little better once the medicine started working.”
Heart of the Matter (Coming Home Book 3) Page 3
