All This Time

by Stacy Lane

  “My daddy didn’t want me. Is that why you don’t have a daddy? Did he not want you too?”

  Deep breaths through my nose, in and out, in and out, that way I don’t break down and cry.

  When Brielle has the rare occasion of mentioning her father like she is now, I want find Brady and punch him in the throat.

  “We had our differences. Mommy just left home when she got pregnant with you.”

  Brielle nods, scanning the piece of paper. She reaches in the front zipper pouch on her bag and pulls out a pencil.

  I watch as she fills in the other blank box connected to her name. Without asking how to spell, she writes down Brady Bennett.

  “Do you know his parents names?”

  I tell her their names, then give her my parents.

  “Walt Benson and Pamela Clark.” After she fills those in, I go on to give her my grandparents information. “I don’t have anything beyond that.”

  “What happened to your mommy?”

  “She left when I was five. I don’t really know anything about her.”

  “And my grandpa, is he still alive?”

  “Honestly, Bri, I don’t know. I haven’t talked to him in six years.” She bites her lip, picking up the habit from me when we’re nervous about something. “It’s okay to ask whatever you want.”

  “Ms. Taylor asked for us to get pictures if we could. Next week we’re supposed to glue them on.”

  The tough mom mask I’ve had on since starting this conversation is beginning to slip.

  “I’m sorry, sweetie. I don’t have pictures of anyone.”

  “Do you…Do you think my grandpa would want to meet me?”

  I blow out a heavy sigh.

  The real question is, do I want her to meet him?

  My dad was such a miserable bastard. If she met him and he shunned her, or kicked us out before we even entered, I was scared what that would do to Brielle’s view on the world. She’s still very innocent.

  “That’s hard to say,” I respond.

  Her eyes droop, looking crestfallen, and a part of me breaks. Before I realize what I’m saying, promises pour from my mouth.

  “Did you know I grew up two hours from here?”

  “Really?”

  “Yep. A small town called Calusa. It’s the complete opposite of where we live now,” I chuckle.

  “How so?”

  “Well, for starters, there’s no traffic. Ever.” Her mouth falls open with a infatuated grin. “And there’s only one school each for elementary, middle, and high school. Everyone knows each other. There’s open fields everywhere. Nothing is built on top of each other.”

  “Whoa. Sounds weird,” she says, scrunching up her face. “But kinda cool. Oh! Do people, like, have horses and cows and chickens as pets?”

  I laugh at her sudden enthusiasm. “They do.”

  “That’s so cool. There’s a girl in my class, Iris, she said her dad bought her a horse as a present for starting kindergarten. But he’s kept in a stable for whenever she feels like taking him out, not at her house or anything.”

  A horse for fucking starting kindergarten? What is wrong with people? No wonder why these kids were little shitheads and picking on my daughter. They were given whatever they desired.

  We didn’t have much money, but there was more value in our lives for it.

  “I can’t say if your grandpa will be accepting, but we can go there and give it a shot.”

  “You mean it?” Her face lights up brighter than the Lisa Frank unicorn folder sitting beside us.

  When I nod she jumps in my arms.

  “You think he’ll let me take a picture of him for my family tree?”

  “We can ask.”

  I had many regrets when it came to my dad. He had a lot of faults, and was never there for me when I needed him, but he was my dad. If we went back to my home town and I found out he passed away, I would never forgive myself for not coming home sooner. But at the same time, if we went back and he was the same surly old man, I’d probably high-tail it out there.

  “Do you think we’ll see my dad?” Brielle suddenly asks me.

  “Do you want to see him?”

  She shrugs. “I don’t think so.”

  Brielle never opens up about her feelings toward her father. She asked one time and one time only. We didn’t need him anyway. I was enough parent for both mom and dad.

  “Your dad has a brother. Maybe you’ll get to meet him too while we’re there.”

  “Cool. What’s his name?”

  “Luke.” Saying his name aloud is like knocking over the first domino in a dramatic maze set up of all my Luke moments when I was younger.

  I can see Della’s face, his face, the friendships I lost and the people I hurt. I’m taken back to the Bennett house where Luke would sit with me and teach me how to play video games while Brady went out and partied with other friends. I remember the envy I felt toward Della as she went to college to make a better life for herself. But I also start reminiscing the feeling of friendship. I never had another friend like I did Della.

  I wonder what became of Luke and Della. I told Brielle we might see him, but he may no longer be in town. Brady said Della moved out with Luke, wherever he got based. Maybe they’re married by now.

  At the twist that thought causes in my stomach, I quickly stand and clean our dishes off the table.

  “Uncle Luke,” Brielle says, testing the name with pride. “Can we go this weekend?”

  “Uh,” I stumble. “Not this weekend, but we’ll plan a day.”

  “But my project will be done by next week. If I can get pictures, I have to get them this weekend.”

  “Fantastic,” I mutter to myself.

  Well, if there’s one truth to all this, it’s that I’ll do anything for my daughter. Going back to Calusa was never a hope of mine. I had strings attached to that place, but those people cut me loose from their end.

  “How ‘bout this,” I start, leaning a hip against the counter and facing her. She’s turned around in her chair, her skinny arms resting on the back. “We’ll drive down there Saturday morning, get a hotel room, see if your grandpa is up for a surprise visit, and then head back and spend the night eating junk food and watching movies.”

  “Sounds awesome. And we’ll try to see my uncle too?”

  I spin away, giving her my profile and not my face.

  “I’ll have to ask around, so don’t get your hopes up.”

  I reach for the open wine bottle I left on counter, refilling my second glass to the top.

  Looks like I’m getting out of that date with Connor. But just what exactly am I getting myself into by going home?

  Chapter Two

  As promised, Saturday morning we got in the car and drove south.

  We checked in to a hotel in the next town over where I sequestered myself in the compact bathroom of our room for a solid fifteen minutes before Brielle’s patience wore out.

  Choosing a hotel thirty minutes away from Calusa had been intentional. A way of giving me the space I guarantee I would need after today.

  I did my best to shelter Brielle from the worlds substantial flaws. One could say I was a tad overprotective. Going home to my drunk of a father could be a cultural shock for her.

  Don’t get me wrong, I drink wine, and she often see’s me inhaling a couple bottles a week, but wine does not allow me to overindulge the way my dad did. Alcohol is the one area I’ve been adamant to keep her away from. The jitters consuming me were not only about her first impression of him, but his response to me after all this time.

  Brielle sat in awe in the back seat as we entered my old home town. Main street was filled with red brick buildings, all one story. The streets were filled with cars, but none like she’s used to at home. Most were worn down and rusty hunks of junk. People drove slow, walked across the street at any given spot, and even I had to admit there was a certain calming vibe upon entering the town that we would never feel in Tampa.

&nb
sp; To my immediate right, on the corner of the crossroads single traffic light, rested the only car repair shop in town. On a whim I pulled in.

  A lot could change in six years, but I wasn’t taking the chance of Brielle seeing Brady if he still worked at Neiland’s Garage. I left the car running, asking Brielle to stay inside—something I would never feel comfortable doing in the city—and walked by myself to the front desk.

  At least the Neilands schedules were the same. Cathy sat right inside the door, shocking the hell out her when I walked in. She scurried around the counter, clutching me in a tight, warm, and welcoming hug. Her elated joy put some of my nerves at ease.

  When I told her we were here for my dad, Cathy’s eyes watered. She approved, and it threw me a little.

  Growing up, she didn’t conceal her disdain at my dad’s failings. If anything, she was more vocal than she should have been, so to see her happy that I was willing to reconcile had my mind splitting with a million different questions about why.

  Her emotions were more reserved, however, when I asked if Della still lived in town.

  She smiled, but it was more a sad smile. Sad that we lost touch, that we grew apart.

  I walked back to my car with a folded piece of paper in my hand.

  As I weighed heavy on where we should go first, my dad’s or Della’s, I asked Brielle if she wanted to walk through town and window shop.

  We parked at one end, stepping onto the sidewalk and strolling with ease as she took everything in.

  There was a salon, a barber, a coffee shop, a dry-cleaner slash seamstress, and a bakery I remember launching my strawberry milkshake obsession.

  I started to offer Brielle a quick pit stop for a treat, but apprehension gripped tightly on my tongue and kept me from saying anything. Already I recognized familiar faces, and based on the reactions of a few women, they were recognizing me too.

  The girl who got pregnant by one Bennett and made a pass at the other.

  The girl that betrayed her best friend.

  Olivia Benson, the scandal of 2012, was back in town.

  Right when I was starting to feel like I missed this small town life, I wasn’t so sure any longer. I wanted Brielle to enjoy all of this, but at the same time I worried word would spread and get back to Brady.

  So we kept walking.

  We ran into a trio of elderly ladies on the other side of the street. Unlike the girls from my own generation, these women were polite and doted on Brielle. Commented on our beauty, and how time flies, and yada yada yada. Their sweet behavior was not fooling me. These old ladies are sharks. Always looking for the next gossip to run rampant with.

  We got out of there before they moved on to the heavy stuff. Like discussing Brielle’s father in front of her. Once we were back inside the car, I decided to bite the bullet and go to Della’s house first. Brielle seemed eager and up for anything.

  It wouldn’t surprise me if Della is already expecting me. Between her mom and the gossiping ninnies, the beans have probably been spilled.

  Flipping open the white note with Neiland’s logo at the top, I read the street name off in my head. The area Della lives in these days are on the other side of town. It’s more farm land and ranch style homes. Nothing like the neighborhoods we grew up in. As a matter of fact, we were always snubbed by those kids from that part of town. The drive out there is longer than circling in-town a couple times.

  We leave the cluttered streets, passing the diner I used to work at. I point it out to Brielle, and of course, she asks if we can eat there.

  The landscape starts stretching, fewer homes, fewer shops, and more greenery. In the backseat, my daughter points out every farm animal that catches her eye.

  From the road I can see a Tuscan style home with a terra-cotta red roof. The numbers are visible and clear, but I triple check the address written on the paper.

  Is it possible Mrs. Neiland is pranking me? If not, then Della and Luke have definitely done good for themselves over the years.

  You don’t know if they are still together.

  My car circles the driveway, stopping at the base of large stairs leading to the front doors. Astonishment has overtaken my nerves.

  “Mommy, are we getting out?”

  “Uh. Yep.” I pick up my jaw from where it fell in my lap, and get out of the car. At Brielle’s door, I open it for her to hop out.

  “That’s a big house,” she says, head falling back as she stares from bottom to top.

  “Yes, it is.” I copy her, tilting back to take it all in.

  The yellow stone structure is bigger than any other home I’ve ever known of in our small town. Two stories, the luxurious home spreads wide with large pillars and a balcony overlooking the front yard. Palms trees and an extravagant water fountain take up the focal point of the driveway.

  Definitely no ranch home.

  Della had been in school to become a nurse, and Luke joined the military. How the hell did they have a home like this?

  Lottery. That had to be it. They won the lottery.

  We climbed the ten feet of stairs to the front double doors, and I ring the door bell.

  Nothing but quiet greeted us from the other side. I started chewing on my bottom lip when a minute passed. It would be my luck to get enough courage to even come here and no one is home.

  “Maybe you should ring the door bell again,” Brielle suggests.

  “I don’t think anyones home.”

  “What if they didn’t hear it?”

  Before I could come up with another excuse as to why I didn’t need to ring the bell again, loud footsteps from inside stampede through the house.

  The door swings wide open revealing a boy close to Brielle’s age. He’s about the same height with blonde hair and brown eyes. While he stands there holding onto the door knob, my stomach flips. I can’t look beyond his dark brown gaze.

  I’d been so hung up on the idea of Della and Luke being married by now that I never considered the chance of there being children.

  “Hi.” His chipper voice squeaks with a jovial greeting.

  I can’t imagine the look on my face right now, but I’m pretty sure I wouldn’t be so cheery with a stranger staring down at me.

  Brielle speaks when I can’t find any words to say.

  “Hello.”

  “What’s your name? I’m—”

  “Ethan Colt, what have I said about answering the door without Mommy or Daddy.” Della’s stern voice carries from somewhere deeper in the house. My heart starts racing. She’s getting closer. “What if someone snatched you and—”

  She gasps loud, cutting off the chastising she was handing her son. Frozen in the space behind Ethan, her hands cover her gaping mouth.

  My old friend is even more gorgeous than I remembered. Bright auburn hair frames her face, the short cut a polar opposite look since the last time I saw her and it ran down her back. Wearing that yoga mom look with leggings and a tight tank top, her long, willowy body hasn’t changed one bit.

  I want to smile, I want to give her a giant hug, and I want to be accepted back in, but the fact remains that she hated me when I left.

  So I wait. I wait for her lead.

  Her green eyes are glued on me, large and stunned. They drop to Brielle, and her hands fall away from her face down to cover her heart.

  Looking back at me, she whispers, “Liv. You’re back.”

  I nod, emotions flooding me all at once.

  We stand there in silence longer than restless children will allow.

  “I’m Brielle,” my daughter’s voice snaps me back to where we are. On Della’s fancy front doorstep with our kids that neither of us has met before.

  “Brielle,” Ethan says, testing her name. “Can I call you Bri?”

  She nods. “My mommy calls me that.”

  “Cool. Wanna see my new race track?”

  “Like, for cars?” she scrunches her nose is distaste.

  “Yeah.” He scratches his chin. “I have a pink ca
r you can play with.”

  “The color doesn’t change that it’s still a car. But okay.” She shrugs, satisfied.

  “Can I play with Bri, Mom?” he asks Della.

  Man, I wish making friends as an adult was as easy as these two made it for themselves.

  “Please, come in.” Della steps aside, inviting us into her home.

  Her foyer is larger than my dining room and kitchen combined. The white, glossy tile expands far and opens into an even larger living room. Stairs stretch up the right side of the wall, curving at the top and opening in to a balcony.

  “My track is in my room. Is it okay if Bri comes with me?” Ethan looks at me for approval.

  “Sure. Go ahead. Have fun.”

  They take off, climbing the stairs, running across the balcony and disappearing down a hall.

  Without our buffers, the atmosphere becomes stale.

  I look everywhere but her. At the dark wood round table in the center of the foyer with white and yellow flowers sitting in a beautiful crushed silver vase. Sunlight pours in from above the doorway. One large window from up top, and one on each side of the wide doors.

  “Would you like some coffee?”

  “Yes, thank you.”

  I follow her through the living room, to the left and into a massive kitchen. A long, imposing island counter sits directly in the middle. Tall chairs line the white and gray marble top. I admire her chef style kitchen with longing, and curiosity. The Della I remember couldn’t cook worth a damn. Luke must be the cook in their family.

  She walks over to an intricate looking coffee machine, pops a pod in, and brews one cup at a time. I’ve seen a Keurig, we have one at work so I’m familiar, but this machine surpasses those cups.

  I take a seat at the end. When she places two mugs, creamer, and sugar on the counter, Della pulls the chair two down from mine out to sit in.

  “You’re back,” Della whispers once again.

  “Just for the weekend.” I add my cream and sugar and take a sip.

  “Brielle’s adorable. She looks exactly like you.”

  I smile. “Ethan’s a little cutie too. Very friendly.”