Let Me Know

by Stina Lindenblatt

  *

  The next afternoon, I drive Alejandro to the United Center. Matt also comes with us. Juan managed to get himself stuck in detention. A fact Alejandro is still chuckling over.

  The team is finishing up practice when we arrive, and Eric introduces us to several players.

  “That’s a great thing you’re doing with the charity,” Daniel Rodriguez says, slapping my back. “Lookin’ forward to it.”

  “Yeah, man, that was a brave thing you did admitting what the asshat did to you,” Rhys Peterson adds.

  Alejandro’s mouth drops open and he looks at me, confused. He has no idea what I said on the show. He doesn’t watch it, and neither does his mom. She works full time.

  “Let me have a shower first,” Eric says, “then we can chat.”

  As soon as Eric disappears, Alejandro turns on me, eyes narrowed. “What the hell’s going on? Since when do you know the players?”

  “Amber and I have been planning a charity event at the university. We were on a daytime talk show the other day and explained about the event and about what happened to me. Eric heard about it and wants to participate. So do some of the other players.”

  “And that’s why you’re here?” Alejandro asks, tone notably impressed, his earlier suspicion appeased—for now.

  “More or less, yes.”

  While we wait for Eric, Alejandro and Matt ask all kinds of questions about the event. By the time Eric reappears from the locker room, they’re up to speed on everything there is to know about what Amber and I have planned.

  “Here, this is for you guys.” Eric hands each boy what looks like a rolled up poster. “All the guys signed it.”

  “Wow, thanks!” Alejandro unrolls his. As promised, the guys have signed it and at the top it says To Alejandro.

  “This is great. Thanks,” Matt says in that shy way of his.

  Eric studies him for a second or two before looking between them. “So I guess you heard what Marcus said on The Olivia Wilson Show the other day?”

  “He just told us,” Matt says.

  “What he did took guts. I admire him for putting himself out like that when it wasn’t an easy choice to make. It’s not a choice I made when my coach started touching me. I should have. I wish I had. But I didn’t.”

  Alejandro narrows his eyes at me again, and I inwardly flinch at the string of Spanish cusses no doubt running through his head, along with the word traitor.

  It’s the opposite look to what Matt is wearing. “Y-you were touched?” he whispers. But his expression is not one of horror, as I would expect. It’s one of relief and understanding.

  A cold sensation snakes through my veins. Not only was I right about there being other victims, Matt was one of them. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. This is one time I wish I had been wrong. It was bad enough knowing there was another victim—Alejandro. But realizing that my suspicions were correct and he wasn’t the only one burns deep. Guilt and pain claw their way through me once again. No wonder he and Alejandro—the two guys who I thought had nothing in common—were friends. They felt they only had each other to turn to for support.

  They didn’t realize how wrong they were.

  “How do you even know Frank?” I look between the two boys.

  “He was doing odd jobs at the center,” Matt says. “Whenever Dave needed him. But then he started hanging out there more regularly.”

  “When was that?”

  “In the fall.” While I was busy with school. After Ryan’s death.

  Alejandro glares at his friend then turns to Eric, arms folded across his chest. “But you’re okay,” he stubbornly points out, “even if you never told anyone the truth.”

  Eric shakes his head. “I was a mess. I started abusing drugs and alcohol. If it hadn’t been for a school counselor who reached out, I might be dead by now. And one of my friends is dead because of what happened.” At the boys’ gasp he continues. “I wasn’t the coach’s only victim. My best friend was also on the team. He couldn’t deal with it, and committed suicide.”

  “Well, Marcus isn’t messed up,” Alejandro says. Anything to avoid the real issue.

  “I was and I still am. If it weren’t for Amber, I would be a bigger mess. I was on a path to destruction, not letting anyone get too close. Taking risks I shouldn’t have. But I’m now growing stronger every day because of her.” But I can’t rely on her alone to get me there. She was right all along. I do need help, and Alejandro needs to realize it, too. “It’s why the charity event is important to me.” It’s a way to fully let go of my guilt about Ryan, like Amber’s been pushing for me to do.

  Matt’s gaze drops to the wooden floor. “I wanted to tell someone what your stepfather was doing to me, but he threatened to kill me if I did.” He eyes move to mine. “I came close to killing myself once, but Alejandro talked me out of it.” He swaps looks with his friend, then looks back up at me. Tears fill his eyes but somehow refuse to spill. “I want your stepfather to pay for what he did.”

  “So do I,” I whisper. So do I.

  Chapter Forty-One

  Amber

  I stand awkwardly in the doorway as the gray-haired woman hugs me. Hard. Apparently I didn’t get my height from her side of the family. She barely comes up to my chest.

  Lily, my grandmother, the one I vaguely remember, pulls away and brushes the tears streaming down her face. A familiar numbness crowds around the edges. I’m not sure I’m ready for this “happy” reunion.

  “Come on in.” She gestures for me to enter the small cottage-style house, a smile on her face. “You look like your brother.”

  “Y-you’ve seen Michael?”

  Her smile vanishes and a new round of tears fills her eyes. “Yes, before he was…” She swallows and a familiar pain flickers on her face. “Right before he was killed, he came here looking for your father. He was going to tell you the truth.”

  “He never said anything. All I knew about that weekend was he had something important to tell me.” I wrap my arms around me in a weak attempt to keep myself together. “He was killed before he could tell me what it was.”

  “So you never knew,” she says, more to herself than to me.

  She leads me into the house, to a small living room. It’s reminds me of Grandma’s place, but Lily has porcelain thimbles grouped all over the room.

  I study one collection on the tiny shelves attached to the wall. Each thimble contains a different state flag, plus there’s one with the U.S. flag on it. The cluster of thimbles on the next display has kittens on each one, including a kitten that reminds me of Smoky. My heart tightens at how much I miss him.

  I tear my gaze away from the thimble and sit on the faded flowery couch near the window.

  Lily sits next to me. “I’m glad you came, Amber. I’ve missed you so much, but your pigheaded father decided it was better if I didn’t contact you anymore after he…after he left your family.”

  A ping of pain bites me, and I hate my father even more for what he did. He not only abandoned us, he hurt his own mom too. What kind of jerk does that?

  “I never agreed with his reasons for leaving his family,” she says. “And I especially didn’t approve that he kept his reasons a secret. He had cancer, but it didn’t give him the right to hurt you and your brother and your mother.”

  I feel my eyebrows pinch together. “Cancer? Mom never told me he had cancer.”

  “She didn’t know. He had bladder cancer. He figured it would be easier on everyone if he left without a real explanation. He thought he was dying and didn’t want to put you all through that. So he ran away.” Bitterness fills her tone, and she sighs long and hard. “I thought his father and I raised him better than that, but apparently we hadn’t.”

  I’m not even sure how I feel about this. My father didn’t leave because he no longer loved me. He left because he didn’t want to cause us pain. But why would he assume abandoning his family would cause us less pain than watching him die?

  Something occurs to me.
“You said Michael managed to locate our father. Does that mean he didn’t die?”

  She visibly cringes, no doubt having an idea of what I’m thinking. “He went into remission.”

  My fingers tap-tap-tap my thigh. “So what? He didn’t die, but he still couldn’t be bothered to come back and be a father again?” I can barely get the word father out.

  “He’d been gone for so long, he knew it was too late to repair the damage. He was positive your mom wouldn’t want him back. She’s a strong woman who had no use for someone like him. At least that’s how he felt. He paid her child support without fail, I made sure of it, but he never told her the truth.”

  “Why does he want to talk to me now? And why does he think I would even want to talk to him?” I immediately regret my harsh voice. It’s not Lily’s fault he abandoned us.

  She takes hold of my hands, her skin feathery soft. “He’s been watching the news, and what you’re going through has kept him fighting to hold on a little longer.” Her gaze flicks to the window and the vast white emptiness outside. In the distance, the glow from a pair of headlights, like pale eyes, comes into view and slowly moves closer through the falling snow.

  “The cancer came back, but this time he hasn’t been able to beat it.” Her voice cracks at the last part. “He’s been fighting to stay alive long enough to see how the trial ends. He wants to make sure justice is served and Mr. Carson goes to prison for what he did to you and Michael.”

  She brushes my hair behind my ear, lingering for a moment before letting her fingers drop away. “Despite what he did, Amber, he loves you. He was never quite the same after he left you and your family. While the cancer might not have physically killed him back then, a large chunk of him did die. All he wants is to say goodbye to you before he dies. But he also understands if you don’t want to see him. We both do.”

  I remove my hands from hers and run them over my face, wishing the simple act could erase the truth and the lies that have plagued me for years. That continue to plague me.

  All this time I had believed he left because I was unlovable. Trent stormed out the day he was murdered because we had an argument over my fears that he would walk out on me one day, like my father had. But Trent wasn’t my father. He never would have done what my father did. Trent was better than that.

  And so is Marcus.

  “I’m not sure I can,” I say, voice not much more than a whisper.

  “That’s all right. But why don’t you stay here for a day or two? I haven’t seen you in over thirteen years and I’ve got some catching up to do. What are you studying at university? I remember when you were five you wanted to be a veterinarian. Are you still pursuing it?”

  I explain to her about my career goal and what caused the change from my original one. And the more we talk, the more at ease I become. To the point of agreeing to stay for a few days, especially since my father isn’t here. He’s staying at a palliative care center.

  We talk about everything. About my childhood. About what happened last spring and about everything that has happened since. Lily asks plenty of questions and listens. She’s especially interested in hearing more about Marcus. The real Marcus. She doesn’t believe the lies about his supposed porn-star alter ego. She sees him as the guy who’s turning a negative past into a positive future for so many kids.

  It’s not until the following evening that I finally decide to see my father. While I might not agree with what he did when he first learned he had cancer, at least I can say goodbye to him.

  I promise Lily I’ll visit her as often as I can, then drive to the hospice.

  During the spring and summer the small garden is probably beautiful, welcoming to all who visit. Now it’s lonely, forgotten, filled with nothing more than snow and dead plants.

  Unable to move, I sit in the car, staring at the building. Then I close my eyes and remember the good days when my father was part of my life. The times when he took me to get ice cream. The times he took us camping and tried to catch fish. And the times I was scared of the weather and he was there for me—back before I had reason to be scared of storms.

  I can do this. I’ve got to do this. For both of us.

  I inhale deeply and climb out of my car. My fingers tap-tap-tap against my thigh as I walk. I don’t bother to stop them.

  Inside the building, it’s brighter and decorated to add warmth and sunshine for the patients’ final days. I approach the front desk and tell the nurse my father’s name and that I’m his daughter. Lily phoned ahead to tell them I was coming.

  The nurse leads me to his room and tells me how my father’s day has been. Rough, from the sounds of it. And she tells me it’s a good thing I came when I did. She’s not sure if he’ll last another night.

  It’s hard to believe the stranger behind the door is related to me. Even more so when the nurse opens the door and lets me in.

  On the bed is a frail-looking man who’s nothing like the father I remember. That man was tall and strong with sandy blond hair. This man is not much more than a stick, and any hair he used to have has long since disappeared.

  “Amber?” he whispers, the sound of it a dry, dying autumn leaf.

  I nod, unable to put together a simple word let alone a full sentence.

  “Let me see you.”

  I step closer to the bed. My legs keep moving; the rest of me begs them to turn around and run. Fast. And never return.

  “You’re as beautiful as I always imagined you’d be.” He smiles, but not without a lot of effort.

  Silence.

  “I’m sorry about everything you’ve been going through, Amber. I should have been there to protect you.” He coughs. “And if it weren’t for me, Michael would be alive.”

  Guilt must run in the family. This is no different to how I felt until recently. “How do you figure that?”

  “Your brother tracked me down last winter. We had been…slowly repairing our relationship. The weekend he was killed, he had gone back to…Crossfields to bring you here to see me. He wanted to give you and me the same chance he and I had. I should have talked him out of it. Told him…to wait—” he coughs again “—until the term was over. I knew he was busy with classes. When I didn’t hear from you, I was hoping Michael hadn’t had a chance to tell you. I was hoping you didn’t hate me for what I did to you, to Michael, to your mom.”

  I should say something but what? All I can do is stand, battling against a chaos of emotions—anger, pain, sorrow being the forerunners. My vision blurs and I blink it clear.

  “I wanted you to know I never stopped loving you,” he says. “I was a coward, an idiot, and I’m sorry I hurt you, but I never stopped loving you.”

  His tears break down the final part of the barrier I’ve kept erected for so long. I could continue hating him for as long as I live, but that’s not who I am. And when it comes down to it, he’s not the one who tried to destroy me. He’s not the man who deserves my hate.

  “I’m scared,” I say, voice trembling. I’m not talking about my father, and I’m not sure why I’m even telling him this. But the fear of what I’ll be facing next week seeps through my cells like a cancer consuming my body, like his cancer is consuming his. “I’m so scared.”

  He pats his bed and I sit. “I know you’re scared, Amber. And you have every right to be. But you need to have faith in the system. You need to have faith in your mother.” He smiles, and I can tell from that simple move he still loves her. “Your mother is brilliant. I’ve watched her career, and I know she hasn’t left you flailing. I can guarantee she’s working harder for you than she has for any of her clients, and that’s saying a lot. The woman has always been a workaholic.”

  “But she’s not the D.A.”

  He lets out a small laugh, which turns into a coughing fit. It takes a minute or two, and a sip of water, before he’s able to talk again. “She might not be the D.A., but I can guarantee she’s been working alongside, making sure nothing slips through the cracks. There’s a reason
she’s always been the lawyer you want on your side. You need to have faith in her. She won’t let you down.”

  I think about all the things Mom’s done for me lately when it comes to the trial. She’s been the liaison person between the D.A and me, making sure I know everything that’s going on. She’s pushed to make sure no piece of evidence goes unexplored. She’s pushed to have another handwriting expert analyze the letters, the results still pending. She even visited a few times last week, helping me prep for what I’m about to face.

  “I know,” I whisper. And I do. Things still aren’t perfect between us, but Mom would never let me down. Not now. Not when she has so many reasons for wanting Paul locked away forever. For Trent. For Michael. For me. “I know,” I repeat. Unlike his voice, mine isn’t weak and dying. It’s a tiny seed poking from the soil, ready to leave its world of darkness, ready to begin a new life of hope and forgiveness. I won’t let the monster win.

  “I have something for you.” Dad lifts his hand. The effort proves to be too much and the movement is slow and shaky. He points to a wooden box on the bedside table.

  I pick it up and run my fingers along the delicate snowdrop-flower carvings covering the lid.

  “Open it,” he murmurs.

  I do, and discover a pile of envelopes, the top one addressed to me. A single elastic band holds them together.

  I remove the pile from the box and slip the elastic off. The other envelopes are addressed to either Michael or me. Some are postmarked. The majority aren’t.

  “Once I beat the cancer, I tried writing to you and your brother. The letters were always returned unopened. So I continued to write to you, but I never sent them. I figured you didn’t want anything to do with me.”

  “I didn’t know.” Once again, Mom was trying to protect me, even if I didn’t need protecting. What I needed was to know that my father loved me, and that I wasn’t the reason he had left.

  A small silver medallion with a clover etched in it rests on the bottom of the box. I pick it up.

  “You gave me that before I realized I had cancer. I took it with me and it brought me luck. It extended my life. It brought you and Michael back to me, no matter how briefly.” He coughs, this time worse than before. “It meant everything to me. I want you to have it.”