“He’s married now, right?” Mom said, scratching the side of her head. “Some girl named Dixie. Or maybe she was a Dixie Chick. No, maybe her name was Daisy.”
“What are you talking about? He lives up at his parents’ ranch alone.” I’d have noticed if there was any hint of a wife or girlfriend in his life.
Mom pursed her lips and stared off to her left. “I ran into Ivy last year. Or maybe the year before. I’m pretty sure she said he was getting married. Hmm. Must’ve called it off.”
She shrugged and lifted the remote as the end credits flashed across the screen.
“Hmm, what else is on,” she mumbled under her breath. She must’ve flipped through one-hundred-twenty channels before settling on a Lifetime movie about an upper class alcoholic husband who pimped out his trophy wife to pay off his gambling debts.
“Okay, Mom, I’m going to head out now. I’m in town until Saturday. Call me if you need anything.”
“Bye baby,” she said with a despondent smile, her attention still glued to the flickering T.V. screen.
Closing her door behind me, I sauntered down the sunken hallway floor and back toward the living room. Up ahead, a mountain of dirty dishes stacked ten plates high filled her single bowl sink, and a clutter of junk mail covered most of her counter. My skin crawled at the sight of disregarded filth and household clutter.
I’d cleaned that trailer a million times growing up, only to always come back and find it worse than the last time.
Resisting the urge to pick up the mess, I left the trailer court and drove to the north part of town, specifically to Cherry Street. I pulled up next to the white colonial with the Kelly green door and polished brass light fixtures. Perfectly manicured grass rested beneath the ancient oaks that shaded their large corner lot. A little white dog yipped as it skipped and played along the black iron fence that enclosed their picturesque back yard.
My heart warmed and my stomach churned in unison.
I needed to go in and say hi.
I needed to see her.
Pulling down the visor and popping open the mirror, I glanced into my eyes. The same ones she had. We were a part of each other, and though we were technically complete strangers, I loved her with every piece of me. Thoughts of Beau may have filled most of the seconds of my day, but she filled the spaces between the seconds.
A blue minivan turned down the street and pulled up next to my car, rolling the window down. “Dakota! You came!”
Rebecca’s wide mouth turned into an excited beam as she hopped a little in her seat and motioned toward her house. A second later, she rolled up her window and zoomed into the driveway of the white colonial.
She climbed out of her van and hurried around to the lift gate, pulling out brown paper bags and smiling like the happiest homemaker to ever live in Darlington, Kentucky.
“Just getting back from the store,” she said as we headed into her house. “Perfect timing. Please tell me you’re staying for dinner.”
“Oh, I didn’t plan on it,” I said, trying to be polite. “I just wanted to stop by real quick and say hi. I don’t want to impose.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. You’re family,” Rebecca said.
We stepped into her kitchen, and warm, soft air enveloped me with the faint scent of vanilla and apples. Her immaculately clean and beautifully modern kitchen was like a picture from a magazine. It was a vision of sparkling gray and white marble, alabaster cabinets, a farmhouse sink, Viking appliances, and windows galore with views into their enormous backyard and sparkling in-ground pool.
“We haven’t seen you in years! We have so much catching up to do,” Rebecca said, dropping an armful of bags onto the counter in one heave.
My eyes focused on a backpack hanging from the back of a kitchen chair. Blue butterflies with pink piping and the name “MABRY” embroidered across the back. A flutter filled my empty stomach, though I willed it away as quickly as it’d appeared.
“Sam’s around here somewhere,” Rebecca said, a gallon of skim milk in one hand and a container of strawberries in the other as she stocked the faultlessly clean shelves of her refrigerator. “Gosh, it’s so good to see you.” Rebecca paused for a moment, beaming at me and taking me in all at the same time, before returning to her groceries. A hint of marionette lines wrapped the corners of her mouth and pencil-thin creases raked across her forehead. We were cousins – our mothers were sisters – but she was ten years older than me. Her mother had married well and made the kind of life choices that allowed Rebecca to follow cleanly in her footsteps without missing a beat. “Sam! Sam, come to the kitchen!”
I gripped the cool marble countertop of the island as my feet anchored to the charcoal slate tile of her kitchen floor, and I pulled in an empowering breath.
“Such a beautiful day, isn’t it?” Rebecca mused, pausing to glance outside. “Mabry’s usually out playing, but her dad’s home today. He usually makes her do her homework first before she can play. She’s got a book report due tomorrow on Beezus and Ramona. I don’t see the harm in letting her get some fresh air first. They’re only little once, right?”
Her words were a stark reminder of everything I’d missed in the last ten years. A grimace threatened to claim my lips, but I quickly replaced it with something that resembled a carefree, agreeable smile.
Footsteps padded behind me, and my heart skipped a beat before galloping wildly in my chest. I slowly turned around, my nerves calming the moment I saw it was only Sam.
With hair the shade of white gold, skin like porcelain and eyelashes to match, Sam immediately wrapped me in a tight hug. “Dakota. My goodness. So great to see you. It’s been so long.”
I hugged him back, closing my eyes briefly and secretly imagining how it might feel to have him as a dad – as if I were Mabry. He hugged like one. Unapologetic. Tight. Breathing in a lungful of his aftershave mixed with the breezy scent of line-dried cotton, I released him.
“Wow, you haven’t aged a bit,” Sam said, his brown eyes washing over me. “You look really great. You know, we watch you on T.V. every Saturday.”
“No kidding?”
“Of course we do,” Rebecca chuckled. “We’re so proud of you. Sam brags about you all the time to the other doctors at the clinic. There’s even one doctor there who’s been begging for an introduction. He’s got a bit of a crush on you!”
My cheeks reddened as I humbly glanced away. “Funny.”
I’d forgotten how easy it was to be around Sam and Rebecca. Their relationship was natural and organic, and their demeanors warm and fuzzy. They were bubble gum and apple pie. Sunday school and Fourth of July parades. Bedtime stories and butterfly kisses. Grand Canyon vacations and Father’s Day barbeques.
And that’s why I picked them.
“Mama?” a lilted voice piped from across the room. “Who’s this?”
The three of us turned almost in unison, and all eyes were on the petite little thing with long satin brown hair and bright blue eyes that matched mine freckle for freckle.
“Hey, sweetheart,” Rebecca said, opening her arms wide as Mabry ran straight into them. Rebecca ruffled her hair before combing her long fingers through some little girl tangles and sweeping it out of her sweet face.
God, was she beautiful. Mabry was the most splendid thing I’d ever laid eyes on in my entire life. I’d seen her in pictures, watching her grow up from day one. I had hundreds, maybe thousands of pictures of her and countless letters all sent via email by Rebecca. I’d insisted early on that she didn’t have to do that so often, but she told me I’d appreciate it someday. She’d assured me there would come a day when I would feel better about my decision, and I’d be forever grateful to have known she was placed in good hands and grew up happy and loved.
I struggled to breathe in Mabry’s presence and fought tooth and nail against the overwhelming sensation that flooded every ounce of me. She turned her face upward, flashing a grin at Rebecca, and while it was sweet, it also packed with it a realizatio
n that she would never, ever look at me like that.
“Mabry, this is Dakota,” Rebecca said, flashing a knowing look at Sam.
Mabry walked up to me and gave me a hug sweet like strawberry candy. “You smell nice. And you’re really pretty.”
We all laughed, as if the compliments of a little girl could dissolve the tension in the room just like that.
“You wanna see my room?” Mabry asked, her eyes sparkling against the late afternoon sun.
“Yes, baby, go show her your room,” Rebecca said. “We just finished painting it last weekend.”
Mabry took my hand and pulled me toward the stairs, squeezing it tight as she led me up to her room. A white canopy bed centered the room, surrounded by walls the color of pale sunshine. Millions of stuffed animals and baby dolls rested against a vintage quilt on her bed, and a dollhouse taller than her leaned against a wall in the corner. Watercolor paintings of rainbows and smiling, three-person families hung on the walls with pieces of Scotch tape and a chalkboard with an inspirational quote dashed across it hanging above a small white desk.
My entire childhood, I’d dreamed of having a room like hers.
Mabry pulled me from thing to thing, going into great detail about all sorts of random objects that seemed to mean a great deal to her.
This was her life, and it made me both happy and sad. All I ever wanted was for her to be loved and safe and to thrive. My biggest regret in life was that I couldn’t be the one to give her those things.
“So that’s my room,” she said a short while later, swinging her hips from side to side as she pulled on a strand of her dark hair.
“I love it, Mabry,” I smiled, taking a seat on her bed. I’d never said her name out loud like that before. It made her feel real, as if she only ever existed in my heart up until that moment. “You’re a very lucky little girl.”
She shrugged a shoulder and pursed her lips, the same way I always did when my mind flitted from one thing to another. “How do you know my parents?”
I wasn’t prepared for that question. “Your mom is my cousin.”
It seemed like the most neutral, honest answer I could come up with on the spot. I had no idea what Sam and Rebecca told her or if she even knew. As far as I was concerned, they were her parents and it was their choice one hundred percent to tell her about her past.
“It’s my birthday next month!” she said, suddenly growing excited. “You should come to my party!”
She clasped her hands together and hopped excitedly as she lunged at me, pulling me up from my spot on her bed.
“We’re going to have cake and ice cream and games and a bunch of kids from my school will be there,” she said. “Do you like cake?”
“Do tigers live in the jungle?” I teased. “Absolutely. Cake is my favorite food in the whole world.”
“So you’ll come?”
“I would love to be there,” I said, scanning my mental calendar for May 17th. The date was forever ingrained in my memory. We were fast approaching the ten-year anniversary of my last summer with Beau and the ten-year anniversary of the day I placed a living, breathing piece of my heart into the arms of Rebecca and Sam Valentine.
I couldn’t break a promise to her.
My daughter.
“We should go back downstairs,” I said, reaching out to take her soft little hand. It felt good to finally hold it.
“What’d you think?” Rebecca asked as she peeled potatoes over a garbage can, an embroidered apron cinched around her waist. “Mabry picked out the color.”
“Oh! The yellow. Yes. It’s lovely,” I said, realizing Mabry hadn’t let go of my hand for a single second since we left her room. “It’s very cheery.”
“Mabry, did you finish your homework?” Sam asked.
She twisted her toe into the ground before a devilish smirk captured her face. “Not yet, Dad…”
One look from Sam was all it took to send her skipping down the hall to finish her homework, and cool air kissed my palm the second our hands released. I missed her already – if that was even possible.
“Would you like any help?” I offered, eyeing the potato peelings as they fell on top of the trash.
“No, no,” Rebecca said. “Thank you though.”
I leaned in, preparing to lower my voice. “Mabry asked how we knew each other.”
I expected her to set the potato peeler down. I expected drama and tension and stopped hearts. I expected the moment to build into something the three of us had wondered about our entire lives.
But it didn’t.
Rebecca continued peeling the potatoes as her face softened. “She knows she’s adopted.”
“We made a promise to you, Dakota,” Sam said from the kitchen table as he set his newspaper down. “She’s going to know you. We want her to know you. And you should know her too – when the time is right for everyone. Rebecca’s her mother, but so are you.”
My heart ached with heaviness, as if my love for her was swelling to the surface after all those years. Deep and unbending, it’d been there all along; I just chose to ignore its power because acknowledging it made the hurt that much worse.
I never wanted to give her up.
“Anyway, look at Sam and me,” Rebecca laughed. “We couldn’t pass as her biological parents no matter how hard we tried.”
Sam batted his gossamer-thin eyelashes and Rebecca tucked her honey hair behind her ear, displaying how Mabry’s dark hair and blue eyes were a stark contrast against their fair features.
“She really seems to like you,” Rebecca said. “I’ve never seen her warm up to someone like that before. It was like you two had an instant connection.”
“Really?” I asked, unable to stop smiling. I blinked away tears at the realization that I’d missed out on the first ten years of her life all because I was afraid of facing one of the darkest moments of my own. “She invited me to her birthday party.”
“Did she?” Sam laughed. “You should come. We’d love that.”
“I heard Beau’s back in town.” Rebecca ran a colander full of peeled, chopped potatoes under the faucet before dropping them into a pot of boiling water on the stove. Her words held more weight than she realized, though I knew exactly what she was hinting at.
“I know,” I said. “I’m in town interviewing him for work. He’s retiring from music.”
“Sam, you want to go fire up the grill?” Rebecca asked cheerfully, sending Sam outside with a plate of marinated chicken she pulled from the refrigerator. The second he left, she turned back to me, her face wearing solemnity in a way I hadn’t seen on her before. “Does he know?”
“Who?”
“Beau. Does he know about Mabry?”
I bit my lip, leaning up against the marble island and holding my head in my hands. “No.”
“You have to tell him.” Her hazel eyes pleaded with me, like a desperate mother afraid of her whole world crashing down.
“You have nothing to worry about. I promise,” I assured her. “I’m going to tell him when the time is right.”
“How do you know?” Rebecca whispered, bringing her fingers to her lips and tracing her lips. “What if he…?”
“He won’t. I know him. He’s not like that.” I lied. I didn’t know him anymore. I didn’t know what he’d say or do or think or feel once I dropped the bomb on him. All I knew was how he’d reacted years ago, and that was with cold, hard silence.
10.5 years ago
Sitting straight up in the most uncomfortable wooden chair in the world, I listened to my Communications professor drone on and on about American dialects in popular media culture. As my mind wandered on that breezy October day, it occurred to me that I hadn’t had a period since August. Immersed in homework and classes and social obligations, I’d completely spaced it off.
The next day I sat in the exam room of a local pregnancy center as a nurse asked me a few questions, had me pee in a cup, and then walked me to a dark room. I waited alone until a sonographer
rolled in a machine and started whispering casually with me about how maybe there was still time to do something about my “little problem”.
With numb fingers and stunted anxiety, I called Beau’s phone over and over beginning the second I left the clinic. He didn’t answer once. And later that night, I’d received a call from someone in his camp saying he couldn’t take my call. In a desperate state of not thinking clearly, I blurted out my message, “Tell him I’m pregnant!”
The man on the other end met my message with silence before exhaling. “Yeah, okay. I’ll tell him the big news.”
The man hung up, like an asshole, and I waited by my phone for Beau to call me back. Twenty-four hours passed, then forty-eight. Then a week. And then two. I tried calling him again a month later, but the line had been disconnected.
In a last ditch attempt to reach him, I called his parents’ house on the off chance he’d come home for Thanksgiving, but much to my dismay, his mother answered.
“How’s school going, Dakota?” Cybil asked, her voice as natural as a three-dollar bill.
“Fine,” I said, trying my hardest to hide the bitterness toward Beau that seemed to creep up in my tone when I wasn’t careful. “Do you know how I can reach Beau?”
Cybil paused. “He’s still on tour. I think he’s down in Oklahoma this week, making his way down into the deeper parts of Texas. We haven’t been able to reach him for weeks. Boy doesn’t answer his cell phone anymore.”
Her words mixed with the unknown, and my raging pregnancy hormones gave the sensation of someone clenching my head with a vice grip. “It’s really important. Is there any way I can reach him?”
“If I hear from him again, I’ll have him call you,” she said, though not in a way that convinced me in the slightest.
I waited for months for a call that never came.
The following February, I sat in the living room of Sam and Rebecca’s apartment in Lexington. Sam was attending med school at UK, and Rebecca had become my rock shortly after getting the news.
Never is a Promise Page 6
