would I have understood? “I’d like to think so,” I murmur before clicking on the second one.
It was sent Christmas Day.
Jennings,
I don’t know if you received my first two emails. I’m hoping you check your messages today due to the holiday; at least I hope so. Email isn’t how I want to break this news, so please contact me as soon as you can. There are things you need to know and information I need to have.
Thank you,
Kara
“How far along were you at that point, Kara?” My voice is jagged. I click on the next message dated March 28—a little over fifteen years ago. And it gives me the answer.
Jennings,
God, I hope I’m writing the correct email, because this is the only way I have to contact you. The number I’ve been calling has been disconnected.
I do however believe it’s your right to know about your child. He was born on March 25 at 9:03 AM after an eighteen hour labor.
I named him Kevin, after my paternal grandfather. I would have consulted with you, but I haven’t heard from you. His full name is Kevin Jennings Malone. He weighs 8 pounds, 2 ounces.
My contact information remains the same for now. If it changes, I will let you know.
Kara
This time, there’s a .jpg attachment. With shaking fingers, I use the mouse to double-click on the file. And then he’s there on Brad’s enormous monitor.
I can only suspect it was her brother who took the picture, but there he is, my son being held by his mother in the first few hours after his birth. Kara’s smiling weakly at the camera. “My baby,” I croak. “My son.”
“So there were pictures.” Nick stands in the entrance to the door. He’s holding two mugs, one which he hands to me, and I take it gratefully.
“Look at him,” I whisper as I turn back to the monitor. “He’s so tiny.”
“Does Kara tell you how big he was?”
I nod dumbly, still entranced by the photo.
“What do you want to do?” he asks me quietly.
“I want to find some way to turn back the clock.”
“Since that’s not possible, what’s your next option?”
I zoom in on the photo of Kara and Kevin. Even though there’s a joy on Kara’s beautiful face, I can still see the fear marring what should have been the most perfect moment of her life. “I hate that you were so afraid. I hate I wasn’t there for you both. I’m so sorry,” I say aloud.
“That’s where you start,” Nick shoves to his feet.
“What?” I’m too fascinated by the tiny bundle that became my son and the brave woman who carried him.
“By figuring out a way to say you’re sorry.” Nick’s simple wisdom is exactly what I needed to hear. Absorbing that once again, I decide to press my luck and ask something that’s been niggling at me.
“Hey, Nick? Can I ask you something?”
“Of course. My wisdom is always available for you.” His condescending smirk makes an appearance.
But it falls from his face when I ask, “Why did Jed leave you his cross?”
For a moment I wonder if he’s going to storm off without answering. Finally he responds, “You’re not asking me something I haven’t wondered a thousand times already. By rights, he should have left it to Maris. She found it with her grandfather when the three of them were on vacation together.”
I let out a low whistle. It’s my only response.
“Jed told me once his grandfather believed his luck changed after he wore it,” Nick says absently.
“Did he?”
“Yeah.” Nick lets out a rough sound. “I tried to convince Maris to take it back in the parking lot. That didn’t go over well.”
“No?” I can’t imagine it would have since everyone except Nick has recognized Maris has been in love with him for twenty years.
“I would have thought she would want this part of her family back.” He frowns, bewildered. “Anyway, I’ll leave you to it. Holler if you want any more of that.” He nods at my cup and leaves me to my email and my photos.
For the next several hours, I don’t leave the computer. I open each of the messages Kara sent to me.
Jennings, I know you wanted to fly. Well, I just gave Kevin his first airplane today. She attached a photo of a dark-haired toddler holding a stuffed airplane.
Jennings, There are too many of you in the US for me to track you down in any other way. And I can’t afford to hire a private detective. I’m