frown. “Is Dale there?” she asks. “I’m Sherry, his daughter’s mother.”
Whoever has picked up the phone talks for a long time while Mom’s face changes from riled-up to shocked. Who the hell has answered Dad’s phone? “I can’t believe it,” Mom says as she slumps back against the green cord of the sofa. “When?”
I wish she’d put this on speakerphone, so I’d know what the hell is going on. “Tomorrow,” she says softly.
Mom pulls the phone from her ear and stares at it for a while, as though she can’t believe what she heard is actually real. “Your dad…” Her eyes meet mine, and they’re swimming with unshed tears. “He died.”
“What?” A swell of aching hurt fills my chest, my throat a burning lump. My dad died.
“That was your Uncle Walter. He was trying to call me, but he had an old number.”
“When?”
“Three weeks ago. It was in his sleep. It was his heart.”
I know my dad’s father died from a heart attack in his sleep too. I feel like I should be crying. I want to cry too, but the tears won’t fall. There’s too much resentment and hurt in the way. Too much shock. Too much guilt too.
My dad has been dead for three weeks, and I didn’t know. I didn’t feel it in my bones. His family didn’t even know how to get in touch with me. “Did they bury him?”
Mom nods. “Two days ago. I’m sorry, honey. I’m so sorry.”
I shrug, desperately trying to hold myself together. “We haven’t talked for so many years.”
Mom stands and comes to kneel in front of me, putting her hand to rest on my knee. “That doesn’t mean that it won’t hurt, okay? That doesn’t mean that you can’t be upset. Relationships are complicated. I know you had your reasons, good reasons, for not wanting to keep a relationship with your dad, but that doesn’t mean you can’t mourn this.”
“I don’t want to be upset,” I say. “It doesn’t feel right. I should have known… I should have been there, but I wasn’t. I didn’t feel that he wasn’t here anymore. We didn’t have a connection.”
Mom squeezes my knee, trying to reassure me. If she was honest, she could say a whole lot. How pigheaded, I am, just like my dad. How I said things I shouldn’t have said, and then couldn’t forgive my dad for responding in a less-than-perfect way. Relationships are complicated, but fathers shouldn’t let words come between them and their kids. They should understand that sometimes children lash out in hurt and disappointment. They should forgive.
“You said something about tomorrow?”
Mom nods. “Uncle Walter is going to call you tomorrow. He has things he needs to speak to you about… your dad’s will. What happens next.”
“Will? He can’t have left me anything in a will. We haven’t been in touch for a decade.”
“As far as I know, you’re his only child. Who else is he going to leave his worldly possessions to? Your Uncle Walter doesn’t need it. He’s got that chain of motorcycle stores, at least he used to.”
“I think I need to get some fresh air,” I say. I know my mom means well but having her so close feels almost claustrophobic.
“Okay, honey. Maybe take a walk. Or go out into the yard. And if you want to talk, let me know.”
She climbs up off the floor, and I head for the front door, feeling her eyes on me as I leave. How quickly our fight about my condition disappeared when worse news was discovered. The air is warmer outside than I’d like it to be. There should be rain on sad days: rain and wind, the sun obstructed by clouds the color of misery.
I walk for an hour, not really taking in where I’m going but managing a loop of our neighborhood, which brings me back home, and in that hour, I tell myself that I can’t indulge in crying. I can’t indulge in regret. The child in my belly needs me to do better than that.
Everything else just has to be pushed down deep inside me and locked away tightly in a box.
3
I'm startled awake by a loud thud, followed by more bangs that reverberate around the house. I sit up quickly, straining to hear what is going on. It's then I hear Cathy's voice.
"You slut. Get out here, Maggie. Get your dirty slut ass out here and explain to me why you've been fucking my boyfriend."