Change of Heart - By S.E. Edwards Page 0,21
can have your day.”
***
Rich leaves me alone in a motel room on the outskirts of town. He makes me swear not to touch the phone in our room. I agree.
I sit on the bed. It sings out to me with the promise of a few minutes’ rest. I don’t know how long Rich will be gone. But I’m too anxious to sleep. I feel like a fugitive on the run in one of those old Western moves—except the people chasing me are the bad guys.
I lie back and wonder how different things would have been if I hadn’t let Rich buy me that drink. Or if Abby hadn’t spent our monthly rent on drugs and booze. Or if I’d turned away from Rich after telling him my name at the all-night diner, then wandered over to the library to sneak in a few hours of sleep—
No. I banish those thoughts. Regret never got me anything. The only way to move forward in life is to press on and persevere.
Persevere. That’s exactly what I’ve done my entire life. Persevere. Endure. Survive.
I hadn’t known either of my parents growing up. The only clues about their identity came from the director at the orphanage. He’d told me that one night, a woman in a tattered, ruined coat came by to drop off a bundle of clothes at the door. Except the bundle wasn’t empty—I was asleep inside. I was naked, wrapped up in old, dirty shirts, but around my neck hung the only possession I still have to this day: the small metal locket.
That was all I had ever known about my mother. Nobody caught her name, and my teenage attempts to track her down proved fruitless. I suspected she was a prostitute. It was common among kids with similar sob-stories in the orphanage. I don’t hate her for it, or resent her in any way. What I feel toward her now is… nothing. Absolutely nothing. She is a stranger, after she’d made the choice to leave me by myself when I was a babe. In fact, the only reason I’d ever tried tracking her was to see what she could tell me about my dad.
I didn’t know anything about him, either. But one day, when I was about fifteen, a letter arrived at the orphanage. It was addressed to me, and written in a flowery, feminine hand. “To my beloved daughter,” it began. I remember the flash of hope I felt when my eyes found the words.
The next line destroyed my entire world.
“I am legally obliged to inform you that your father is dead.”
That was it. No signature, no name, no offers of sympathy or compassion. Just the cold, cruel words: “Your father is dead.”
I’d crumpled up the sheet and thrown it across the room, my tears coming freely. I’d always held out hope that the man I knew from the locket would, one day, come and find me. I knew it as a false hope, young as I was, but I clung to it fiercely. It helped me through many miserable days and nights.
After the arrival of the letter, I didn’t even have that hope anymore.
I finger the small metal locket idly. I know it’s made of silver, because to this day, there isn’t a speck of rust on it. I’d almost thrown it away, that day I received the letter. I’d gone to a nearby bridge and dangled it from my fingertips over the rushing waters below. Then the wind blew, nearly snagging it from grip. I’d snatched it back on instinct. Only then did I understand the mistake I’d almost made. Many kids in the orphanage knew nothing at all about their parents. I, at least, had the locket.
Persevere, and survive. That’s how I’d gotten through nineteen years of life. That’s what I would have to do right now. Whatever news Rich came back with, I’d face it head-on, and continue to survive.
A yawn escapes my lips. I feel my eyes drifting shut. The mattress beneath me is full of lumps and broken springs. But it’s not the worst I’ve ever slept on. I roll to one side and move my hips to a more comfortable position. Then, I close my eyes completely and drift off into a troubled sleep.
***
A loud knocking sound startles me awake. My eyes go wide, and for a second I believe I’m back in Rich’s apartment, and those men are trying to break in. Then I hear Rich’s voice through the door. “Penny? Hey,