What She Wanted (8 page)

“Ugh.” I swiped a stiff tissue from the box of generics at his bedside. “What am I supposed to say to you? You’d probably race into the light just to get away from my voice.” I laughed at my morbid joke and grabbed another tissue.

I hated problems I couldn’t fix. I hated not being eighteen. I hated that Mark hadn’t signed the paperwork so I could go to school. I hated being helpless to do it myself. Now, he needed someone, and I was useless to him, too. The nurse said talk to him, but I couldn’t. I never had. I didn’t know how.

I dropped my face into waiting palms and stifled a frustrated sob. My elbow slid against the journal tucked into my bag. I still had no idea what Mark and Joshua had been arguing about when he had his heart attack. Joshua knew, but I wasn’t speaking to him. Mark knew, but I couldn’t ask him until he woke, and I couldn’t wake him.

I opened the flap and set the bag at my feet. Mom’s glitter-covered journal was on top. The tiny heart-shaped lock dangled at its side. I pinched the trinket between my fingers and an idea percolated.

“Would you wake up for her?” I asked the unconscious man before me.

Of course he would. He’d do anything for her, including grieve for seventeen years.

I squeezed the book in my hands. Opening it would betray Mom’s trust and invade her privacy. Would it matter, or were trust and privacy earthly constructs, wholly irrelevant to her now?

He was her dad. He was happy in every photo I’d found of them. I didn’t know that guy. She’d never known this guy. I lifted my gaze to Mark. I didn’t know much about her, but I was confident Mom would want me to help Mark.

Resolve slowly changed my arguments from reasons to leave the journal alone to reasons she’d want it opened.

I carried the journal to the nurses’ station. “Excuse me.”

The nurse beamed. “Yes? Everything okay?”

I sipped oxygen through gritted teeth.

This was it. Fate would decide for me. If the nurse could help, I was meant to read the journal. If not, I’d put it away when I got home and stop carrying it around, looking for reasons to peek inside. I cleared my throat. “Do you have any scissors?”

She furrowed her brows. “I don’t know.”

I held my breath.

She opened and closed shallow drawers, rifling through pens and notepads. She lifted stacks of charts and ran her hand into kits with triage supplies. “I thought for sure…”

Hope dwindled in my heart. What had I expected? Did I think the nurse sat out here scrapbooking? Did I think she had a magic caddy of office supplies? A Mary Poppins bag with one of everything inside?

“Here you go.” She pushed a pair of tiny silver scissors across the desk between us. “Will these work?”

Panic wedged in my throat. “Mm-hmm.”

I accepted the offering stiffly and went back to my chair at Mark’s bedside.

The journal was heavier as I positioned it on my lap.

I opened the little scissors and slid narrow blades around the flap that had guarded Mom’s words for nearly two decades. Was I really doing this?

I closed my eyes and squeezed the handles together. The material split under the pressure. I sucked air and squeezed again. And again. Until the lock swung away.

A shuddered breath rocked through pounds of painful emotions in my chest.

I shook my hands out hard at the wrists and fortified my nerves. Inside, a line of delicate, pink metallic script startled me into a sob.

I pressed shaky fingers to my lips and read the precious words again.

To Katy, with love.

I jerked my attention to Mark, then into the hall. No one else saw it. Was it real?

I followed Mom’s loopy script with my pointer finger. To
me
. With love.

I turned the page and marveled at the sight of my name once more.

Dear Katy,

If you’re reading this, you’ve either grown up and I’m sharing this with you, or you’ve grown up and I haven’t. If the second one is true, you’ll know what that means. I’m pretty sure that’s the way this is going to go, but I have hope. Never give up on hope.

I asked your dad to hang on to this journal for you in case I can’t, but your grandpa will have everything else. He’s such a packrat. I think he even kept my retainer. Sometimes he might seem distant, but he’s not. He’s thinking. Overthinking, probably. Just give him lots of hugs and tell him you love him when he gets like that. Hugs usually fix everything.

Tears streamed stupidly over my hot face, dotting Mom’s handwriting and making it impossible to see. I yanked a handful of tissues from the box and mopped the page then turned them on my face. Hug Mark? A giggle-snort burst free. I grabbed another round of tissues for my nose.
Yes, Mom. A hug would totally fix everything.
Another laugh wiggled loose.

She was perky and delusional.

Guilt squashed the moment of humor. That was mean. Why would I joke about her like that? I pushed the jolt of shame down deep and turned my eyes back to the book in my lap.

I’m running with the notion I don’t get to raise you. I know I said to hope, but it’s important to plan, too. Your grandma went through something like I’m going through, and it was ugly. I hope you won’t see me that way. I don’t want those memories for you. I want all good things for you. You’re my heart. I didn’t know I wanted you until I found out you existed and now all I think about is what you’ll look like and who you’ll be. I bet you’ll change the world. I know you will. You should make the most of every second you have because the seconds are numbered. Even if we don’t know the exact number. It’s there.

She’d drawn a line of hearts and squiggly lines between paragraphs. Without proper dates, I couldn’t tell if the day had changed or just the subject. I checked again for peeping nurses or movement from Mark. Nothing.

Okay, so this journal will probably be all pregnancy hormones and nonsense, but I want to keep a log to share with you. I want to share everything with you. If I’m strong enough, I’ll meet you in a few months, and my life will be complete. It’s all I want. I just want to meet you and know you’re okay.

Just in case I get too sick to tell you later, I’m going to start this journal with a list of the most important things. It’ll be sloppy because Mom’s going to call me to dinner soon. (If I so much as smell fish again tonight, I will barf)…

My name is Amy Reese. I’m seventeen years old. I’m six months pregnant with the most perfect daughter in the entire history of the world and this is what I want for you:

1. Love your grandparents. Hug them often and tell them you love them. Remind them how much I do, too. Especially if I can’t.

2. Chase your dreams. Whatever they are, grab on with both hands and don’t let go.

3. Laugh. Enjoy your life, even the troubles. Not everyone is lucky enough to have them.

4. Give. Do random acts of kindness. You never know how far those can reach. And, forgive whenever you can. Forgiveness is a gift that blesses both people.

5. Make friends. Smile at people. Smiles are contagious. Try it. You’ll see.

6. Fall in love.

7. Let the world know you. Don’t be afraid of who you are, and don’t apologize for it. You are beautiful and perfect. Embrace it.

8. Go fishing with your grandpa. He loves the lake. I bet you’ll be a great fisherwoman. I hope I get to go with you.

9. Know I loved you.

10. Live.

If you do these things, I’ll know I was a good mom, and I’ll know you’re going to be okay.

I leaned over the journal and rested my forehead against Mark’s bed until the tears stopped coming. My eyelids were swollen when I finally righted myself and looked at him for any sign of the man Mom had described. I didn’t see it, but that didn’t matter. He’d wake up for her.

I turned back to page one, lifted my gravelly voice and read.

While I’d devoured page after page of Mom’s journal, the hot summer sun had climbed into the sky and burned off the early morning haze. I’d read to Mark until two little words had changed my day: Katy Lowe.

My feet beat a steady rhythm over patches of uneven sidewalk. The temperature was up by fifteen degrees and climbing as I ran the nearly two miles home. A lifetime of walking everywhere had made the trip short and swift. Despite the run’s ease, my heart grew more frantic the closer I got to home.

The words circled continuously through my mind: Katy Lowe. Halfway through her journal, Mom had doodled his name into hearts and over the curve of tiny rainbows. She’d paired our first names with his last and added “4-Ever” again and again.

She had no idea forever lasted barely a year for me.

The awful truth had slapped me over the head as I read to Mark in the little hospital room. Mom didn’t know Joshua had become a drunk or that he’d skipped out after she died. She’d assumed he’d be here for me in her absence. She had no idea her mom had died or that I’d been left alone with a man who didn’t want me.

I heaved a painful sob. What would she think of the mess our lives had become?

I couldn’t hug Grandma and tell her Mom loved her. She’d died of a broken heart, according to Mark. When her cancer came back, he said she didn’t fight. He said, “Without her daughter, it just wasn’t worth the fight.” I heard,
“You aren’t worth the fight.”

I slid my house key into the lock and stepped into the silent foyer. My keys slipped from my fingers into the dish by the door.

I went straight for the box of Mom’s things. Why had she loved such an asshole?

I found him easily in the yearbooks. He was photographed, alphabetically, with his class, in group shots of the baseball and football teams, and ROTC. Where had he gone wrong? Was he drinking back then?

Where had he been for seventeen years? Why was he back now? What was wrong with me that I didn’t want to care?

I took the stairs to my room two at a time.

A wave of heat hit my face as I pushed my bedroom door open. I choked on the stale air.

My phone lit with a text from Heidi.
“Are you up? I need more details about Dean and his ‘pizza.’”

I swiped my laptop to life before responding.
“Stop putting ‘pizza’ in quotes. Weirdo.”

“Tell me more.”

I ignored her request and made one of my own.
“Come and help me cyber stalk Joshua.”

Her response came in the form of about thirty exclamation points.

I carried my laptop downstairs where it was cooler.

I’d already told Heidi everything about Dean’s visit. We’d texted on the topic for an hour after he left. He was nice and not what I’d expected, which said a lot. Thanks to a lifetime of cynicism and general distrust, most people didn’t surprise me, but Dean had. He seemed like a sincere, kindhearted person. The package he came in was frosted with beefcake icing, but I wasn’t one to complain.

I put on a pot of coffee and went to wait out front.

The porch swing creaked on rusty, oversized springs. I waited for the jostle to settle and balanced the laptop on my thighs.

Heidi’s Mini Cooper slid against the curb ten minutes later. She bounded up the front stairs and onto the swing beside me. “What kind of dish are we looking for?” A floral silk headscarf anchored her crazy red hair into place. A strappy peach tank top and jean skirt accentuated her perfect Tinkerbell figure.

“I’m done.” I gave a summary of the half dozen windows open on my laptop. “Joshua Lowe is thirty-five. He spent twelve years in the Army after high school and has lived in three towns in the last five years. He was living in Caldwell until he moved here. He hasn’t stayed at a job longer than two years since he got out of the service, and he has a bunch of speeding tickets. He has a Facebook page he never updates and a Tinder account I don’t want to talk about.”

Heidi faux gagged beside me. She pressed tangerine fingernails against her lips. “He lived in Caldwell?” She dropped both hands into her lap. “You were just there. You took that picture of a girl and her mom.”

“Yep.”

“So, he lived half an hour away and just now came to see you?”

“Yep.” My stomach twisted. “I hate him.”

“Me too.”

I clicked the laptop’s lid shut and stretched to my feet. I waved Heidi to follow me inside, and I headed to the kitchen for coffee. She poured herself a cup and leaned against the counter. “Dean and I have both told him to kick stones. Do you think he’ll stay away this time?”

“I don’t know.”

“What are you going to do if he corners you alone?”

“I don’t know.”

“You need a plan.”

I pressed the hot mug to my lips. “I think I should take a beat and process this, maybe get some sleep.” There was no way I’d sleep.

“Sleep is nice.” She blew ripples over the smooth surface of her drink. “I slept all afternoon yesterday. It was marvelous.”

“Must be.”

“It was. I just said so.”

I dropped my head forward, feeling the weight of the week on the back of my neck. “I’m so jealous. I need a nap more than oxygen right now.”

Heidi unloaded my travel mug from the dish rack and poured my cup of coffee inside. “You can nap as soon as we get back.”

I snapped upright. “Where are we going?

“To cheer you up. I saw something fun on my way through town.”

I followed her out the front door. “Can I have a hint?”

“No.”

Curiosity plucked at my weary mind. “Okay, but this had better be good.”

“Oh, it’s very good.”

* * * *

The excitement of our trip wore off in a hurry. We were waylaid by a gaggle of geese on the corner. Heidi honked and revved her engine. They ignored her.

“Maybe I can nap in the car.”

“Nope.” She clucked her tongue. “Be patient.” The geese moved and we reached our destination two minutes later. “Behold the glory of our town square.” She dragged her cat-eye glasses to the end of her pointed nose. “Hello, lovers.”

I followed her gaze to Dean and a crew of muscle men shoveling mulch around trees outside the courthouse.

She made a right and cruised past him from the opposite side of the square. “Good grief. You were alone with
that
until midnight. I’m not sure if I hate you or worship you now.”