Sitting in my den at home doesn’t feel right. Mom is still at work, and she has no idea that I’m here. When she arrives outside, she’ll see my car, and I know what will happen. She’ll psych herself up with all the questions she has about what I’m going to do with the house and then explode if my answers aren’t what she wants. She’ll be tired from being on her feet all day, and just seeing me will remind her of the baby and add to all the pressure she feels already. It doesn’t matter how I approach this; it’s going to be bad.
But what choice do I have? I can’t stay at the house after the blow-up, and there is no way I can make the boys sell. There is one of me and eleven of them, and as much as I need the money, I can’t put them out of their home. It isn’t what Dad would have wanted, and it isn’t what they deserve. They might not have been honest with me, but they’re not bad people, and I can’t blame them for wanting to keep the only place they’ve ever truly felt safe.
I have no idea what to do.
I worry at the skin on the side of my finger, picking it hard enough to make it bleed. The pain feels good, in a horrible grounding way that makes tears spring to my eyes.
Inside me, the baby grows, and with every day that passes, I feel a greater connection, as though our cells are mingling, our souls connecting. I put my sore hand over my belly, feeling as though I would do absolutely anything to keep my child safe.
Anything.
Maybe I could ask the boys to buy me out, but would they have that kind of money. They’re at school, for heaven’s sake, and Dad didn’t leave a substantial amount in cash, just enough to keep the house running for a year, and most of that has gone on utilities and insurances.
They’ll have the money next year when they’ve graduated and moved into employment. Some of them will surely go pro and could probably buy the house a few times over with their first paychecks. But next year is too late.
I hear the familiar rattle of Mom’s car pulling up outside.
I hear the familiar sounds of her footsteps as she makes her way down the path to our front door.
I hear the slow grind of her key in the lock that tells me she’s tired. Tiredness means less patience.
My heart makes a rolling thud in my chest and then speeds with nerves.
She tosses her keys onto the small table by the door and toes off her shoes. “Maggie?”
“In here,” I say, pulling my lip between my teeth and saying a silent prayer that this isn’t going to go as I’m expecting.
Mom appears in the doorway, dressed in her uniform, hair straggly and in need of a color and cut. “You’re back.”
“I am.”
“Did you list the house?”
It’s the third sentence she utters with absolutely no pretense at being happy to see me.
“I can’t. Dad’s foster sons live there, and they don’t want to leave.”
“So they have to buy you out. Did you tell them about the baby? Do they know what you’ve got on your plate?”
“I did, but that doesn’t matter. That’s their home, and they’re at school. They can’t afford to buy me out, and I wouldn’t ask.”
“You wouldn’t ask?” Mom puts her hands on her hips. “What do you mean, you wouldn’t ask? You’re going to have a mouth to feed soon. You’ve got to be prepared to do whatever it takes to deal with that, okay?”
I bring my hands up, palms facing toward my mom, hoping it will make her calm down a little. “If Dad wanted us to sell the place, he would have left instructions to do that.”
“Your dad never had any sense.” Mom scowls. “He always left me to pick up the pieces. And now you’re letting those boys run you out of your house. You’re his only real child. His only daughter. They’re nothing to him, so why the hell did he leave you all an equal share? Maybe you should contest the will. People take blood relations seriously. Maybe the judge would throw out their claim to the house.”
I shake my head, my heart aching at the thought of making those good men homeless. I could never do something like that, even if it did mean I’d be able to put a roof over my baby’s head. “Dad didn’t die of dementia, Mom. He was of sound mind when he put his will together.”
“That is debatable. I just don’t want to see you get the rough end of the stick. You need this more than they do. They’re not worried about you, are they?”
“They are… I mean, they were.” I swallow, the memory of their disappointed faces cutting into my heart. I can’t explain any of what happened to my mom, and I feel terrible that she’s assuming the worst about them.
Mom shakes her head as if to say I’m an idiot who knows nothing about the world. Maybe she’s right. Nineteen is hardly a grand old age, and here I am having to navigate birth, death, inheritance, and relationships. No wonder everything seems to be falling apart around me.
“Were? You were there for a few days. They changed their minds just like that. Like father like sons.” Mom sighs, running her hands over her face. “I just… I don’t even know where to go with this.”
“I… I don’t know either, Mom.”
“Your dad… I just wish he would have told you what his plans were for the house. If he left instructions, none of this would be happening.”
I haven’t told Mom he left me a letter with the will. Uncle Walter gave it to me at the diner, but I still haven’t felt like I can open it, but maybe Mom’s right. Maybe I should now. If nothing else, maybe it will help me to put to bed some of my anxieties about how things were left between us. I’ve been a coward to hold the letter sealed in my purse for so long.
“I’m really tired,” I say, “and you look tired. I’m going to go to bed. I’ll talk to you more about this tomorrow.”
Mom sighs, the weariness she’s feeling oozing from every pore. I feel so sorry that I’m adding to her challenges. “You really need to take this seriously, Maggie. You can’t be sentimental when it comes to putting food on the table for your kid. You’ve got to do whatever it takes.”
At that moment, I see my mom more clearly than I’ve ever seen her before. She’s a hard worker, a person who has struggled to do what she thought was best. It always hurt me that she chose to work rather than spend time with me, but for her, it wasn’t a choice she made maliciously. It’s just life and the choices that sometimes must be made in a single-parent household.
“I will, Mom. I promise. I learned from the best.”
Her eyes widen as though I’ve shocked her to the core, but she doesn’t say anything, just turns to leave the room to shower away the grind of the day.
In my room, I search my purse for the letter. The envelope has gotten a little crumpled around the edges, and there are some marks from where it’s rubbed against other things in the bag. I rest it on my lap, using my hands to smooth it. I run my finger over my name that Dad printed in block capitals. It seems formal and unfamiliar. When I turn it over, it’s sealed fast. Maybe he licked it to gum it closed. He touched this paper.
As I try to open it carefully, my mouth goes dry. Licking over my lips I take a deep breath, turning over the letter and finding his cursive on the other side. I feel like I’ve been punched in the stomach when I read, To my darling daughter Maggie.
Darling daughter. He never called me that in real life, but I wish he had. I wish that I could hear his voice say the words even once.
I’m so sorry that you’re reading my words in this letter because it means that I’m not here anymore. It means that I never got to mend the mistakes I made with you or make right what I made wrong. I’m so sorry that I missed you growing up and that I wasn’t brave enough to face you after so many years of not feeling good enough to be your dad.
I would never ask for your forgiveness because I know that I don’t deserve it. I was stupid in a way that is hard to explain.
I lower the letter and close my eyes, hating the ache in my chest. All the regret that I’ve felt since Dad died swells inside me. And anger too.
He was too cowardly to deal with this while he was alive, and now I’m here, suffering alone. My fingers press into the paper so hard it crumples at the edges. Do I keep going, knowing it’s only going to hurt me more?
I have to. I have to put this to bed once and for all.
But I want you to know that I love you. You’re the best thing I ever did in my life. My only flesh and blood child that will carry my legacy.
By now, you will have met the boys I fostered to try and be a better person. Maybe you’ll have met them and found out just how amazing they all are. I can only take a little credit for helping them through their troubles. The rest is all them. They’ve promised me that they will take care of you if I’m not there to do it. I didn’t force them to make the vow. They made it of their own free will, and I know that they will honor it.
Trust them. They’re the best men you’ll meet, and I know they’ll be a force for good in your life. I hope they’ll do better than I did in supporting you. I hope you’ll let them.
Life is short, Maggie. We make mistakes, and we have to live with them. If I can give you one piece of advice, it will be to have the courage to face up to the good and bad in yourself. Only then will you find true peace. I wish that I had had the courage to do that.
I love you, Maggie. I always have, and I always will. I leave you a share of my home, hoping that you will always have a roof over your head and somewhere warm to sleep at night. It makes me happy to imagine all the people I love the most in the home I made and left behind.
Dad.
I drop the letter onto the comforter and stand, pressing my hands over my face. I don’t want to cry, but I do. He wanted me to love his foster sons and to live in his house. He wanted me to trust them to step in if he wasn’t there to take care of me.
And what have I done? Wrecked everything. Lost the trust of eleven men who offered me everything when really, I deserve nothing.
I’m not the kind of girl they should want. I’m not the kind of girl they need.
I’m tired, but it takes me ages to fall asleep. Memories of the comfort I felt in the arms of my foster brothers plague me. The passion in their eyes haunts me. The love in their touch makes me curl up into a ball and cry.
Everything I’ve done has been a mistake, but before I face up to anything, I must visit Dad’s grave. It’s the only way that I’m going to have a chance of finding the path to take.
