All This Time Read online

“Ugh.” She rolls her eyes, but smiles nonetheless. “He’s loud and never stops talking. Just like his dad.”

  My chest tweaks ever so softly.

  “Your house is unbelievable, Della. It’s gorgeous.”

  “Thank you.”

  Awkward silence interrupts the small talk.

  “I didn’t expect you to still be living in town. Thought it was long shot when I stopped by the garage.”

  “Where are you living now?”

  “Tampa.”

  “Wow. You’ve only been a couple of hours away this whole time…”

  Despite her words of surprise, I don’t hear that emotion filling them. If anything, there’s a lack of emotion entirely.

  “Why now?” she asks.

  “Brielle asked to meet her grandfather.”

  Della watches me carefully over the rim. “You go by there yet?”

  “No. Once we leave here we will.”

  Her coffee cup sits in front of her. She stares into the dark liquid, running a finger from her left hand along the rim. You’d have to be blind not to notice the sparkling diamond resting against her ring finger.

  I zone out. Falling into the many facets, seeing all the images of what might have been.

  “The wedding is in May.” My eyes snap back to her face. Della’s gaze goes from me to her ring, lifting the finger and admiring it like it’s brand new. “Ethan was a surprise. He’s four.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “Thanks. We’ve put it off a long time. Not because we had doubt. He’s the love of my life.”

  I swallow the cotton built up on my tongue, washing it down with coffee.

  Clearing my throat, I ask. “I told Brielle about Luke recently. If there’s a way, I’d appreciate it if she could meet him before we leave tomorrow.”

  It kills me, because I feel like I’m asking for permission to see Luke, but I remind myself this is for Brielle. He’s her uncle. Even if Della would rather I not be around her fiancé, I won’t let her ruin it for my daughter.

  The kids chose that moment to come running down from upstairs. Their hands were filled with toys. We turned in our seats to watch them plop down on the floor in the living room and pick up where they left off. Ethan makes explosion noises, and Brielle giggles.

  “I’ve never seen her take to another kid like that,” I ponder aloud.

  “She doesn’t have friends where you live?”

  “Not really. She went to sleepover once. I had to go pick her up in the middle of the night. The kids in her class aren’t being very nice from what she’s told me.”

  “Mm. Well, those are our kids. And we were great friends once. Makes sense they get along, too.”

  I turn to look at Della. We share a peaceful smile. Not full absolution, but it’s a start. A small amount of weight I’ve carried from the past lifts from my shoulders.

  “If y’all don’t have dinner plans, you should come back here tonight.”

  “We don’t.”

  “Luke will be here. Brielle can meet her uncle.”

  Okay, that was easier than I expected.

  “She’d love that.”

  It’s inconceivable to be sitting here with the one person I used to be my most comfortable with and having a hard time finding the correct words to say.

  “If you wondered at all, Brady’s not here. You won’t run into him anywhere in town,” Della tells me. I watch her look over at the kids. “We put it together that he walked out on Brielle. A lot went down, but we knew you wouldn’t intentionally keep your child from their father. She’s better off anyway. He’s a total loser these days.”

  “We walked through town earlier, and I couldn’t stop worrying that we’d run into him.”

  “Has she ever met him? Other than when she was a newborn, I mean.”

  I grimace. “Brady took off when I was still carrying Brielle.”

  “What?” Her mouth parts with shock.

  “I don’t know what he told you guys, but Brady’s never seen Brielle. He helped me get into an apartment and bought a few baby items, and then just quit coming around. I called him at the garage a few times until he started screening my calls. One of the mechanics answered the last time I called. I told him to give Brady the message that his daughter was born. We never heard from him.”

  “That asshole!” She whisper shouts so the kids don’t hear. “We knew he was lying about everything he told people around town, but he left you alone?”

  “What was he saying?” I grew more angry by the second.

  “He told everyone you left the hospital with the baby when he wasn’t there.”

  “That is not true. He never came back. And Brady knew where we were the entire time.”

  She shakes her head. “I can’t believe this. It’s a good thing he’s not here. Luke is going to be furious.”

  “No wonder everyone was looking at me curiously earlier.”

  “Yeah, they think you stole Brady Bennett’s kid when the reality is he ran away from his responsibility. You must hate him.”

  “I’ve been furious for six years for Brielle’s sake. She deserved better in the beginning, but we made it work. I’ve been a single mom because he felt he had a choice in parenthood. I didn’t completely hate him, but now I do.”

  My anger stewed, boiled, and spit out piping hot fury. How could he make up those lies? Telling people I grew up with that I was essentially a kidnapper. I’m really surprised no one called the cops as soon as they recognized me.

  “Mom.” Ethan yells across the room. “Can Bri and her mommy come with us to have lunch with Dad?”

  “I think they have plans already.” Della looks over at me, concern heavy in her eyes. I’m pissed at Brady, and I’m trying to cool it down before I snap. “But they’re coming back tonight for dinner.”

  “Awesome. My dad is the best cook ever,” Ethan exclaims, turning back to Brielle.

  “We should get going, Bri.” I call out to her.

  It seems they have lunch plans with Luke, and I need to cool down. Back in town for all of five minutes and I’m falling apart. This place is cursed.

  “Are you okay?” Della asks me.

  “Yes and no,” I tell her honestly. “Where is Brady, if you don’t mind me asking?”

  “He works on an oil rig in the Gulf. Gone for months at time.”

  As much as I would love to kick his ass, it’s better that he’s not here.

  “Thanks for the coffee.” I stand from the stool. Locking eyes with Della, I put aside my anger for Brielle’s piece of garbage father. “And for welcoming us in your home. I really expected you to shut the door in my face.”

  “It was a long time ago, Liv. Let’s just move forward from here. I want to make amends. Fix all the wrongs I’ve done in the past.”

  I shake my head at her strange choice of words. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Della. I failed to communicate as your best friend. I made the mistakes. I hope you can forgive me.”

  She smiles, holding her arms out.

  I hug her, and we both start laughing.

  “Let’s not be awkward anymore,” she says. “We just need to pick up where we left off. We can do that right?”

  “I don’t see why not.”

  This is good. She’s accepting me back. Brielle has made a friend. I’m hoping my dad will be as welcoming as Della was. At least, this visit has settled my worry about going to his house next.

  Brady is gone, which is good, because I’m likely to go ballistic on him.

  It’s all working out very nicely.

  Brielle will meet Luke tonight. Her uncle. Della’s fiancé. Ethan’s dad. And my…

  My hand reflexively presses into the ache underneath my chest.

  He’s my nothing.

  Chapter Three

  Whenever I thought of my dad, my implacable animosity would only focus on the misfortune of my childhood. Alcoholism. I could miss him, but then I’d remember all of his neglect. I would worry for his health w
ithout me being there to check on him and make sure he had sustenance, and then I remembered being the one at fifteen years old, working to put food in the fridge. No matter the level of concern I felt, I was always brought back to the bad times. With my mind wrapped around fourteen years of problems, I gave up on finding the light at the end of the tunnel.

  Turns out changing course and finding my own light didn’t shut down that old track.

  As I parked my car in the unchanging dirt driveway of my dad’s house, I recognized that dark and dreary feeling. It’s called tunnel vision for a reason. But with all concentration centered on what awaits us, I never realized it wasn’t about my light anymore.

  My dad found his. It was going to take me some time to catch up.

  At the front door, with Brielle’s hand in mine, I pulled back the screeching screen door, and knocked. I could hardly remember the solid, green painted door ever being shut during the day. He never turned on the air conditioning unit. A high electricity bill cut into his liquor fund.

  Scanning the yard while we waited, I gave a brief pass at the parked rig to the left of the house. He had the same sandy dirt driveway, same rotting porch, and no landscape to even maintain. Not even close to presentable, but it was home. The place I grew up. A place I wanted nothing to do with by the time I hit my teens, but nevertheless drawn to from uncharted comfort.

  The sounds coming from the blaring TV inside the house had me imaging him sitting in his favorite worn recliner with a bottle in hand.

  Closing my eyes tightly, I regretted for a moment that I was about to introduce my daughter to his nasty habit. But I was here for Brielle. To give her the chance at knowing who her family is and where we come from.

  That didn’t mean I would not pull her back through this same, old squeaky door the moment he let her down and disappointed her aspirations the way he had with mine.

  My daughter has what I never had. A loving and caring parent who would always protect her.

  She wasn’t entitled in any way. We’ve lived comfortably these past two years. It was the greed in this world that I tried shielding her from. Exposing her to potential let down by my dad made this difficult to be standing here. But in ways I couldn’t claim as guidance for her, Brielle retained more logic and had more heart than most adults.

  He opened the door sooner than I was prepared for. Not that I would have ever been ready.

  Dad looked the same as I remembered, if not a smidgen slimmer. The plaid button-up shirt drooped around his belly where it tucked into his blue jeans. He showed minimal aging in his face since the last time I saw him. Though he’s always looked older than his actual age due to his rough choices.

  His clear, blue gaze trails from mine to Brielle’s. Three generations of the same cerulean, sky blue eyes drifting between all of us.

  My hand protectively wraps around Brielle’s shoulder. He gives nothing away. I want to speak, but not sure how to start. I’m two for two on the awkward doorstep reunions today.

  He breaks the ice.

  “Well, c’mon in.” Stepping aside, he invites us in with a sweep of his hand.

  As with the outside of the house, I find nothing has changed inside either.

  The first place I set my eyes on is the small table beside his chair. No booze.

  I stand with an uneasy bearing in the center of the living room. Of their own accord, my fingers run through the ends of Brielle’s hair in a calming manner. It’s more to ground myself than her.

  Walt faces us, rubbing the back of his neck. “I never thought I’d see you back here again.” He looks down at my daughter, nodding at her and asks, “This my granddaughter, huh?”

  “Brielle,” I offer him her name.

  “Spittin’ image of you.”

  His longing gaze projects memories I’m dubious to. She’s the same age as I had been when it all went to shit. He chose to drown his sorrows in alcohol. I assumed the result meant he forgot about his cherished little girl.

  Snuffing out the resentment I feel surfacing, I ask, “How have you been, Dad?”

  “Good,” he nods. “Uh, that’s relative actually…”

  He trails off, not finishing his statement.

  My gaze wonders around the small space, trying to find where his drink must be laying open and unattended.

  “You won’t find any,” he declares. I turn back to see him watching me closely, figuring out what exactly I’m searching for.

  “Going out on a run then?”

  It’s automatic, I meant no judgment, but he takes my assumption as one.

  “Yeah,” he says, tucking his hands in his front pockets. “Gotta run.”

  We fall silent. Him watching me like I’m going to argue, but this is not the old days. I’m not his babysitter anymore.

  “We won’t keep you long,” I start. “Brielle wanted to meet you. And I wanted to show her around town.”

  “It’s a lot different than the city I imagine.”

  “How do you know we’re living in the city?”

  He scratches his head. “Have you been by Della’s or Luke’s?”

  “Yes. Della was there, but Luke wasn’t. We’re going back tonight for dinner.”

  Walt’s lips twitch, leaving some truth a mystery. “Ah. Well, I just figured that’s where you went to move up in the world. So, Brielle, what do you think so far?”

  “I like all the little shops in town. And Ethan is a lot of fun.”

  “He’s a feisty one for sure.”

  Her little head tilts to the right, staring at him. “I like your drawl.”

  It’s impossible for either of us to not smile at her response.

  “That so? Lemme guess, you’re only around the hoity-toity folks and never met someone that talks like me.”

  “What’s hoity-toity mean?”

  “You can google it later.” I pat her shoulder.

  “Are you in school already, Brielle?”

  “Yes. We’re making a family tree. That’s why we really came. I needed pictures of my family.”

  “I see,” he nods, walking over to his chair to have a seat. “Have at it, then. Take any pictures you want. Some are on the walls, and I’m sure your Momma has some left in her old room.”

  I can tell her response hurt him. I can’t fathom why, he all but disowned me. But hearing her say we were only here for objective reasons and not personal ones caused a glimmer of sorrow in his eyes.

  “Cool. I want to see your old room,” she tells me with excitement.

  “It’s been a long time, Bri. I’m sure there’s nothing left in there.”

  “I haven’t touched it. All the belongings you left behind are still in there.”

  I nod, then guide her down the hall to the back of the small house. My old bedroom door coated in stickers comes into view. The pine door exhibits my obsessions from the ages nine to seventeen. Colorful ponies to adolescent attitude.

  “I want stickers on my door,” Brielle says, eyes sparkling with interest.

  Bold, red letters reading “Go away” takes me back to some angry times.

  “We live in an apartment. Can’t put stickers on those doors.”

  “Oh.”

  I twist the knob and open the door. I expected dust to waft through the air upon entry, or at least get a whiff of a musty smell. It all looks the same as I left it that night six years ago. Yet, it smells like the rest of the house. Clean and familiar.

  My twin size bed sits in the corner against the wall by the window. The bedspread pressed and folded nicely over the same sheets and same flat pillow. Unlike the door, my walls are bare. I never decorated the room with frilly things, or even posters of the boy bands I loved. I hated being here, and there was nothing I could hang up that would ever give me the right amount of comfort to want to be in this house for long stretches of time.

  Other than my bed, I had a nightstand that is actually a short stool, and one dresser with a mirror. Nothing matched. Grandma, my dad’s mom, bought me the mattre
ss when I turned seven. She passed away not long after that. I often wonder what could have been had she lived longer to help take care of me when Dad gave up. The dresser used to be Della’s. Her parents gave me that.

  Brielle stood at the dresser peering at the few photos I left wedged between the mirror and its frame.

  “That’s Della and you.”

  “It is,” I reply, stepping over there to stand beside her.

  “Who are those two guys with you in that one?” She points to another photo.

  I peel it off the glass for her to see it better.

  “That is Brady.” My finger points him out, then slides to the other guy. “And that’s Luke.”

  The picture was taken in the early days of dating Brady. Della and I wanted to show off any way we could that we snagged the Bennett brothers.

  “That’s my dad,” she says in a tiny voice.

  It may seem harsh, but I’m glad she has no memories with her father. If Brady walking out of Brielle’s life was inevitable, then I’m thankful he did it before she could have grown an attachment. I’ve lived with the feelings of rejection from a parent stepping out on their kid. And though she’s had her moments when having no father has caused pain, I believe never knowing him has made it a slight bit easier.

  “And Uncle Luke, who I’ll meet tonight.”

  “Yep.”

  “Can we take this picture home?”

  “Sure can.”

  Brielle looks around the room.

  “This is a very boring room, Mommy.”

  I chuckle. “Yeah, I didn’t like to decorate much back then.”

  “Well, I’m glad you learned. Our apartment is really pretty.”

  “C’mon,” I reply, laughing.

  We stepped back into the hall. She browses the framed photos. The few that remain hung up are scattered in a non-uniform fashion. Like he took down only the ones he wanted to. All the ones with my mother in them.

  “You can take any that you want,” he calls out to us.

  I look down at Bri to see if there’s one in particular she wants a copy of, but she walks away from my side and back into the living room with him.

  “Can I take a picture with you? I want a new one.” That glimmer of hurt I saw moments ago reshapes in to one of happiness. At his nod, she turns back to me. “Will you take a picture of us, Mommy?”