Part 7 (2/2)
And then later...
”So it really was my mother, more than my father, who wanted to adopt me, is that right?”
”It seems so.”
”That's strange.”
”Why?”
”My father always seemed to enjoy me more. All these years, I a.s.sumed it was his idea to adopt. By nature, my mother's not a very warm person, but especially with me, it seemed like she kept her distance. I always felt like I wasn't good enough for her. When I was in high school, it finally dawned on me that she wasn't good enough for me either. Maybe because she wasn't my real mother, mostly because she was the kind of mother she was. Now, I can ignore her every time she tells me I should do something different with my life, but it took me twenty years to get to the point where I didn't jump every time she said that.”
”Funny, isn't it, how when we're kids, we think we failed our parents, but as adults, we realize they failed us,” I interjected.
”That is funny. It's even worse when you're adopted, though, because you have the added paranoia of thinking they don't love you as much because you aren't their natural child. And every time they disappoint you, you fantasize about what your 'real' parents would have been like. I never quite got past feeling like a guest in the Greaves' home. My parents, especially my father, tried to make me welcome, but I never completely felt like I was. I spent a lot of my childhood escaping into fantasies. I've never told anyone this, but all of my friends, my true friends, were imaginary people. They were people I made up in my head, friends who never left me. It's ironic really,” she laughed bitterly, ”my only permanent relations.h.i.+ps have been with people who don't even exist.”
I think if she could have cried then, she would have. I must have been reading her mind.
”d.a.m.n it all!” She hit the table with her open hand. ”I wish I could cry, but I can't. I never have been able to. Sometimes, so much emotion backs up in me I think I'll explode!”
”You cried when you were little. Maybe you'll learn to cry again.”
”Did I really?”
”Yes, you did. Your grandmother told me you cried after your parents died.”
”Huh. I wonder why I stopped.”
”I don't know.”
”I never cry. Sometimes I'll feel like it, like just now, but the tears won't come. They simply will not come out of me,” she said angrily.
We were both quiet for a moment. Her voice broke the silence.
”Hey, Kris, if you could change just one thing about yourself, what would it be?”
”Seriously?”
”Yes, seriously, what would you change?”
I thought before I answered. ”I'd touch more,” I said, my voice cracking, much to my embarra.s.sment.
”I'd cry more,” Destiny said and looked away. ”That's what I was thinking about a minute ago.”
There was more silence, as if we'd both said too much.
”But enough about me,” she exclaimed, the false enthusiasm apparent. 'Tell me about my grandmother. What's she like?”
”She's quite spirited actually. I see where you get your drive. She's one tough lady.”
I went on to tell her all about Marie Kenwood. I left out the details of their good-bye scene, because frankly, I thought it was more than Destiny could take. She laughed when I told her about my great detective work in figuring out I was sitting in her grandma's favorite spot. She had a million questions for me. I could barely answer one before she fired off another.
”Where does she live?”
”In a townhouse in southeast Denver, near Iliff and a””
”What's the townhouse look like?”
”It's brick, two-story a””
”No, no. Inside, what's it look like inside?”
”Basically like you'd expect an older woman's home to look like. Wingback chairs, coffee table full of ladies magazines a””
”What's she look like?”
”She's short but imposing. She's quite attractive, very dignified looking. Her nails are manicured a””
”Do I look like her?”
”Not really, Destiny.” I saw the disappointment in her eyes. ”She's over eighty years old. She has more wrinkles than you.” I tried to cheer her up, but the disappointment remained. ”Maybe you look like her a little.”
She visibly brightened.
”What part of me?”
I said the first thing that came to my mind.
”Your eyes. They look like hers. Not much, but a little.”
She smiled widely.
”We were close then, she and I?”
”Very close,” I said without having to lie.
”I wish I could remember her,” Destiny said with a faraway, dreamy look in her eyes.
”You don't remember anything about your grandma?”
”No, not at all. It's like she belongs to someone else.”
”In a sense, she does. The little girl who knew your grandma doesn't exist right now, because you buried her with your parents.”
”I guess I did,” she said quietly. ”My first conscious memory is of kindergarten, my first day of school. I was Destiny Greaves by then. Peter and Barbara Kenwood were gone. Destiny Kenwood was gone, too.”
”You know, Destiny, there's no way to minimize how much tragedy there's been in your life, but there is a bright spot: You were loved. It's clear your parents loved each other and they loved you. Your grandma adored you, too. That's something, you know.”
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