Part 10 (1/2)
She winces. I press my lips tight, wis.h.i.+ng I had my ChapStick.
He's not my dad. Dad is something you earn. ”Well,” I say qui- etly, ”I didn't find him- not yet. But I can't pretend I don't know his name.”
She sighs deeply. ”I know.”
”Why'd you never tell me before?”
She stares at me and I stare back. And then she pats the bed beside her. I half sit, not wanting to get too close. She reaches for my hand, but I move it away and scratch my head.
”I love you,” she says.
I blink back a sudden flood of tears and look away. Now she says it back? I wait, but she doesn't fill the silence. ”I know you do. But I still had a right to know. Even if he didn't want me. I had a right to know his name.” My toes tingle. I feel it starting there. The anger.
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1 6 t h i n g s i t h o u g h t w e r e t r u e I focus it toward him. I can hate him with much less guilt because I don't know him. It's harder to aim it at her.
”I can help you with what the insurance doesn't cover,” I tell her.
”I have savings.”
”Are you crazy?” she asks.
I frown at the intensity in her voice. ”Don't get worked up.
It's okay.”
”You are not paying for any of this. Your savings are for college.
Do not worry about the insurance. One of my kids needs to go to college. Not that I'm not proud of my boys...but I want you to go. I'll manage. I spoke out of fear before. I thought I might not make it. I didn't want to burden you with bills when I was dead. I certainly won't when I'm alive.”
”I can help,” I say again.
She blows a feeble raspberry. ”No. Absolutely not. The money you made is for your future, working with kids.”
The anger in my toes rises a little. She had George to help with some of the boys' things. But there was no help with me. ”What's wrong? What's with that face?” my mom asks. ”Don't worry, Morgan. I can deal with this. It's going to be okay. It'll all get paid off.”
I take a breath. In through my nose. Out of my mouth. She's not perfect, far from it, but she made sure I had everything I needed growing up. Well. Except a father. I stare down at my hands. I did a Google search for Bob White and it brought up a lot of images.
It's embarra.s.sing to not even know him to look at him.
”Bob White is a pretty common name,” I say softly.
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J a n e t G u r t l e r She sighs. ”I know.”
I sit up straighter on her bed. ”I don't want to upset you, but I'm going to look for him.”
She presses her lips together and stares behind me.
”Mom?”
She doesn't answer.
”Mom?”
A plump tear squeezes out of her eye and rolls down her cheek.
She finally looks at me. ”I know. I understand.”
My insides ache because I'm adding pain to her recovery. The back of my throat throbs. ”I wanted you to know. I don't want to go behind your back. Or hide it. I wanted you to know the truth.” Even though she hid it from me for so long. It's the right thing to do.
She stares into s.p.a.ce.
”I need to meet him,” I continue. ”I'm prepared for him to slam doors in my face. I mean, I know he's never even wanted to meet me. But I have to find him.” I don't tell her my fear- that I might be left all alone.
Her face seems to pale even more. She picks at her blanket, looks up at me, but as soon as her eyes meet mine, she looks back down.
She's terrified.
”Mom?”
She picks at the blanket. Her hand shakes. ”What's it going to change?” she says softly. I stare at her, but she won't look up.
”Everything,” I say, and the resentment in my voice makes it louder than I intend. ”Nothing.” I want to know who he is. How
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