Page 44 of I'm Not Yours
The next day, I explored the contents of the blue cardboard box. It was the last step for me—then the space my dad occupied in my head was going to be banished forever. What I found shocked me.
Inside were some of my mother’s things: A burgundy velvet covered jewelry box. Her wedding ring with a miniscule diamond that I remembered her leaving when we fled. A brooch with a hummingbird on it. A colorful Mexican fan. A ceramic vase painted with blue flowers.
What shocked me was his note. My dad, my often violent, uncontrollable dad, wrote that he loved me, that he loved my mother, that he was sorry.
That wordsorrycame up at least ten times. He blamed himself and took full responsibility. He blamed himself for my mother’s death.
Without my abusive attitude and behavior, MaeLynn would not have high-tailed it for Montana. I take full blame for MaeLynn’s death. I loved her, Allie, as I have always loved you, too. I am dying a broken man.
I say this not to make you feel guilty. You were right to walk away from your old man. You had to. I was a mean SOB and a threat to you.
“Your Grandpa Tad left me money, Allie. I spent part of it to get cleaned up, to get off the booze once and for all. I hate what I’ve done. Hate myself. Can’t remember a time when I didn’t hate myself. I think it started with my old man. You know the scars on my face? They’re all from him and his fists. I turned into my old man with you and your mother, the last personI wanted to be. But now I’m sober and I got to try to make amends, even though it is far short of what you deserve.
I bought the apple orchard for you. I remember how you always ate apples out of the orchard near our trailer. I remember thinking way back then that it was kind of cute how you always had apples with you. Now I know you were always looking for apples to eat because you were hungry, because your loser dad did not provide food for you. I spent my money at the bars. I failed you because I was too drunk to do anything different. Allie, I am sorry with everything I got. My gift to you is all the apples you could ever want or need. What I should have given you and what you had a right to expect.
I love you, Allie, and I wish you the very best. I am truly sorry.
I choked up over that box, and when I got myself together, I walked through the apple orchard my dad left me. My apple orchard now.
I picked a Jonagold off a tree as Bob went running after those tantalizing squirrels, Margaret following her man with her tongue hanging out.
Mr. Jezebel Rooster cock-a-doodle-doo’d. He gets his times messed up.
The apple was delicious.
I found the ring in the middle of an apple pie we were sharing on Jace’s deck as the sun went down over the blue mountains in the distance, pinks and yellows settling over my apple orchard down the hill.
At first, I couldn’t even figure out what I was looking at. What was it and what was it doing in my pie? I pulled the ring out of the crust and licked it. It was quite the sparkler— absolutely stunning.
Jace reached for my hand and dropped down to one knee. Gotta love that. “Will you marry me, Allie Pelletier?”
“Oh yes. Yes, I will.” He picked me up, swung me around, and kissed me the way he always kisses me, full and passionate, with love, bodies together tight.
“I love you, Allie. I’ve loved you since I met you, and I’ll love you when we’re old and making apple pies together for our great-grandchildren, using your mom’s recipes.”
“That’s a really beautiful image.” I held his face and kissed him, loving him wrapped around me, loving us, loving our future.
“Sure is,” he drawled. “As long as you don’t burn the pies.”
I laughed and elbowed him and he grabbed me, flipped me over his shoulder, and shut the bedroom door with his cowboy boot.
I was a fool.
A hopeful fool.
I called a baby doctor.
She had a cancellation the next day, so I took it. She did the exam.
She said, “We can fix it.” I was stunned.
I told Jace the news as soon as I saw him. He picked me up and swirled me around.
I told Pearl the news about our engagement.
She hugged me and asked for the pieces of my mother’s purple-flowered china plates that my father had shattered.
I didn’t know why she wanted them, but I handed them over.
