Page 59 of Out of the Blue

“Of course, Auntie.” We distance ourselves from the band.

“Your girlfriend has a beautiful soul. Better not let her get away.”

I watch as Cordy draws Dwight aside, which makes me feel like she’s a part of our family now. Warmth flows through my body. “I’m not planning on it.”

“I’m glad you’ve found someone wonderful to share your life with, especially now. And I’m sure your mom would’ve been so proud to share this moment with you. I know she’s cheering you on from heaven.”

She soothes a piece of my broken soul. From the stage, Hunte begins singing “Sunnyside Up,” and the happiness dissipates.

I shrug. “Maybe.”

Auntie’s eyes close as she listens to the headliners when their set begins. Opening them, she says, “I know I told you this on the phone, but I want to reiterate. In every conversation I had with your mother after she found out she was pregnant, I pushed her to tell Braxton.” She points toward the door leading to the stage. “I begged her to tell him, and she tried. I was with her at a few concerts after, well, but she wasn’t able to catch his eye again.”

I remember the portion of my mother’s diary. How her handwriting became smaller and smaller, then grew to more than double the normal size. At some points, the words were deeply etched into the pages. My heart, which had become as rigid as stone where it concerns my mother, beats harder against its prison. “Thanks for being there for her.”

“I wrote several letters to him on her behalf. You know, back then there wasn’t such a thing as the internet.”

She’s right. Back in 1991, when I was born, even basic email wasn’t widespread.

“Anyway, I never sent them because she didn’t want me to. I felt he deserved to be aware of the consequences of his actions. But she wouldn’t listen to me.” She places her fingers against my jaw. “The fact she wasn’t able to tell Braxton about you was only half of the equation, though. She denied him the ability to get to know his second-born son, true, and that was a horrible sin she had to take to her grave. But the worse one was not sharing your parentage with you.”

“You got me there.”

She rubs her palms together. “Have you thought about telling your father the truth?”

My stomach clenches. “No. Fucking. Way.”

“I get where you’re coming from.” She rests her hand on my forearm. “Maybe before the tour’s over? It might help—”

“No.” At her stricken look, I amend, “But I do appreciate your concern.” I need to change this topic, pronto, and the question that’s been gnawing at me all this time pops out of my mouth. About the man my mother claimed was my father. “Who was Rory Chamberlain?”

She takes a step backward. “Rory was a friend of ours. He was a good man. When he graduated from high school, he joined the Marines and was sent to Operation Desert Storm right when it first started. He was killed in action. One of the first Americans who lost their lives during the war.” Her head hangs. “Such a loss.”

“How long did he and my mother date?” She never wrote about him in her diaries, but I want to find out why she chose him to be my “father.”

She licks her lips, then raises her chin. “Honey. He was two years ahead of us in school. His family moved to Florida as soon as he graduated and went to boot camp. They were good people. But—”

It crystallizes in my mind. “They never even dated, did they?”

She shifts her weight from foot to foot. “No.”

My heart rate slows to sludge. “He never wrote her love letters? She didn’t pine for him for the rest of her life?”

“I’m sorry.”

I spin on my heel, trying to assimilate this new piece of lies making up the songbook of my life. Hell, at least now I know why his family never returned my letters. Fuck. I bet Mom never even mailed them for me.

On top of my anger, embarrassment screams through my body. I told all my friends growing up about my father, the war hero. They all believed me. Hell,Ibelieved me. My aunt’s hand closes in on my arm and I jerk it away.

From behind me, she says, “I begged your mother to come clean to you. I told Lorinda it was one thing to give up on your father, but an entirely different kettle of fish not telling you.”

I think back, remembering Mom slamming the door and running into her bedroom, where I could hear her cry. I yelled at her to let me in, which she did after what seemed to be hours but probably only was a few minutes. She grabbed my chin and stared into my eyes. “Sometimes family breaks up, sweetie. But you’ll always have me.” Then she hugged me and I felt like everything was right with the world again.

“Must’ve been tough for you.” For Mom, too. But she deserved it.

“It was. For both of us.” She walks around to be in front of me. “After I moved away, my mother, your grandmother, kept me up to date with all of your milestones. With her passing, I was able to keep tabs of you on the internet, although I did it only sporadically.” She wipes away a tear. “I was so very happy you called.”

This woman is my only connection to the family I’ve lost. The shooter may have taken away my mother but she, herself, ruined my relationship with the only remaining Washingtons. At least I’m reconnecting with Auntie. And she’s a welcome addition to the new family I’m building. Her, Uncle Casey, my cousins, my bandmates, their wives. And Cordy. Most not blood, but still family. The best kind of relationships.

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