Page 66 of Hard Count
Sucking in a sharp breath, I begin to read.
Dear Drew,
Today is your first day of high school. I’ve spent most of the afternoon staring at the photo I have of you in my office. It’s from your first day of kindergarten and one of my favorite memories I have of you. I was scared out of my mind sending you off to school for the first time. You were so little. In my eyes at least.
But you were also brave and strong. You were so excited to try something new. You’ve always been fearless like that. As I fought my instincts to football carry you out of there, you sat at your desk and started your work. I snapped the photo to show your mom.
Before I left you said “Don’t worry, Daddy, I’ll be back home in no time and it’ll be like I never left.”
I keep your photo on my desk not because you’re my daughter and I love you but as a reminder to be brave and strong like you when I have to do something new or hard.
I hope you have a good first day. Give me a call if you want to tell me about it.
Love always,
Dad
I crush the letter in my hand and wipe the tears rolling down my cheeks. I don’t understand. Why didn’t my mom give these to me? She had no right to keep them from me all these years. I open another letter and it’s similar to the first except he’s telling me about his day and asking me for advice on how to handle Georgia’s offense in an upcoming game.
It feels like someone has tied an anchor to my foot and thrown me overboard into the ocean. I’m struggling for airand my limbs are too weak to bring me back to shore as memories from my past keep pushing me back underwater.
Flipping the lid on the last box, thinking it might be the most current, I pull out a letter at random. There’s no postmark on this one. I file through every letter and realize none of these were mailed. He kept writing? Even after she sent them back, he kept going.
This letter is dated last fall.
Dear Drew,
I’m writing another letter I don’t plan on mailing. When Laura brought me the box of unopened letters, I thought about stopping my correspondence to you but I couldn’t. Writing to you makes me feel like you’re a part of my life. That you're here with me same as before. I can pretend like things never changed.
I wanted you to be the first to know that I’m starting Nash Pierce. He probably should have started his first day Freshman year but I wanted more time to work with him. You were right. He’s a natural. He has what it takes. You’ve always been able to see the best in people.
I can only hope you’ll do the same for me if I get the chance.
Love always,
Dad
I grab the box and sit on the floor with it. Letter by letter, I read them all. Then I read them a second time until there are so many tears it becomes impossible to see the words anymore.What should I do?I don’t know how to process this information. He’s been writing me letters since their divorce. Do I just ask him why? Would he give me the truth?
I have so many questions. The letters show that he tried. Why didn’t he do more? Why didn’t he come see me? Why didn’t he try harder?Because football always came first.My mom’s words filter into my head. She’s the one who said my dad didn’t want me. That he didn’t have time for a daughter. That I wasn’t his priority.
Was any of that true?
These letters make me question everything.I push all the opened envelopes and letters around my bed until I unearth my phone and hit call on her contact. I haven’t talked to my mom since I moved in July. She’ll text occasionally but it’s never her checking in with me. She’s either fishing for information about Dad or talking nonsense about herself. It's becoming more and more obvious she couldn’t care less about me.
“Hello,” she says in an irritated tone.
“Hi, Mom,” I say, then put her on speakerphone.
“Hi, honey.” No happy birthday. Not that I expected her to say something or even remember. She was never the bake me a cake kind of mom. Anything she did was to put on a show for her friends and keep up appearances. “How’s everything going with your dad?”
“Great,” I reply with more enthusiasm than I feel. "We're having the best time. Just like we used to."
“That’s good to hear. You know you can come home at any time. You don’t have to stay where we were never wanted.”
“You. Where you were never wanted.”
“What? What are you talking about? Why would you say something so mean to me?”
