Page 192 of Always Meant for You
He pauses and rests his hands on his knees. “After you were born, she’d call you Bella Mae. Said you were her beautiful baby.”
My chest tightens. “I don’t remember that. Did you ever call me that?”
He shakes his head. “No. That name belonged to your mother.”
“How would you know to search for it online?” I ask, still trying to connect the dots.
“The day I walked into that first senior computer class was my wedding anniversary. Your mom and I would’ve been married thirty-eight years,” he says, a slight catch to his voice.
I blink hard. I’ve never seen him this open, this raw.
“Claudine told us to type in a phrase or brand name—anything familiar—to get used to using the internet browser. I sat there with my hands on the keyboard, not sure where to start. And somehow, I typed in Bella Mae. I swear it was your mother, giving me a little push.” His voice wavers, but he keeps going. “What I found was you. And it wasn’t you. You were there in the clothes, in the writing, but you were lying about who you were and where you came from.”
Emotion thickens in my throat. I brush a tear from my cheek. “I’m not proud of that, Dad. I’m sorry I lied about you and Mom. It was shameful,” I get out, my voice trembling.
He pats my knee. “That’s not all yours to carry. I owe you an apology. I made mistakes too.”
“Dad—”
“Let me speak, Mabel. I came a long way to say this.”
I release a shaky breath. “Okay.”
He folds his hands in his lap. “I should have talked to you more about your mom—my Carol. But it was hard for me. It was easier to stay quiet, to keep it all inside.” He glances at my boots. “But I’d like to talk about her now, if that’s okay.”
More tears well in my eyes, but not the kind sparked by shame. These tears come from a soft place, a hopeful place. “Yeah, Dad, I’d like that.”
A smile I’ve never seen touches his face. “Your mother was a force of nature, Mabel. She made things feel simple, even when they weren’t. She brought light into every corner of our lives, into me. I followed her lead.”
He takes a second, staring at the ground. “When she got sick, I asked her how I was supposed to raise you and Jamie without her. I knew how to mend fences, grow a field, and love her—but not how to be a father alone. She told me there was only one thing that mattered. She said everything else was bluster.”
I lean in. “What was it?”
“She said my job was to make sure you and Jamie felt comfortable in your own skin, to raise you to be proud of who you are. That’s why I stepped in. Seeing you hide who you were was my wake-up call. It showed me that I needed to act to follow your mother’s advice.”
His words settle deep, pressing against everything I thought I knew. I look at him, really look, and I see it. The effort. The regret. The love threaded through every word.
“But how did you know to post that day at that hour?” I ask, fighting tears. “If it had been any other time, I’d have deleted it before it went viral. That was the day I met with Chelsea Blaine, the PR woman. I was in a rush. I wasn’t looking for alerts. You couldn’t have known that.”
“I didn’t,” he says softly. “But Jamie did.”
I go still. “Dad, what are you talking about?”
“I dropped a pill and got down on my knees to find it. That’s when I saw it—one of Jamie’s notebooks had slipped between the cabinet and the wall. I grabbed the pill, then reached for the journal. It was one I hadn’t seen before. Only one page had writing on it. Dated your twenty-first birthday.”
Emotion rises, sharp and fast. My heart is in my throat. “What did it say?”
“I brought the page.” He hands me a folded square.
To Do:
Ask Mabel to help with social media for the co-op.
Pick up flowers and get her that lotion she likes.
Grab beer. Tell her she can have one—and that’s it.
A laugh breaks through. This list is classic Jamie.
