Page 102 of Hot Damn
My daughter is strong enough to deal with the circumstances of her birth. Mature enough to handle the scandalous way she entered the world.
And if for some reason she’s not, I’ll be there for her. I’ll remind her I love her more than I can ever explain.
There’s an urgency inside me to tell Whit about her mother now, one that has never been there before. Over the years I avoid thinking about Catrina at all. Except Whit has the right to know her, to make her own judgment of the woman who birthed her.
I can’t tarnish my daughter’s opinion with my own. I need to allow her to make up her own mind and the only way to do that is to give her the truth.
After checking the pantry and fridge and finding we have what I need to make a pot of chicken noodle soup, I set out to get it on the stove quickly.
Years of practice making Whit’s favorite comfort food means it only takes minutes to have a large saucepan bubbling away, the delicious scent filling the kitchen. With our dinner dealt with, I head for my home office.
I’m not really sure what I’m looking for when I unlock the filing cabinet and pull out the folder holding the paperwork from the trial, my name change, and Whit’s birth.
She’s seen her birth certificate. Has no reason to believe anything on it is untrue, and while her name and mine are real, mine hasn’t always been Beckett Higgison.
Flicking through the papers, I find my official name change document and lay it on the desk.
Staring at my birth name, I feel no connection to it. I ceased being Gregory Becks the day I became a father. Nothing before that day means anything to me. Whit’s birthday is as much mine as it is hers.
Should I start with that?
If I show her this, she’ll want to know why I changed my name the day she was born. Nothing in the court files has my name on it. Birth name or legal name. There’s nothing to tell her the court transcripts or newspaper articles are about us.
I have no idea how to go about revealing the circumstances of her birth. All I know is I have to tell her.
She’ll be eighteen on December tenth.
I’ve got two months to work out how to reveal the truth.
“Dad!”
Whit’s shout and the sound of her feet pounding down the stairs has me scrambling to shove everything back in the folder. Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I drop it in and slam the drawer shut as I rush around the desk then across the room.
I’m almost at the door when she skids to a stop in the doorway.The smile on her face has the anxiety squeezing my chest releasing and my legs slowing.
“She’s awake!” She bounces on the balls of her feet. “And she’s normal.”
I have to laugh. “Normal?”
“Yeah, she’s not spacey and she remembers everything including passing out.”
“Oh. Well, the soup should simmer for another half hour, but we could eat it now.”
“I’ll get her a bowl.” She’s spinning on her heel before I can stop her.
With another laugh I follow her to the kitchen. “I thought we were going to have a picnic upstairs.”
“We don’t have to now. She’s coming down after she brushes her teeth.”
Why Cami needs to brush her teeth before we eat is a mystery but if she says she feels well enough to come downstairs to have dinner, I’m not going to argue.
Except the thought of her possibly getting dizzy on the stairs and falling has me turning around.
“I’ll make sure she’s okay on the stairs.”
“I’ll set the dining table. I don’t want her sitting on a high stool at the breakfast bar even though she says—and looks—like she’s fine.”
Whit’s words have me grinning as I race up the stairs. I really have done a good job raising her. And while I hope she’ll understand the secret I’ve kept about her mother, I know she’s mature enough to deal with it, even if she’s mad at me to begin with.
