“Will you at least think about letting me get to know my grand-daughter, about giving me a chance?”
“I can’t promise you a yes or a no, but I can promise you I’ll think about it,” I said. Bethany may have been ready to let go of the person she was, but I couldn’t forget so easily. That person caused me too much pain to be given a do-over and a free pass to form a relationship with my daughter.
“That’s all I’m asking.” She got off the bench to leave. “Thank you.” It was said so softly I could barely hear her over the parents calling to their children from the benches next to us. “Thank you,” she repeated and walked away.
Had I just agreed to think about letting the most evil woman I’ve ever known have a relationship with my daughter simply because she no longer looked like the devil and had spewed some sincere-sounding words?
Apparently, I had.
I sighed and looked over at Georgia, who was showing a little brown haired boy how to position his feet in front of him before sliding down the shiny new slide. “Hey Bethany?”
“Yes?” She turned around, her cheeks flushed red.
“You know what Owen did to me. You know how badly he hurt me. But what you haven’t said is how you know.”
Her face paled. “Abby…” She started, her voice shaky and unsure. “Owen was in terrible shape afterwards.” He wasn’t the only one. “He drove two towns over and called Cole. Cole called me. I’m so sorry.” She shook her head. “I helped Cole bring you home that night.” Tears streamed down her face.
And then she was gone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
I TRIED NOT TO THINK ABOUT BETHANY and her request from that night, or her revelation that she had more to do with covering up Owen’s sick behavior than I had initially thought. But, I did tell her I would think about letting her get to know Georgia, and I meant it. I wouldn’t do it right away. I had other issues on my mind.
Tall, blonde and leather issues, to be specific.
My housing situation had changed, too. I had that on my mind more than anything else. After Nan’s house had been foreclosed on, it sat empty for years as the economy continued to slide downward. Eventually, the bank sold it to some big time investor who fixed it up and turned it over to a property management company to find a renter. When I passed the window of the Matlacha Realty office and saw the familiar pink siding and white shutters on the picture taped to their window, I ran inside to sign the lease right then and there. After a few phone calls to the owner, they accepted my check and handed me the keys.
I didn’t even have a chance to tell Frank about the house before he died. I knew he would have been really happy for us though.
Georgia and I had officially moved in a few days earlier. There were still boxes piled in the corner of her room that I hadn’t had a chance to unpack yet. Actually, there were boxes I hadn’t unpacked in every room.
I gave Georgia a bath before tucking her into bed in the very same room where Nan had so generously given me the deadbolt I requested on the first night I’d stayed with her. I’d felt safe there, like my heart could finally lay calm and quiet. Now, the framed photo above my little girl’s bed made my heart skip a beat and my stomach double over.
I wish she hadn’t asked me to hang it up for her.
A few months earlier, I’d been sitting on the couch in the apartment sorting through some old photos in my scrap box when Georgia turned from the cartoon she was watching and asked if she had a daddy. I had no idea how to answer that. Telling her about Owen was out of the question. I was trying to figure out the right way to tell her she actually didn’t have a daddy when she pulled a picture from the bottom of the box I was sorting.
“Mama, is this my daddy?” She had asked, holding up my favorite picture of Jake. He was on his bike, a cigarette hanging from his mouth. He had just parked in the lot and pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head. He wasn’t quite smiling, but there was happiness there. It captured exactly who he was. My heart fluttered just looking at him. I had almost forgotten the effect his appearance had on me.
Almost, but not quite.
My childhood had been built on lies and mistrust. I decided then that I wasn’t going to continue that cycle with my daughter.
“No, baby girl, he’s not,” I answered. “I wish he was though.” My eyes watered.
“Don’t cry, Mama. We can pretend he is. Okay?”
“Pretend?” I asked. Georgia had such a huge imagination.
“Yeah. We just pretend he’s my daddy.”