The Redemption(55)

With both boys in tow, we walk down to the other street where the neighborhood mailboxes are situated. I let Neil open it with the key. He feels very important given the task. I reach for all the mail and pull it out, a letter slipping to the ground. CJ picks it up and says, “For you, Mama.”

“Thank you, kind Sir.”

I flip through the mail and as soon as I see New Orleans on the front of a postcard, Neil grabs it. We start back for the house and I ask Neil to read it to me.

“Hi Buddies, almost home. Can’t wait. I’m super tired from traveling. Forget everything I taught you. Go to law school instead.”

Neil looks up at me and asks, “What’s law school?”

“It’s where you learn to become a lawyer.” Pointing at the postcard, I say, “I think he’s being sarcastic, just joking with you.” I wrap my arm around his shoulders and give him a squeeze.

“Oh.” Neil looks at the card confused, but then continues reading. “I’m home for four days and then off again. Looking forward to hearing your progress. Take care of your mom, Dex.”

Maybe it was the smile on Neil’s face and watching CJ gallop down the sidewalk, or maybe it was that Dex was keeping his word to my kids and they were smiling. I’m thinking it’s both, but no matter where this warm feeling inside derived from, I love it. Seeing my kids happy makes me happy. As we enter the house, Neil takes off running and says, “Gotta practice. I want to learn what fills are.”

“Teach me. Teach me. Fills.” CJ runs after him.

I dump the mail on the island in the kitchen and start sorting it. When I come across the letter with my name on it, I glance to the return address. There isn’t one.

CJ comes in singing, but stops and says, “That’s like the other letters.”

“What other letters?”

He points to the basket in the corner that holds the mail that I still need to go through. “Those.”

I walk over and look inside the basket, then pull out two other letters that match the one on the island. I see the similarities in handwriting when they’re together like this and I smile, knowing they’re from Dex. Each is postmarked to correspond with the tour and cities listed—Chicago, Nashville, and Miami.

I need time to process the fact that he’s been writing us for weeks and I’m just now finding out. As much as I want to rip them open and read each and every word, I don’t. I won’t be able to give them the attention I want with hungry kids begging for food at my feet. My heart is beating out of control, but dinner needs to be made, so I set the letters aside and ask, “CJ, you want to be Mommy’s helper with dinner?”

“Yes,” he says excitedly.

“Okay, you grab the lettuce and I’ll get the carrots and tomatoes from the fridge. You can help with the salad.”





The letters call to me throughout dinner, a cartoon, and book time in CJ’s room. I kiss him on the head and turn out his light before making my way into Neil’s room. Snuggling with him, he reads aloud to me from his adventure book. I help on the tough names and big words, but he’s a really good reader. When it’s time for lights out, he asks, “Will I get to see Dex again?”

His tone makes my heart sting and not knowing how to answer, I go with my gut. Looking up at the stars on his ceiling, I ask, “Do you want to see Dex again?”

“Yes. I like his gameroom. He has cool video games and the drums are awesome.”

I slip out of bed and tuck him in. “What else do you like about him?”

“I like that he’s a grownup, but cooler. Some grownups talk to me like I’m dumb. He doesn’t.”

Smiling, I reply, “That is cool. Get some rest and I’ll message him.” I kiss him on the head, then turn out his lamp. Shutting the door behind me after several I love yous, I leave and head back to the kitchen.

I pour a glass of wine while keeping an eye on the letters that look so harmless sitting there, but taunt me relentlessly. The hotel envelopes only add to the intrigue. After taking a few sips, I grab them and go into my bathroom and start the water. As the tub fills, I set them down on the vanity and undress. I’m shocked by my own willpower. Once the water is high enough to cover me, I take the letters and climb into the tub. I open them in order. The first is from two weeks ago, which makes me realize I should go through my mail more often.

Chicago. The paper is crumpled a bit and the inks slightly smeared near the hotel logo at the top.



Dear Rochelle,

I don’t know what I’m doing, but still feel the urge to do it. What does that say about me? Maybe I can’t change. Maybe at thirty, I am who I am.

The thing is, I’m not sure who I am anymore. I’ve lost interest in my own life. But your life—I can’t stop thinking about you. You undoubtedly have my complete attention. Sometimes I damn you for it.

I never told you much about me. I don’t know why I’m feeling the need to do it now. It’s probably the bourbon talking.

Did you know that I didn’t learn to ride my bike until I was eight? I borrowed a neighbor kids’ bike and taught myself on the driveway since there was no one else to do it. My brother was too busy with his friends to teach me.

I’ve got more money than I can blow through. I was never meant to be rich. Besides my money, I’m the son to a mother who inherited more than she could spend in a lifetime and a father who built an empire on the backs of using cheap labor with low expenditures. I never fit into their world. I never belonged.