The You I've Never Known(91)

Oh, Casey! All I want is to know you.

Your childhood is lost to me, but your adulthood is just beginning. Please let me be part of it.

Maybe I can help you realize your dreams.

“I don’t like to dream.

Every time I do I get royally screwed.”

Maybe we can change that. I’d like to try.

Her voice is sincere and she’s so damn nice and I really wish I wasn’t starting to like her.

Okay, with your dad gone, where will you live? If you need a place, I’ve got room—





Now I Pull My Hand Away


“No. I couldn’t.” Too far,

too soon, Maya McCabe.

“I don’t want to leave Sonora, and besides, I can’t move in

with a stranger.” Mean, mean,

and it feels good, and now I’m sure I’m crazy. “I’ve got options.”

Actually, I know where I’m going.

Gabe’s mom was released from

the hospital, and he’s moving

back to Stockton. Zelda’s invited me to stay with her for now.

Maya does her best not to act

hurt. I understand. Just know if you ever need a place to go my door is open. Maybe you could come for a visit at least.

Aren’t you on winter break?

“I am,” I admit, “but I’ve committed to extra hours at work. I need the income.” Nothing but the truth.

Let’s keep it an open invitation That includes Christmas.

Oh, hey. I brought a present for you.





Dollar-Store Teddy Bear?


But no. She cradles the gift,

which is wrapped in newspaper

with jute twine in place of ribbon.

When she hands it to me,

she says, I’ve kept this for you since you were born. I hope you’ll treasure it as much as I have. There’s a lot to go through, and I think it will explain much of what you’re struggling with.

“Should I open it now?” I feel like a little kid on Christmas Eve. She nods, and I untie the simple bow, carefully remove the tape, though the paper isn’t worth

keeping. “A journal?”

Your journal, she corrects.

I started it before I lost you, and kept it all these years.

I wanted you to know, if I ever found you again, my own journey while you were missing.

I dare to open it, and inside

are lots of entries, long and

shorter, plus photos of a young Maya, Dad in his late twenties, and . . .





I’ve Never Seen Pictures


Of baby me. That fact smacks me like Dad’s open hand, hard and stinging. “I . . . I . . . was cute.”

You were adorable. Beautiful, in fact. And smart. And curious . . .

Now her tears drip onto

the table, and some foreign part of me wants to comfort her, but sincerely doesn’t know how. Or maybe is afraid to.

I flip through more pages, come across a faded photo of a Christmas tree, toddler me sleeping just beneath it, with a golden-furred puppy.

“Boo.” The name scratches up from a buried dream.

Yes, Boo. Your father took her, too. She was a gift from Tati.

Whatever became of her?

“I . . . don’t . . . remember.”

I should,

shouldn’t I?

But I can’t.

You were very little. I hope the book fills in some blanks and that over your break you’ll have a little free time to read it in-depth. I’m sure you’ll have questions. You know how to get hold of me.

Syrah’s been watching

the scene unfold and seems to think we’ve reached

a conclusion (or maybe

they need the table; it is Saturday night), because she zips over with the bill.

Unless you want dessert?

We’ve got killer apple pie.

Maya glances at me,

the offer of pie in her eyes, but I shake my head.

“I’m stuffed. But thanks.”

She gives Syrah her credit card and says to me, Tati and I are staying in town for a couple of days. If you’re so inclined and can make the time, I’d love for you to meet her. Maybe we could have lunch or something. You could bring Monica, too. If there’s anything you need—anything at all—please don’t hesitate to give me a call. Okay?

There she goes again,

being oh-so-sweet, and

making me feel cared about.

“I have to work tomorrow, but maybe we can catch

a bite after. Monica, too.”

Her smile is genuine and seems to melt a year or two off her striking face.

My mom is pretty.

That sounds perfect. Text me when you finish up at the barn. Tati will be thrilled.

Let me finish paying and I’ll walk you to your car.





Outside


The December night

feels a little less frozen.

I even accept Maya’s good-bye hug. It’s lingering, warm,

and promises I never have

to be alone in this world.

You’ll remember my open-door policy, right? Anytime.

And Casey? I love you.

I don’t say it back. I can’t.

For me that bond was severed

years ago. But maybe it can be regrown. For now, I nod. “I know.”