Heart of the Matter (Coming Home Book 3) (3 page)

Chapter 3

Brian

A few weeks ago.

I got the text message from one of my brothers while I was in the middle of my fifth period P.E. class.

“Family meeting. 3pm. Urgent.”

That was all it said. I had no idea what was going on but nothing about it felt good. Urgent and family were two words that should never be used together in the same message. Was something wrong with mom? With Dad? It’d been difficult to stay focused the rest of the afternoon and I’d gotten out of there as soon as the dismissal bell rang.

On the way, I called Grace just to give her a head’s up. I wasn’t certain how long I’d be so I told her to go ahead and eat when she fed Brady and not to wait on me. She felt bad that she wasn’t able to go, too, but at the time, Brady was napping and I hated for her to wake him up. Besides, if it was something going on with my parents, they surely didn’t need Brady toddling around, getting into everything and crying. I promised I’d be home as soon as I could.

There’s simply no easy way to prepare yourself for bad news when it involves one of your parents. I sat there at the kitchen table and watched my mother literally fall apart while my brother, James, explained the news about my father. It was painful for her to hear it all over again. Earlier that day, my dad had been diagnosed with stage four brain cancer. Cancer. A word so ugly, I almost didn’t know how to react.

Long story cut short, he’d been given weeks to live. Not months or even a year, but weeks. In fact, the doctor said he’s be lucky if he made it through the end of the month. There was no treatment, no cure. Nothing. He’d waited too late to seek help.

Dad sat beside mom, zoning in and out. I almost didn’t recognize him. It was like he’d aged twenty years even though I’d seen him just days ago. He looked calm on the outside, but I knew on the inside, he was terrified to death. He had to be. Finding out you’re dying—how was anyone supposed to handle hearing that?

Mom would compose herself for a few moments, then break down all over again. She was pitiful just to watch.

Dad’s health had been steadily declining and with being so dang stubborn, it’s a wonder he even went to the doctor when he did. Had he just seen about it earlier, when he’d first started to feel bad, maybe there’d still be a chance. Just goes to show, being hard-headed doesn’t get you any further in life.

In fact, it probably takes away from it, which had been the case for me, too. For so many years, I battled back and forth with him—fighting constantly and saying nasty things that I’d later regret. Bitter, hateful words that got me nowhere. We fought so much that one of us usually gave up and just walked away—for the most part, that was me. I’d stay gone for days, even weeks at a time. I can still see the relief on mom’s face when I’d walk back through the door. I’d sure grown up a lot since then.

For a long time, I was jealous of my brothers because they spent so much time with dad. I couldn’t see beyond my own anger and frustrations that I could have had that same quality father/son time, too. It had all come down to I’d just needed to grow up. Being rebellious had seemed the easy way out.

I’d chosen to leave home. 

Not only had it made my parent’s life more miserable—never knowing when I was coming or going—but I’d done a number on someone else’s life, too. That someone was Jennifer.

I knew it wasn’t easy for Grace to accept when I finally broke down and told her about Jennifer and my failed marriage to her. Add in that I’d fathered a child that I knew nothing about hadn’t been a piece of cake, either. My relationship with Grace was getting pretty serious and I felt she had a right to know. She deserved to know everything—the good, which was very little, and the bad, which happened to be a lot. I was so afraid she was going to think less of me and change her mind about us. The more we talked, though, the more she was willing to forgive me. After all, she’d seen the change in me and the goodness I’d found in my heart since we’d been dating.

It wasn’t long after Grace and I married that we began talking about having a baby of our own. I spent many restless nights struggling because I’d never been a father to my daughter so how could I possibly be a father to a new baby. But Grace was patient with me. She sought out someone I could talk to, someone that could help me deal with the emotional turmoil that I was faced with. The two of us began meeting with a local pastor who was patient and understanding with our situation. He prayed for us and offered us guidance in the right direction.

After months of therapy sessions and lots of prayers, Grace and I started contemplating my contacting Jennifer. A long-time friend of Grace’s parents, a retired law enforcement officer with his own private investigative practice, said he was willing to take on our case. In the beginning, I only wanted to know about Jennifer and her whereabouts. I wanted to know that my daughter had been born healthy but I was terrified to death to learn much more. I wasn’t exactly sure I was ready for what I was about to discover.

Mr. Steadham, the investigator, wasted no time getting started and found it rather easy to locate Jennifer. I was shocked to learn she was still living in the same state and just hours from me and Grace. We learned all about Jennifer and her husband, where they lived and worked, what vehicles they drove, and the two children who lived in the household with them. A few years after Chloe was born Jennifer had had another daughter. Mr. Steadham was even able to obtain photographs of Jennifer and her family but I couldn’t deal with seeing the pictures just yet. They remained sealed in an envelope tucked away in my nightstand.

It’d been a relief to know that Jennifer was doing well and that she hadn’t suffered. I always figured I had been a thorn in her side, but to know she’d overcome the troubles I had caused helped me find peace within myself.

I sometimes amaze myself with how much my life has changed. The person I used to be and the person I am now—hard to believe I’m the same person. I realized just how bitter I was. I hurt so many people along my destructive path. Man, some of the things I used to do.

In many ways, though, I felt my father’s diagnosis was my punishment for the way I’d treated him; heck, for the way I’d treated other people, too. We’ve forgiven each other and we’ve both come a long way, but I can’t take back the hurtful things I said nor the pain I caused. My mistakes will always remain in the back of my mind.

I’ve accepted that my father’s condition is getting worse every day and time is of the essence.

Towards the end of the school year when my students were getting ready to take their end of the year tests, I decided to take a personal day. My dad had a doctor’s appointment and I insisted on driving him and mom. God, it nearly killed me seeing my dad struggle while getting in and out of the car. I hated to see how weak the cancer had made him. Without treatment, he worsened daily. He was frail and so much thinner than the man I once knew.

The entire time I spent with them that day, I couldn’t get Jennifer and Chloe out of my head. It was on my way back home that night that I decided I was ready to open that envelope. I needed to see the pictures of my daughter, my own flesh and blood and I needed to come clean with my parents about her. It became harder and harder each time I saw my father knowing I held this information from him and that each day could be his last. He could die before I found the strength within myself to come clean.

Present

Now that school is out for the summer, I try to make it by two or three days a week to visit and check in on my parents. I know it’s hard on my mom to try and do it all on her own, so my visits give her a chance to get out of the house. I believe she’s scared to death that something is going to happen to him, though, so she doesn’t go too far away. I know she is physically and emotionally drained being by his side every hour of the day. But she’s devoted to him—through thick and thin, the good and the bad.

I pull up in the driveway and see Grace standing in the doorway holding Brady. I love seeing both of them together--so happy, so carefree. The best part of all—they’re mine—the loves of my life, the energy that keeps me alive and going.

I’m mentally exhausted from spending the afternoon with my dad. Grace has already fed and bathed Brady; she’s just kept him up long enough for me to see him before putting him down for the night. While supper is heating up, I take a quick shower before joining Grace at the table. We talk about my dad’s condition, how he’s getting worse every day and I don’t think he’ll make it much longer.

It’s such a sad site seeing my mother suffer as well. Although they both still have heath care coverage, neither of them thought it necessary to have a cancer plan. Isn’t this usually the case, though? Financially, it’s gutted them both. The last thing my mom needs is to worry about who’s going to pay the medical bills.

Several of my mom’s friends from church have placed plastic containers for donations all over the county—in gas stations and local restaurants—just to help in any way. While it isn’t’ much, every nickel and dime adds up. The church has also done bake sales and taken up love offerings numerous times. My brothers and I help where we can, but we all have families of our own to tend to, too.

When we’re done eating, I help Grace tidy up the kitchen then make my way to the living room. I relax in my recliner and flip the channels until I find a movie that looks interesting. I barely remember Grace tossing the blanket over me and dimming the lights. Shortly after midnight, I wake up and make my way back to the bedroom, crawling into bed beside her.

Sadly, though, I’m struggling to fall back asleep. The photos from Mr. Steadham cloud my mind—they’re eating at me to pull them out, to take a peek at them. I’m sure spending time with dad earlier has something to do with it, too.

I slowly crawl out of bed, careful not to wake Grace, and quietly open the nightstand drawer. Even though the bedroom is dark, I don’t need a light to know where the envelope is. Hidden between the pages of the magazine on top, I flip through it until the envelope slips out and falls to the floor. I move my hand around over the carpet until I feel it, merely inches from my knee. These photos—well, they’re priceless.

Grace knew about them from the moment Mr. Steadham handed them over, but she never questioned what I did with them after we’d gotten home that day. I never bothered to bring them up and she never bothered to ask. Now, in the stillness of our bedroom, I press the envelope to my chest and ask myself if it’s time. Is it time to see what my daughter looks like?

As quietly as possible, I walk from our bedroom and turn left towards our spare bedroom that we converted into an office. Brady’s room is directly across from it. I hesitate for a moment in the hallway and listen for the faint sound of Brady’s breathing. When I’m confidant he’s sound asleep, I take a few steps backwards into the spare room, shutting the door behind me.

Not wanting to turn on any lights, I feel my way around the room. When my fingers brush over the lamp switch, I flip it on and allow my eyes to adjust to the faint, dim light. Holding the envelope in my other hand, I pull out the desk chair and take a seat. I’m about to see a picture of my daughter for the very first time.

I turn the envelope over and slide one finger underneath the flap. I make a small tear, knowing it’s now or never.

Mr. Steadham had already informed me there were two photos inside—one of Chloe and the other a family shot. Both images had been found on a social media site and printed from there. Funny how I had spent many hours searching site after site trying to find some sort of information on Jennifer and the private investigator was able to pull the images in just a matter of minutes.

I’d kept an image in my head throughout the years and figured our daughter had probably taken after her mother, but nothing could prepare me for what that lay on the desk before me. A beautiful teenage girl with long, straight dark-blonde hair stared back at me. She had on a cheerleading uniform and was posing with her pompoms.

She’s…she’s gorgeous.

I can’t tear my eyes from the photo. I realize I’ve been holding my breath after several minutes. Her eyes…they’re just like mine. My daughter. I can’t believe I’m seeing her for the first time. I feel the tears begin to pool in my eyes, and I have to look away and blink several times.

After what feels like forever, I finally take a look at the second photo.

It’s the perfect family shot—Jennifer...well, she looks the same, just a little older. Her hair is still long, and she really looks happy with her…family. Her husband is a clean cut, good looking guy and they both look great together. The longer I stare, I recognize him as the guy from the restaurant that day long ago—the one who stood up and threatened me if I didn’t leave her alone. Who would have thought Jennifer would marry the guy! I bet they’ve had one heck of a time explaining to their friends how they met. The situation that day wasn’t a pretty one, that’s for sure. They can’t claim it was a romantic meeting or love at first site like some couples like to boast about.

The younger girl in the photo looks a lot like the guy, but I don’t see much resemblance to Chloe. Maybe up close the girls favor, but this image doesn’t show much in the way of them being sisters.

Chloe. I can’t believe it. My…my daughter.

I bring my finger up to wipe at a stray tear. I’m not supposed to cry. I’m not supposed to be getting all teary eyed over seeing these photos. I should be happy that she’s healthy, that she’s turned out to be a pretty, young lady. Instead, I’m sad I’ve missed out. Her childhood has almost passed me by.