AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I hold the envelope in my hand, fighting back the tears threatening to spill. They burn my eyes, and I swipe at them quickly.
“I’m sorry I hurt you, Indie. There’s nothing I could say or do that would justify my actions, and I’m not asking for your forgiveness. I just need you to know that you are the most incredible person I’ve ever met.” He pauses, grimacing as though he’s physically hurt. “I hate that caused you pain. I’m so damn sorry. You were right when you said I never made any promises to you. Although, you trusted me, and I let you down. I just want you and Austin to have some closure with your parents and find some peace.” He smiles warmly. “You’re going to do great things in Cali. I wish you and Austin all the best. I know that you won’t, but you can contact me anytime if you need anything.” He smiles again this time, looking at his watch. “Can’t believe I got that all in under my thirty seconds.”
I chuckle. When he’s like this, it’s so easy to see why I fell in love with him. “Goodbye, Roman.” It's all I can offer. It is all I can say and still be able to hold it together.
Roman steps forward and cups my face in his hands, staring at me for the longest time as though he is burning my image into his memory, as if he is holding onto this last moment, wanting to say more but knowing he’s said just enough. He leans forward to kiss my forehead and walks away. Again. Leaving me this time a little less heartbroken than last.
CALIFORNIA 6 MONTHS later
I can’t believe it’s been six months since Austin, and I left Boston and how much our lives have changed. It didn’t take us long to settle into our new home, a small apartment in the heart of a lively neighborhood. The first few days were a whirlwind of unpacking boxes, navigating the unfamiliar streets, and discovering the local gems. Then it was knuckle down and find a job time. I honestly couldn’t believe my luck when I was successful in gaining a position as a gallery assistant at the Mirage Art Gallery in Sacramento. I’d rather not admit it, but having worked at a prestigious law firm does add a more hireable element to your resume than being a waitress.
Austin has been diligently attending community school to pursue his GED, and I’m so proud of him. He’s made a full recovery physically. However, I know the mental and emotional scars will stay with him for a long time. I realized quite early on that California held a promise of transformation, not only for Austin, but for me as well. As the days turned into weeks, and then months, I immersed myself in the world of photography, capturing the essence of California through my lens. The diverse landscapes, eclectic street scenes, and unique people have become my muse, each frame telling a story of the newfound freedom I’ve discovered here.
The city's dynamic energy fuelled my creativity and pushed me to explore new perspectives and styles. Last month, while strolling through a trendy district, I stumbled upon a small gallery showcasing local artists and submitted my work to them. They accepted me. They friggin accepted me! The opportunity to showcase my work in a gallery was both exhilarating and nerve-wracking. I’ve spent countless nights meticulously curating my collection, aiming to convey the raw beauty I’ve found in the everyday moments of Californian life. The show is this weekend, and I’m beyond nervous.
I think back to the first day here when I stepped out of the van and onto Californian soil, my weary broken heart mingling with the warm west coast breeze. I’d told Austin, “This is a new beginning. Let’s not fuck it up, okay.”
I remembered how scared and excited I was, all at once, as I looked around at the vibrant energy of our new home in the Golden State. The palm trees that line the streets are a stark contrast to the Boston streets I left behind. This wasn't just a move; it was a chance at a fresh start.
As I look out my balcony window, watching the sunset, I clutch the envelope Roman gave me the day Austin and I left Boston. Flipping it over in my hands, staring holes in it, then tossing it back on the table. I think I’ve done this every day for the last six months, unable to bear the truth that lies within. Unable to face the finality of my hope. Today, I think I’m ready.
I pick it back up again, and without a second thought, begin tearing open the seal and pulling out the papers inside. Loose photographs fall from the papers and onto my lap. With shaky hands, I look through them. They are photographs of my dad. It’s not just my dad. He’s standing by a woman who is not my mother and three children. Each picture shows the children and them a few years older than the last. Two of the kids almost look like Austin and me. It’s not us though. The son of a bitch is still alive and has another family.
I take a long gulp from my vodka and lime soda and then place it back on the table with the photographs. I need a minute. A long minute to process the images burning into my heart. Resting my head in my hands, I summon the courage to keep going.
The first piece of paper is a timeline of the past twenty-six years of my father's life. Turns out, those kids in the photographs are my half-siblings, and that is his wife. I wonder if my mother knew he had a whole other life that he had hidden from us. How the hell am I going to tell Austin he has another two sisters and a brother?
I am angry. I’m guttered. I’m so fucking confused. Why did he choose to stay with his Atlanta family and not Austin and me? Better yet, how could he live with himself, knowing that he has two other children that he abandoned? How does he justify his actions?
Taking another long sip of vodka, I toss the pages across the table, letting out a scream. The sound coming from the pit of my stomach is guttural and feral. Hatred, despair, confusion, and utter betrayal bleed through every fibre of me. Confusion wraps its ugly tendrils around me as the shock wears off, and the tears drip onto the table. Then I see it. The piece of paper my tears have now wet and smudged a little. A death certificate. My mother's death certificate.
The date of death is four years and nine months ago, but the certificate itself is dated seven months ago. Cause of death says complications resulting from thermal injuries. What the fuck does that mean? Frantically, I sift through the remaining papers, searching for answers, searching for her timeline, searching for her. I suck in the air around me, desperate to breathe feeling, like I’ve been punched in the gut.
As I read through the remainder of the papers, I learn how Roman’s investigators came to find her. They traced her last ATM transaction to a gas station in Tijuana, Mexico. Exactly four years and nine months ago, there was a fire at a small commune just inside the Mexican border known to be a hippie camp named Last Hope. It was a place people went to heal, rebirth, and recover. Because all the records were burned to cinders in the fire, my mother was just a Jane Doe. A woman who could not be identified. It seems the authorities didn’t care to check through missing person files when they never had anyone come forward to claim her body after the news of the fire spread. That explains why there was no death certificate for her when I searched records yearly, and it also explains why she never came home.
I don’t believe Mom planned on leaving us forever. I think she went to the camp perhaps to heal and then come back to us better and stronger. Fate had another plan, and the rest is history. Because of Roman, my mother's remains have been formally identified. How he got her DNA to get a positive match remains a mystery, but I think knowing Roman and all his connections, I know enough to not question the whys and how’s. There’s a funeral company's name, address, and phone number on the bottom of the page that her ashes are in their possession, noting they’re available for me to collect or have sent to me.
I pick up Mom's death certificate again, hold it in my hands, and read it over and over until my emotions spill out of me. Guilt for not trying harder to find her, anger at her for leaving us, sorrow for how messed up she must have been to seek refuge at the camp, and for the absolute horror at the way she died. I hope it was painless. I hope the smoke sent her to sleep before the flames melted her skin away.
I cry all afternoon until the tears dry up and the bitterness, all the contempt, leaves me. I feel so much lighter for knowing the truth. I think my tears, in truth, were of relief. All this time, I thought I didn’t want to know the truth, but really, I didn’t want to face the finality of knowing the truth. Now that I have, I finally have some closure. Sure, not all my questions are answered, and it’s aroused some new ones. Yet, maybe that's all-better left in the past. It’s time to move forward and let it all go.
My father, on the other hand. Well, I don’t care to know any more about him. What I do know is that he is a coward, a liar, and a fraud. I want nothing to do with him. To me, he is as dead as my mother. I know I’ll have to tell Austin so he can make his own decision on whether he wants to seek him out or not, but I have a feeling he won’t. When your own blood abandons you, the one who was meant to love you, take care of you, and protect you, fails you so significantly, I think forgiveness is just too confronting. The fundamentals are broken beyond repair.
As for my siblings. Maybe one day in the future be near or far, I might get to that place where I will want to know them and seek them out. But for now, I’m not ready, my heart is too fragile to take that journey at the right now.
I hover over my phone, contemplating texting Roman to thank him for the information on my parents. I want to, but at the same time, if I do, it opens up a door that has been closed for six months. Am I ready for that?
After a solid hour of staring at the screen, I switch it off and tuck it under my pillow in fear I will keep deliberating all night. God, I miss him. I miss his smell, his smile, his taste. I keep telling myself that I will be alright if I just keep moving forward, but I feel like a part of him is with me wherever I go. He’s in the shadows, in my dreams, in my nightmares, and no matter what I do, I simply cannot be free of him. The pain in my chest is just as excruciating as the day I found that invitation. Time has not healed my wound. It festers and bleeds each day that passes by without him. Despite all my achievements over the past six months, despite my excitement for my upcoming exhibit and my pride in Austin's progress, I feel lost. Empty and so alone.
Chapter Forty-One
Roman
AS I STAND OUTSIDE the art gallery, looking through the long glass window, the warm night air prickles me under my shirt as I wipe a bead of sweat from my brow. You would think after two months, I’d be used to the hot Californian nights. I suppose it has something to do with the fact most of my nights, since I’ve been on the west coast, have been spent in my air-conditioned office as I work to build the new firm. My firm.
The move away from my family, the company, and my connections has been an adjustment, to say the least. However, I’m driven by my goals, and my goal is standing inside that window in a little yellow dress that pops with vibrancy on her sun-kissed skin. She’s more beautiful than I remembered.
I step inside; the crowd is busy chatting and sipping their champagne. The gallery lights illuminate her photographs, and I grin with pride as I take it all in. This moment is so significant for her. She did this. I had no hand in this. It’s all Indie. I knew she had potential from the first moment I saw her work, but as I look around, I’m amazed. The way she captures a moment is nothing short of breathtaking. The way she sees life through her lens is heartbreaking, exhilarating, and masterful. Anyone can take a good photo, but there’s a real talent for capturing all the things in a moment that people don't ordinarily see.
