Chapter Thirty-Two
Brynlee
The sunlight on my face wakes me, and I have Rhett’s arms wrapped around me. It’s the first night I’ve gotten real sleep in weeks, and I gently climb out of his embrace and walk to the bathroom.
After relieving myself, I grab a bottle of water, a dinner roll from the bag on the counter, and move into the living room. It’sstill early, and I pull the quilt from the bag to wrap around me as I sit on the couch to look through everything again.
The gifts Rhett gave me mean more than anything I’ve ever been given before. I’d trade everything Kevin ever gave me for just the scrapbook alone. He knew how much I wanted to know my family, and he did what he could to make that happen.
Setting the book on my lap, I flip through the pages and smile as I recognize Rhett’s handwriting. The pictures around his stories feel like a portal into another time.
Everyone says I look like Mama, but I see certain traits I share with Kathleen. It’s hard not to feel like I’ve missed out on so much. The dates next to the images could have me in them if things were different. And maybe I’d have met Rhett sooner.
Just like last night, I get stuck on the page with my pageant picture. I stare at it before bursting into tears, and I hate that I had no idea Daddy cared enough to keep tabs on me. I know Mama wouldn’t have sent him anything, and this just feels like something I should have known somehow. Wiping my eyes, I realize this isn’t the picture published in the papers like I thought.
“Brynlee,” Rhett calls and walks out wearing a pair of black sweatpants and a gray sweatshirt. “What’s wrong?”
“I didn’t think Daddy cared,” I say and wipe at my cheeks.
“He took that picture,” he says, tapping on it as he sits beside me.
My head snaps up to look at him. “What?”
“Mackle said your pops took that picture. Sent this copy to Mackle to show off his daughter. He was so proud of you.”
“He was… He was proud of me?”
His arm wraps around my shoulders, and he kisses my temple. “Do you want the other book?”
“Please.”
He leaves and returns with another scrapbook even thicker than the one he made me. “I’ll check with Mackle to see if he meant for us to keep this or not.”
I hope it as he sits beside me again, and I stare at the pictures in front of me. They start from the time I was born until he left. Pictures I’ve never seen before. “I don’t remember these.”
“You were a cute kid,” he says and points to one of me in front of a birthday cake for my fourth birthday. “There are letters at the back.”
Flipping to them, I read the first one.
John,
Brynlee had her first dance recital today. She’s only six, but she has the skill of a teenager. Her mother, of course, told her every mistake she made afterwards, but she performed beautifully. I can’t let Kathy know I’m here for these things, otherwise I’ll never see my girl again.
It’s so hard being part of my daughter’s life from a distance. I know Kathy won’t tell her that I fought for her. I can’t really blame her for not wanting Brynlee to know me. My problem almost hurt our girl, and I’ll never forgive myself for that. On the bright side, it was the moment I knew something had to change.
Do me a favor. If anything ever happens to me, and you get the chance to meet her, please make sure Brynlee knows there was more to me than my addiction. That I loved her so much, and I’m so sorry if she ever felt like she wasn’t enough.
I couldn’t make Kathy happy and give her the life she wants, and it devastated me. So much so that I had to dull the pain before it killed me. I never expected it would get out of hand like it has.
I want my daughter to know I loved her, even if I couldn’t be around. She’s so beautiful, and I know whoever she ends up with will be a lucky man. I just hope he deserves her and cangive her more than I could give her mom. I want her to find happiness.
Joey
“I didn’t know… Mama never told me he had a problem. And I don’t know what he means when he says he almost hurt me.”
“I’m not sure. I haven’t read through these. I thought you should be the one to read them first,” he says and rubs my arm.
Things make sense now. “Mama rarely drank in front of me, and she was only a social drinker. She did everything she could to discourage me from partaking, and I thought it was something to do with vanity. But what if she was trying to protect me?”
