‘He was the hot, popular guy at school, and he showed her some attention, and one thing led to another.’
‘Did she tell you that?’
‘No, but I tracked down the nurse who was at my birth, and she told me. Said my biological mother was quiet, and painfully shy; she was flattered that the popular guy took an interest in her. She thought he genuinely liked her and wanted to be in a relationship with her, but I think you can guess the rest.’
I nodded. I’d had a similar encounter once, someone I thought genuinely liked me too, only to find out he’d been dared to kiss the ‘strange girl’ at the dance by his friends.
‘His family and hers wanted her to get an abortion, but she didn’t want to. She tried to keep me, but at that age you’re a child yourself, and I was taken into care after only a few weeks with her.’
‘Shit, that’s horrible.’ A mass of emotions hit me in my stomach, and I wanted to cry again.
‘I was adopted pretty quickly after that though.’
‘Do you know where she is?’ I asked, trying to push those intense feelings away.
‘She’s . . . Uh . . . not great. She dropped out of school after she had me, didn’t go back. She barely gets by working at a grocery store. She’s got another child, no husband. I don’t think her life’s worked out the way she would have wanted it to.’
‘I’m sorry.’ I opened the car door and climbed back inside. This felt like a conversation that needed to be had inside the car, sitting next to each other. He switched the engine off, turned in his seat and faced me.
‘Have you met her?’
‘No, but I do . . .’ He ran his hand through his hair and looked away.
‘What?’
‘I send her money. She doesn’t know it comes from me. I went to a lawyer. It’s not totally legal, but I convinced him to tell her a relative had died and left her a monthly stipend. I didn’t want to give it to her all at once; she used to have a drinking problem. She goes to AA. It’s not a lot. It covers my half-brother’s school fees and groceries, and some other things. My moms don’t know I do that, though. I don’t know why I haven’t told them. They’d get it, I know they would. But for some reason I just can’t bring myself to tell them.’
‘I think that’s really nice of you,’ I said, my voice cracking a little. ‘Don’t you want to meet her?’
‘Don’t know. I chatted to a psychologist about it once. It was a very traumatic part of her life, and I would hate to open up all those old wounds. I’m not sure. Maybe that’ll change one day, I’m just . . . not sure.’
Something compelled me to reach out and pull Andrew in for a hug. It was brief, and I let go of him after a second or two.
‘What was that for?’
‘You’re supposed to hug people in moments like this. So I’m hugging you.’
‘Thanks, although I would hardly call that a hug. It was a back pat.’
I scrunched my face up. ‘I think that’s a bit of an exaggeration. It might have been less than a hug, but it was definitely more than a pat.’
‘A hat?’ Andrew offered.
‘A what – OH! Got it. Funny, but corny.’
‘Terribly corny.’ He nodded his head in agreement.
‘A pug?’ I said.
‘A pug. That’s cute. I like it.’
‘I like that you like it,’ I muttered under my breath.
‘What?’ he asked, and leaned over.
‘Nothing!’ My insides did a little something that made me feel off-kilter, as if I was falling forward. I hadn’t meant to say that out loud, and now I was embarrassed and certainly didn’t want to repeat it. ‘I should go!’ I climbed out of the car quickly. ‘But, that was . . . thanks. And thanks for sharing your story with me, that was also . . . thanks,’ I said before scuttling off.
I was just about to dive into the pool when my phone delivered a beep from a number I didn’t recognize. I opened the message and was greeted by a photo. It was Sixty. His bowl had been placed on what looked like a bedside table. The message read:
