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When I couldn’t find any words, Gene continued. “Wilma was…God, she was perfect. I loved her, but she was a little quirky. Times were different, and they didn’t understand people like they do now. Anything unique meant wrong, and even if it had been appropriate for Wilma to have a baby at her age, her parents made her believe she wouldn’t be a good mother, that it wasn’t good for the baby. So, before she started to show, her parents sent her away. She went to live with an aunt. In the meantime, they arranged the adoption with the Meyers, a local family on the island. They were good people, and she knew they would be good parents to Beverly.
“She stayed away for years—finished school living with her aunt, went to college, which she had to fight for the right to do. But when Wilma set her mind to something, there wasn’t anything she couldn’t do. She was determined to prove to the world that she was unstoppable, and she was.” He wiped a tear away, his hand shaking.
“When did she come back?”
“Your mama was fifteen at the time. Wilma was so damn proud of her. Said she was smart and strong and didn’t take anyone’s shit.”
I laughed. “She’s still all those things.”
“Beverly was happy, and she’d had a good life. Legally, Wilma wasn’t supposed to say she was Beverly’s mom, and she felt she didn’t have the right either. They’d raised Beverly and given her the life Wilma didn’t think she could. But this is Little Beach, so of course they saw each other a lot. Wilma used to work at the library, and your mom was always there, studying or checking out books. They’d get to talking about literature. It made her happy, seeing her daughter grow, but it broke her heart not to be able to tell her. As much as she wanted to, that wasn’t fair to the Meyers.”
I nodded, still trying to figure out how to wrap my head around all this.
“She was so happy when your mom told her she’d gotten into Stanford. It was her happiest times, she said, being close to her daughter. And then when Beverly’s parents died in the car accident, she found the papers. She confronted Wilma. She was hurt and angry that Wilma had been there and never told her. I think part of it was the pain of losing her adoptive parents too.”
“It’s almost like she lost three parents at once,” I said.
I could see Mom looking at it that way. And I knew she would struggle to understand Wilma giving her up. To her, that meant she didn’t care. I got that because I often saw things in black and white the same way, but it was something I worked to change. The world was full of shades of gray. And listening to Gene, I could see the sorrow and regret in his features and knew it was Wilma’s emotions living on in him.
“Did Wilma tell her the truth? What happened?”
He shook his head. “She regretted it. I think, even though she was doing what was best for Beverly, she always hated herself for it. She felt like she’d given up, so no, she didn’t, because she thought Beverly was right to hate her for her decision.”
I knew the rest. Mom left Little Beach after that and never came back.
My chest ached. The whole thing was a tragedy.
Poor Mom.
Poor Wilma.
“What about her father?”
“He was a sailor. Wilma loved him and thought he loved her, but he left when he found out she was pregnant.”
Like my father, only he left when I was twelve.
My chest was heavy, this deep melancholy weighing my bones down. “I think I need to go.”
“Thank you for coming.”
I stood and reached out to hand him the photo.
“You can keep it if you’d like.”
I looked down at it, at Wilma, because that was who she was to me now. I didn’t need the Allen. “Yes. Thank you. Do you mind if I come back? For more stories and photos? I can also fix whatever you need around the house, and at tax time, I can do those too.”
He chuckled. “I’d like that, Milo. You don’t have to do my taxes, but I might take you up on the other part. Gideon helps too.”
Gideon. I missed him, which confused me, and I wanted to share this with him.
Gene walked me to the door. I held the photo close to my chest the entire time.
The whole walk back to the apartment, I hoped Gideon would be there to talk to.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Gideon
“Gideon? Are you home? I’d really like to talk to you,” I heard from the living room. I’d just gotten out of the shower and changed after the day with my family.
“Yeah, I’m here.” I headed toward the living room just as he finished taking off his pants and laying them over the rack, with his back to me. “I came in at the perfect time,” I teased.
