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“Bastard had been unfaithful to her for ages. Not that she cared. She didn’t mind the cheating, but she did worry about him giving her something.”
Does he mean…
I arch an eyebrow. “STIs?”
He nods. “The woman was like a hypochondriac on crack. She was convinced she had something new every day. She’s the one who suggested they foster young kids. More particularly young girls.”
She went for young girls because she knew they were clean. Shivers of disgust skitter down my spine. I glance at the untouched appetizers on the table and cringe. I have no idea how I’m supposed to be eating after this.
“How do you even know all this?”
“I tracked her down when I went back to Redwater. Ironically enough, the bitch is terminal with cancer. Had nothing to lose. It didn’t take much for her to spill her guts.”
Redwater.
Jesse spent six months there during my senior year of high school. When I asked my parents where he was, all they would tell me was that he was digging into his past. It didn’t mean shit at the time, but now I understand he had unfinished business.
Just like that, I’m back at Redwater Medical Center, watching Jesse’s foster dad rotting away in a hospital bed. I remember asking myself if Jesse was to blame for his state.
“Finn took me to see the child molester once. Back when I still thought he was my dad. He was at the hospital on life support and about to be unplugged. Please don’t take this the wrong way, but I have to ask… Was it you? Did you put that dirtbag in a coma?”
Jesse remains quiet for a few unbearably long seconds.
“I’m actually the one who found him. I went looking for him after he was released.” He pauses. “I’m not going to lie, I probably would’ve done the same thing if I’d gotten there first. But someone beat me to the punch.”
That’s not surprising, considering how many people the bastard hurt. After what he did, he was safer in prison than he could ever be out there.
“How did you know I was your daughter if you just had sex once? It would’ve been more likely for that creep to be the father.”
“That’s what I thought, too. But then I heard my foster parents talking in the kitchen a bit after you were born. They’d just been to the doctor to run some tests, and he’d told them that our foster dad had fertility issues. It was very unlikely he could ever father a child, but I didn’t know for sure if you were my daughter until I turned eighteen. I went to Dave the day after my birthday and told him I needed to know. You were six at the time. He got you to do a cheek swab by claiming the family was taking one of those ancestry tests. And well, we all know how that turned out…”
The news shakes me to my core. It’s true. Jesse really is my father. I shouldn’t be surprised. After all, I’ve suspected it for over a year, but I needed science to confirm what a part of me already knew.
We don’t speak for a short moment, and I feel the need to break the tension.
“Am I supposed to call you Dad now?”
Jesse cracks a smile, and to my surprise, it seems genuine.
“Hell no. Shit is too weird.”
“Agreed.” I chuckle.
“What about me? Am I supposed to call you honey? Or sweetie? Or whatever the hell dads like to call their daughters?”
“Just call me Diamond.”
His eyes light up, a hint of pain peeking through his façade. “Your mom chose that name, you know?”
“She did?”
He nods. “She always told me that if she ever had a daughter, she’d call her Diamond.”
I’m smiling so wide my face hurts. “Why Diamond?”
“She’d read somewhere that diamonds didn’t melt in lava. That they were strong, indestructible. I guess she wanted her daughter to be as tough as her mother.”
This moment is bittersweet. As much as I love his stories, it serves as a reminder of all the stories I’ll never get to hear.
