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So, Josh shows me this bin. It has so many things in it that my mind’s blown. Like I realize that my mother doesn’t know the guy who was the love of her life is dead. I raise my eyes to Josh’s dark gaze. He’s somber, studying me, seeing the impact this has on me.
I lose it. God, I didn’t intend to, but suddenly, tears start to stream down my face. I push the papers away and let the grief loose. So much damned grief, over so many matters.
Josh grabs some napkins from the napkin holder and shoves them in my hands. He stands up, gets behind me, and reaches down and to my shoulders while anguish wracks them.
Standing up, I bury my face in his chest. Not much later—or maybe forever later—I can’t tell how much time has passed, I raise my head. “She loved him like I love you.”
He nods. “And he loved her like I love you.” He points to Jeremiah’s journal, to the last entry. “He was coming home for her. I know that’s not the perfect ending for your dad, or at least, it wouldn’t have been, but babe, Jer loved her.”
I shake my head. “I know he did. And she loved him, but God, he left her for Argentina. Twice. And the second time, he already knew they had a son together.”
“I left you, didn’t I?”
I can’t believe he’d try to take any of the blame which clearly sits square on my shoulders. “No, Joshua Tamez. I left you. I abandoned you.”
“Yeah, but when I found out the truth, I didn’t come running to tell you. I let you live in ignorance about Sophie.”
I raise my head, stand on my toes, and look him in the eye. “Sophie? That’s our baby’s name?”
He nods slowly. “That’s her name.”
“That’s a beautiful name.”
“I know. I know.” The despair and grief in his voice almost breaks me, but I hold it in as best as I can. I’m fully aware that if I lose it again, this time over Sophie, it might break him. And I don’t want to see him in that kind of pain. It’s clear from the rawness in his eyes, this has not been easy for him. I’m guessing it will never be easy for either of us. I say the only thing I think which will bring either of us any solace over the years. “She’s alive. She’s happy. She’s loved.”
“That’s our only consolation.”
I rifle through Jeremiah’s letters and papers. Especially the ones that are labeled “Jeremiah’s Family.” I reread his final letter to my mother. In it he states that he heard she had another baby, his, and that he was coming home to her.
“I have to show these to my mom.”
“No doubt,” Josh agrees.
“She never knew, still doesn’t know, that Jeremiah was coming home to her.” I don’t mention how this would have rocked and ruined our lives. And God knows, it would have. “Josh, how is it my mom never knew he had died?”
“A local obituary wasn’t run. My dad never saw a reason to. And I never knew so I couldn’t have asked him.”
“I guess Jericho took that to his grave.” That stings my heart. Knowing that Mr. Jericho took his own life and took this secret with him. “I’m sorry about your dad.”
He purses his lips. “I don’t think I was surprised when he decided to go. He missed my mom. Missed her fiercely. Became a shadow of himself.”
I couldn’t begin to imagine.
“I need to see my mother again.” I wasn’t sure what I would tell my mother, but if I were in her position, I’d want to know that the love of my life was dead.
“I figured you would. Want me to take you back?”
“No. I’ll come back tomorrow. In my car. Early. I’ll time it to arrive right after dad goes to work.”
45
BOUGAINVILLEAS AND BREAKDOWNS
CASSIE
The drive to Boar Creek from Austin’s peaceful. Uneventful. The last part of the trip is eerie because of the low-lying fog that covers the road and the countryside. Cows peacefully munch on grass, partially obscured by the haze. A mother deer and her fawn raise their heads as I pass by them. Heron pluck tiny fish and crawdads from the ditch. The best thing about this journey is that the drive centers me.
And just as I’d planned, I arrive right after Dad has left for work. I don’t have to go inside to surprise Mom because I catch her on the side patio, cup of coffee in one hand and a watering can in the other. She doesn’t notice my pulling into the drive, nor my getting out and walking toward her.
