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“I left her at the altar.” The admission looks like it is breaking him, and my dad doesn’t break.

“What? Why?” I’m in complete disbelief. My dad is the most reliable man I have ever met. He is always where you need him. He’s never been late to pick me up, missed a recital, or any milestone of my life. Heck, even after Mama died, he hadn’t missed a day of work. It was unlike him to be a minute late in his own strict daily routine, let alone leave someone at the altar.

“The night before the wedding, I realized I didn’t love Susan. I was such a coward, though. I couldn’t tell her. I couldn’t break her heart, so I just left. I didn’t tell anyone. Not my parents, not my best man. I didn’t even leave a note. I just got on a train and left. I regret it to this day.” Dad whispers hoarsely, and I see tears in his eyes.

“When did all this happen?” This story is so unlike the Dad I know I can’t help but pry. The mantra may have been Mama’s, but Dad had lived it too. He never withheld compliments, criticisms, or apologies, so I could see why this was tearing him apart.

“A year after I graduated high school. Susan and I were high school sweethearts. We were only nineteen when we were going to get married.”

“Did Mama know?” Mama would have never been okay with this. Not my dad leaving someone at the altar, but my dad living with all this guilt, shame, and regret hidden away.

“Yes, she was always trying to get me to go find Susan and apologize.” Dad laughs and smiles fondly at the memory, but he still looks torn apart.

“Did you ever?” I ask tentatively, because Dad looks as fragile as he did the day of Mama’s funeral, like any word might be the one that makes him snap.

“No, by the time I worked up the courage and went back to my hometown, she was gone. I guess she left a month after I left her at the altar. She wasn’t on good terms with her parents, so no one knew where she went. I was too late.” He lets out a defeated sigh.

“Maybe we can find her now?” The wheels on my brain spin as I speak. There are a lot of ways to track down someone these days.

“It is too late, sweetie. She is gone. We can’t find her now.” Dad gives me a sad smile and stands up to put his plate in the sink.

“Well, maybe you can’t, but I can. It’s called the internet dad.” I say in my best teenager voice. I doubt he has ever even thought to search for her on social media.

“You can try, honey.” Dad smiles like I’m so naïve and hopeful, which riles my pride. I will find this Susan Smith just to show him I can. If I’ve found a couple of my best friend Lilli’s crushes with just a first name and a vague description, I could find Susan Smith. I was basically a social media super stalker.

“No, really Dad. If I find her, promise you will talk to her. You can’t live with all that guilt.” I hope he will agree because I will find Susan Smith. It is what Mama would have done had she had my social media expertise.

“Okay, sweetie. If you find her, I will go.” He says like he doesn’t really believe I will do it. I love a challenge, though. Dad leaves me after that and I get to work.

I start with a quick internet browser search and realize I might be in way over my head. There are a lot of Susan Smiths in the United States. She could have moved anywhere after leaving her hometown, so I can’t narrow it down. I try all the social media sites, but without a picture, it is almost impossible. Not to mention she might have married and changed her name.

Ugh, what have I signed myself up for? I decide a shareable post is about my only hope, but I’m not sure how many people will care about my dad’s need to apologize. Might as well try, though. I type up a quick post using the information I pried out of Dad.

Hey, y’all!

Before my mother left this world, she always stressed living without regrets. She left no “I love you”, “I’m sorry”, or “thank you” unsaid. To honor her, my dad and I are setting out to do this as well, but we need your help!

My dad, David George, is searching for the woman he left at the altar 25 years ago. Rough, I know, but he would like a chance to apologize. Her name was Susan Smith. She would be 44 years old, and her hometown is Landers, California. Please share so we can find her.

Thank you!

I know posting it will get mixed reactions, but mixed reactions make an internet success story. I ask my dad if it is okay beforehand, and he reluctantly nods his approval. I ponder leaving out the left at the altar part, but I figure that juicy tidbit will capture attention and get people talking.

I post the message and then close my laptop, not sure if what I had just done would help anything. When Dad had talked about Susan, it was the first time he had shown genuine emotion in months, even if it was guilt. This project could be what brought him back, and it is what Mama would have wanted. I glance at her favorite saying above the sink and know she would be with me on this.

Chapter 3

Dad leaves for work soon after I post the message. He owns the only burger joint in town, which means when I am home from school, I always have a job lined up. Flipping burgers isn’t my preferred job, but at least the kitchen gossip is interesting, and it keeps me from becoming restless.

Before I head to the Pit Stop, I lounge around the house and eat a quick lunch. When I get to the diner, I throw my apron and hunt down Sandra, my supervisor, to figure out where she needs me. Searching the kitchen, I find her by the grill, placing cheese slices on patties and fanning herself with her spare hand.

“Where do you need me, Sandra?” I hope she doesn’t say bathroom duty because that is always a mess, and after my last 24 hours, I don’t need to deal with any more dumps.

“Take over cashier duty. Tony keeps sighing every time someone orders a shake, and it is not helpful. Send him back here. I can’t take the heat of the grill any longer.” She points to where Tony is currently speaking to a customer. The customer inevitably orders a chocolate shake and Tony sighs in exasperation and minutely shakes his head. I laugh, but truthfully, making a shake is my least favorite activity as well. Cleaning the blenders is a pain.

“Hey Tony, I got this. Go help Sandra on the grill.” I hip-check him and slide behind the register. Tony mutters a praise of gratitude as he walks away. Tony does much better in roles where he doesn’t have to actually talk to customers.

I spend my entire shift at the register and as it is a Friday, the business never really slows. Our small town is on a small highway in a scenic area of Alabama. Tourists drive through every weekend and as Pit Stop is the only fast food for a hundred miles, it is profitable because everybody loves a good burger.

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
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