AllFreeNovel
Share Us
He reaches down and takes hold of my hand. Gripping it firmly, he walks with me the rest of the way.
“Do you think my mother has ever visited him?” I ask after five minutes of standing in front of the headstone, reading it over and over, thinking about the man I never knew.
My question isn’t one Jameson can answer. Really, it’s not even a question for him because he barely knows my mother. It’s simply me thinking out loud. But still, he gives me what I need. “I would hope so. She loved him enough to have a child with him. I imagine she cared for him in her own way.”
For a reason I can’t even come close to figuring out, his answer makes me cry. I think about my phone call with Mom last night. She sounded different when she talked about my father. Different than she’s ever sounded while talking about a man.
I think Jameson’s right. I think she did love my dad. And I think she must have visited him. I hope so.
I thread my fingers tighter through his.
We stay for an hour.
Jameson keeps hold of my hand the entire time and lets me talk about everything I need to.
Was my father happy in his life?
What were his dreams?
Did he want to marry my mother?
What caused the car crash he died in?
Did he help my mother choose my name before he died?
I have so many questions that it feels like my mind can’t possibly fit them all in.
Jameson patiently listens to every one of the questions I raise. I wonder if he realizes I have so many more that he’ll have to listen to over the next eleven months.
When I’m ready to leave, I turn to him and ask one last question. “Do you visit your father?”
His features harden. “No.”
I thought that would be the answer he’d give. And I don’t expect anything further, but he surprises me when he adds, “Mom does, and for the life of me, I can’t understand why.”
I contemplate that for a moment, trying to put myself in her shoes. “How often does she go?”
“Once a year, on the anniversary of his death.”
“Have you asked her why?”
“No. We don’t discuss my father.”
“Why not?”
“He has no place in our life.”
This man.
He’s powerful, and strong, and sometimes made of stone, but underneath all that are wounds that have never been touched, never been looked at, never been tended to.
“No, but he had a big place in your mom’s life at one point. Maybe she needs you to talk with her about that. Maybe she visits him seeking closure.”
The vein in his temple pulses. “She’s had sixteen years to get that closure.”
“There’s no timeline on grief, Jameson.”
More of that vein pulsing. “She had nothing to grieve. We were all better off without him.”
