All That's True (25 page)

Bridget and I are in my bedroom, just like old times; just like she mentioned in her letter. My mother had no problem getting her out of juvenile. They have so many kids there, that they’re glad to relinquish one. My mother had them speak with Bridget’s aunt who authorized my mother to pick up Bridget and then my mother had to show her identification and sign a form. It was that simple. Bridget looked a bit rumpled from her journey. Her hair was all matted and her clothes looked like a bum had been wearing them for a week, but other than that she was fine. And not one person tried to pick her up, which I consider a small miracle. Even with her mussed up hair, Bridget is very attractive and she is definitely young, which is what my mother says child predators look for, so I guess there weren’t any out that night.

Once again Bridget is braiding my hair into a French braid. She’s waiting for a call from her father. Her Aunt Ellen says he is beside himself with worry and has already booked a flight back to Atlanta. My hair looks so cool. But I hate it when it turns out good and then you’re not going anywhere. It’s sort of a waste. Even if you take a picture of it, what good is it? You didn’t go anywhere. Usually when you do, your hair looks really crummy. It’s hair fate, which is never on your side.

“Maybe my father will let me stay here,” Bridget says. “You never know.” She stands back and puts her hands on her hips and checks out my hair. She walks around me and looks at it from all sides. I’ve already checked it out in the mirror, twice.

“It looks good,” she says. “Do you like it?”

“I love it,” I say. I have a smile on my face as wide as the Grand Canyon. But my hair could look terrible, and it wouldn’t get any better than this, having Bridget here and just the two of us doing stuff like we used to.

“Hey, let’s paint our toenails,” I say, remembering her letter.

Bridget knows right where I keep the polish and retrieves it from the bathroom cabinet. I settle on one color, a dark brown, that’s almost black.

“Cool,” Bridget says. “Do mine with this color too.”

I could just hug her.

We don’t get to finish polishing her nails. Her father calls from London. My mother calls up the stairs, to hurry. He’s on the line. Bridget picks up the phone in my room. I make like I’m going to leave her alone, but she motions me to sit down on the bed.

“Hi,” she whispers into the mouthpiece. There’s a long pause, then Bridget says, “I couldn’t help myself, Dad. I’ve just been so miserable and I figured running away was better than slitting my wrists.”

Good call! I give her a thumbs-up. Her father would have to be stupid to get mad at her after a comment like that. I grab hold of one of my pillows and hug it to my chest.

“Ask him,” I whisper to Bridget. I nod my head frantically. Now is the best time to get him to understand she needs to stay here for a while.

“What I want to do is stay with Andi. Her mother says it’s okay.” Another pause. “Then when school’s out we can see about summer. How about that?” Bridget lets out a deep sigh. She has a frown on her face. Her father is probably saying it’s out of the question.

“And Rudy’s here, too,” she says. “Don’t forget about that. I really feel good about being here with him. My depression is going away already.”

Another brilliant call! Bridget nods her head several times into the phone, like her father can see her or something. “Okay,” she says. “Okay, then—just a minute.”

Bridget puts the phone down and goes to the banister. My mother is still parked at the bottom. “Mrs. St. James,” Bridget says, “my father wants to talk to you.”

Bridget returns to my bedroom and takes the pillow from me and buries her face in it. I pat her back and tell her it will be okay. We’ll figure something out.

“Don’t worry,” I say. “It’s going to be okay.” Knowing it won’t be.

Bridget puts down the pillow and bursts out laughing. “He said yes!” she says. “Yes! I can stay ’til the end of the school year.” That’s only a month, but still. Bridget starts dancing around the room. I jump up on the bed and start bouncing. I toss my other pillow at her and it smacks her in the head. She tosses it back, then jumps up on the bed to join me. We are being so silly, like a couple of twelve-year-olds, but we don’t care. Bridget gets to stay. It’s like heaven. It’s like the angels have knocked on our heads and said, How about a little miracle tonight? How would you like that?

Sometimes there’s just no second-guessing, parents.

***

In the morning, we get another surprise. Donna had the baby in the middle of the night.

“Your father called, Andi,” my mother says. Rosa is back and busy fixing breakfast.

My mother puts her hand on my shoulder. “It’s a little boy. They’re naming him Gavin Alexander. He weighed six pounds and seven ounces.” She pats me on the back like this will make all of it okay.

I’m stunned. I knew the baby was coming, but all of a sudden, now that he’s here, it’s like it’s real for the very first time.

“I—I—” I don’t know what to say. “Are they all right?” I ask, wondering if I care and quickly deciding that yes, I do.

“They’re fine. Your father wants you to come to the hospital, Andi. Would you like that?”

Rosa brings in a stack of pancakes and a pitcher of orange juice. Bridget takes the chair next to mine. She sits back in her chair and waits for someone to start eating. My mother gets up from the table. “I’ve already had my breakfast, so I’ll leave you two girls to enjoy yours.”

She dabs at her mouth and smiles and asks Rosa to bring her another cup of coffee in the sunroom. My mother is all smiles with everything lately because she had a long talk with Dr. Armstrong, explaining to him that she is not interested in their relationship going any further, and instead of him getting mad, he said he understood completely, that they should just take their time. There was no hurry and how about a movie Friday night. “We’re just friends, Andi,” she says. “And it’s good to have lots of friends. It’s helpful to my recovery.”

She sounds so sure of herself in her recovery and this is a great relief. Now that the baby is actually here I don’t want her falling off the deep end. I watch her go toward the sunroom. She seems very relaxed and not upset, like the baby is no big thing. She’s accepting the situation and moving on. Something I have not been able to do.

Bridget digs into the stack of pancakes. “Are you going to go to the hospital?” she says.

“I don’t know. I told my father I never want to see him again. I think I meant it.” I pick up a pancake from the stack and slather some butter and syrup on it. Rosa’s pancakes are to die for, but I’m no longer hungry. Bridget is devouring hers. She doesn’t wait to finish her mouthful. “You should go,” she mumbles. “It’s a new little baby!”

I tell her about my friend Julia and what her father did to her.

“But your father may not be anything like her father. You said he’s been trying to see you and calls and comes by all the time.”

Bridget starts in on another pancake. She stops only to take two large sips of orange juice. She gulps too fast. Some of it slides down the front of her shirt. She licks it off. “And look at my dad. He’s turning out to be pretty cool. Don’t forget that!”

“I don’t know—”

“I’d like to go,” she says, “to see the baby. Just think, Andi. He’s your little brother! I bet you never thought you’d have another one.”

I think of Alexander and my face turns pale.

“No, no, not that he’s going to take Alex’s place,” she says, and pats my arm. “But still, he’s a little baby brother. He’s never hurt anyone. Let’s at least go see him.”

It seems like an okay idea, and I am curious. It’s not going to change my feelings about my father, I’m sure of that. But it wouldn’t hurt to go see a little baby. It wouldn’t kill me.

“Okay,” I say, and put down my fork. I’ll eat later. There’s a lump in my throat, so food’s out of the question. There’s no way I can swallow right now.

When my mother drops us off at the hospital, I go to the desk and ask where the nursery is. I’m going to go there and see the baby, and then I’m going to call my mother and ask her to come right back and pick me up. So I’m not sure why I’m even here, except I can’t help myself. I do want to see the baby. It’s not his fault all this is happening. It’s not his fault his parents are disgusting.

The woman at the desk says the nursery is on the third floor. Bridget and I head to the elevators. There’s a long wait and then finally one shows up. We stand back and let everyone get off. It takes a while. There is a lady in a wheelchair and an elderly man trying to maneuver it. I never know if I should offer to help or not. Sometimes they get offended. I step back and give him plenty of room. Once everyone is off, we dash in and head to the third floor. My heart is pounding. I wonder what the baby looks like. Will he remind me of Alex? Oh please, don’t let him remind me of Alex. I’ll be a goner, guaranteed.

Bridget runs out of the elevator the minute the door opens. She’s racing down the hall like there’s a fire. I want to tell her to wait up, but everybody around me is being very quiet. There’s no way I can just yell out to her. I head toward the nursery. By now Bridget’s rounded the corner and is nowhere in sight. Someone takes hold of my elbow. I whirl around thinking maybe we’re not supposed to be here. I’m in for the shock of my life. It’s my father.

“Andi,” he says. Relief is stamped on his face like postage. He takes a deep sigh. My name slips out of his mouth again. “Andi.” He whispers it reverently, like he used to whisper Beth’s. A little shiver ripples up my spine and hugs my neck. He slips an arm around my shoulder.

“Oh, Andi,” he says. “You came.”

My father is elated to see me. He must be. His arm is warm as fresh toast and his smile could dazzle the sun.

“Well, I—I—just thought, I—I—”

My father nods his head. “I’m just so glad you’re here. Donna will be too.” His arm is still wrapped around my shoulder. He proceeds to walk me down the hall.

“We’re going to be a real family, again,” he says. “It’ll be different than last time. You’ll see.”

I stop in my tracks. My father nearly trips over his feet.

“No!” I say. “Nothing’s going to be better.” Suddenly I am filled with fear. I think of what Julia told me about her father and all of her disappointment through the years.

“Everything is ruined.” My voice cracks. I yank myself out of my father’s arms and will myself not to cry. “I don’t want this! I don’t want you and mom to be divorced! I don’t want you to be married to Donna! I don’t want you to have a new family! I don’t like where we’re at!” Now I’m positively shouting.

Some of the nurses in the hallway have heard me and are murmuring to themselves. My father takes one of my arms and pulls me to him gently. He puts one finger up to his lips, motioning me to keep it down.

“Sweetheart,” he says, “Where we’re at is all we’ve got. We need to make the most of it. There are no more yesterdays, Andi, but there are many, many tomorrows.” He cups my face in both his hands. “Let’s not ruin today, okay? Today we have a new baby—a new little life to bring some joy to.” My father gently touches the bandage over my stitches. He leans over and kisses the bandage. He is being so tender. He takes hold of my hands and gently squeezes them with his fingers. Maybe he does care. But how can I be sure? What if he really doesn’t? Maybe this is all an act. And maybe he’ll forget about me later, like Julia’s dad. How can I know? There’s just no guarantee.

My father lets go of my hands and wraps his arms around me. He holds me tighter than I ever remember him holding me before. “I love you, Andi,” he says. “I love you so much.” He says the word “so” like it’s five syllables long.

“Please be part of my new family, Andi. I need you.”

I’m trying to answer, but I’m crying too hard to make any other sound but sobs.

“It’s okay, baby,” my father says. He pats my back and hands me his hankie. It smells like Herrera for Men. It smells exactly like him. Like always.

“It’s going to be alright,” he says. “Life’s all about ups and downs, honey, but there are going to be many more high moments than low ones, I promise you that.”

How does he know that? How could he possibly know that? But somewhere in the middle of my heart, I’m hoping it’s true, that he does know. That he’s been around enough to know it’s true. And that makes me feel better and that makes me want to take a chance—to reconsider. I want my father back! And he’s here. His arms are around me. He’s patting my back and stroking my hair. And he’s talking to me, really talking to me. His mind isn’t a zillion miles away. He’s right here. I think about what Mrs. Temple said about making choices, “Don’t worry Andi, you can always change your mind.” I want to change my mind. I do! I do!

“Come on, Andi,” my father says. “Let’s go see your little brother.”

He takes my hand and together we walk down the hall. It’s not a long hallway, but it feels like it takes miles for us to get to where we’re going. I glance at the corridor in front of us and can see a sign flashing brightly:
Your future, Andi.
I blink my eyes and it’s gone as quickly as it appeared. But I’m certain it was there. I could see it so clearly.
Your future, your future…

Finally, we turn the corner and walk up to the glass window outside the nursery. I take a deep breath and step forward. My eyes are closed tightly. I open them slowly and stare intently through the glass window and there he is—my little brother, my own little brother. He’s squirming and trying to fit his little fist into his mouth but he can’t find it. He starts to cry. He’s so beautiful, so absolutely, incredibly beautiful that I can’t say anything. I just stand there in my father’s arms and weep. And my father is holding me like he’ll never let me go. And I just don’t care that it might not be forever. I’m willing to take a chance. I need to take a chance. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain. So, I decide, right there in his arms, I am going to claim my father! Right now. Right this very minute. He is mine, mine, mine. But I am more than willing to share him. Oh, yes, I am happy to share him. I look at the baby and realize that there is enough love to reach around all of us and I start to cry harder. The baby is crying, and I am crying and I look up and my father is crying. But it is not sadness that surrounds us and encourages the tears to fall. It’s all that we have before us. It would make an ocean weep.