Chapter 6
I nearly dropped the phone.
For twenty-eight years, I had imagined my daughter’s voice older.
Harder.
Maybe bitter.
Maybe soft.
But no imagination prepares a mother for a ghost saying Mama.
“Lena?” I whispered.
Stag stepped back at once.
His face changed, understanding without asking.
The line crackled.
“Is it really you?”
I sat on the step because my legs could not hold me.
“Yes, baby.”
A sob broke through the phone.
I covered my mouth.
Stag turned away to give me privacy, but he stayed close enough to catch me if I fell.
Lena cried like she was nineteen again.
I cried like I was forty-six again, watching her taillights disappear down the road.
For a minute, neither of us spoke.
Then she said, “I saw you on the news.”
I closed my eyes.
“That how you found me?”
“I never stopped knowing where you were.”
The words hit wrong.
“What?”
She breathed shakily.
“I wrote letters.”
“No. Mine came back.”
“Mine too.”
My skin prickled.
“I called.”
“So did I.”
I stared at the dirt beneath my shoes.
Something old and dark moved in my memory.
Walter standing by the mailbox.
Walter saying, “No word.”
Walter stiff when Lena’s name came up.
Walter refusing to talk about the boy she left with.
“Your daddy,” I whispered.
Lena went silent.
My heart cracked in a new place.
“Did he keep us apart?”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I thought you did.”
“No.”
The word came out fierce.
“No, Lena. I was mad. I was proud. I was hurt. But I waited.”
She sobbed.
“I thought you hated me.”
“I thought you chose never to come home.”
“I tried.”
I pressed my fist to my chest.
All those years.
All that wasted grief.
“Where are you?”
“Pensacola.”
“Are you safe?”
A pause.
Too long.
My body went still.
“Lena.”
“I’m okay.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
Another pause.
Then a small voice in the background said, “Mama, who is that?”
I stopped breathing.
Lena whispered, “That’s my son. His name is Caleb.”
I looked toward the yard.
The world had not changed, but everything in it was suddenly different.
“I have a grandson?”
“Yes.”
“How old?”
“Nine.”
Nine years.
Nine years of birthdays I had not known to miss.
A sound left me that I did not recognize.
Stag turned back, worry in his eyes.
I waved him off, but my hand shook.
Lena spoke quickly.
“I wanted to tell you. I did. But after so much time, I was scared. Then I saw those men at your house and the news said people tried to steal your land and I thought maybe—”
Her voice broke.
“Maybe if strangers could stand beside you, your daughter could too.”
I cried so hard I could not answer.
Stag crouched in front of me.
“Miss Evie?”
I mouthed, My daughter.
His eyes widened.
Then softened.
Lena heard his voice.
“Who’s with you?”
“A friend.”
She gave a watery laugh.
“Since when do you have biker friends?”
“Since I stopped them from dying.”
“That sounds like you.”
It did.
And somehow, that helped.
We talked for two hours.
Not everything.
Not enough.
But more than nothing.
She told me the boy she left with became her husband, then her regret, then her ex.
She told me she worked nights at a laundry service.
She told me Caleb liked trains, hated peas, and asked hard questions.
I told her Walter died.
She went quiet.
“I don’t know how to feel.”
“Neither do I.”
That was truth.
Walter had loved me.
Walter had cared for me.
Walter may have stolen my daughter from me in the name of pride.
People are rarely one thing.
That makes forgiveness harder.
Near the end, Lena whispered, “Can I come?”
My hand tightened around the phone.
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
I looked at my shed.
The roof was fixed, but it was still small.
Still poor.
Still full of years I did not know how to explain.
“Yes,” I said before fear could stop me. “Come tomorrow.”
After we hung up, I sat there staring at nothing.
Stag stayed silent.
I finally said, “I have a grandson.”
A smile moved across his face.
“Then we better clean up.”
I laughed through tears.
“You saying my place is dirty?”
“I’m saying Rhino left sawdust everywhere and June will blame me.”
By morning, the yard looked almost pretty.
June brought flowers.
Rosemary and yellow daisies.
Rhino fixed the fence gate.
Patch replaced my porch light.
I told them to stop fussing.
Nobody did.
At noon, a blue sedan turned down my road.
My heart climbed into my throat.
A woman stepped out.
Forty-seven years old.
Dark hair streaked with gray.
My eyes.
Walter’s chin.
Behind her stood a thin boy with a backpack and wary eyes.
For a second, none of us moved.
Then Lena said, “Mama.”
I wanted to run.
My leg would not let me.
So I stood there shaking while my daughter crossed the yard.
She stopped one step away.
We looked at each other like two people standing on opposite sides of a burned bridge.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered.
I shook my head.
“No. Not first.”
Her face crumpled.
I opened my arms.
She fell into them.
My walking stick dropped to the dirt.
I held my daughter for the first time in twenty-eight years and felt every lost birthday between us.
Caleb stood by the car, uncertain.
I lifted my tear-wet face.
“You must be my grandson.”
He nodded.
“I guess.”
I laughed.
That sounded like family.
“Come here if you want.”
He hesitated.
Then he came.
When his small arms wrapped around both of us, I felt my knees weaken.
May you like
Stag caught my elbow from behind without making a show of it.
For once, I did not pull away.
