Something Like This (Secrets) (20 page)

My heart sliced opened. I felt dead. “But eventually you chose your other daughter over me.”

“She was born sick. Her life consisted of one hospital visit after another. The doctors said she would never reach adulthood.”

“What about me? You didn’t have to leave.”

“I felt I had to, I’m so sorry. She was getting worse and I needed to be there to help take care of her. Her mother couldn’t do it alone. It was too much for her. She had bouts of depression. I felt I needed to take care of them both. The day I took you to lunch when you were twelve. Do you remember?”

“How could I forget?” I choked out.

“I had just come from seeing her, your sister, at the hospital. She was so very sick. So weak, so tired of living. She broke my heart.”

And you broke mine. You’re breaking mine again, right now.

“I knew I had to choose. It’s what I thought I had to do at that time. I was wrong. I was weak. I paid for my decision. I paid for my mistake.”

My eyes and throat burned. “You could have just told me about her. I could have helped.”

“You were a little girl. You didn’t deserve to be burdened with my mistakes.”

“Your mistake has haunted me my entire life.”

He hid his face in his hands. “It killed me to walk away from you.”

You didn’t die. You’re still alive. You walked away from your firstborn and you never looked back. And now I’m supposed to feel sorry for you. I’m supposed to erase my feelings of hate and anger toward you, all because you had a sick child, all because my sister who was a mistake and should have never been born needed you more than I needed you.

“What’s her name? The girl who stole my father.”

He glanced at the sky. “Maria.”

Maria, a beautiful and saintly name, so unlike Jadie.

“Where is she now?”

His eyes were still gazing at the clouds. “She’s gone. She died a year after I saw you in the paint store.”

“I know I should say I’m sorry. But I can’t.”

I was sorry, I was really sorry that he had to go through that, but I couldn’t say the words to him. They simply refused to come out.

“Why didn’t you come for me? Why didn’t you try to find me?”

“Because I was broken. I went crazy. I had lost my second born. She looked like you, you know. Just as beautiful and, oh, she was a fighter, like her big sister. She fought for her place every day, but in the end, my sweet baby girl lost and God took her from me. When I search the sky, I’m not looking for God. I’m not seeking redemption. I’m looking for her, hoping to catch a glimpse of her smile. She’s up there. She’s dancing and singing and laughing and saying hello to me. When she stopped breathing, I didn’t just weep for her. I wept for you. My mistakes had caused me to lose two daughters. Losing my second born was God’s way of punishing me for abandoning you.”

I massaged my temples, my stomach curled in one huge knot. “What then? How did you end up living in the streets? I want to know everything.”

“It happened fast. I started drinking. I wanted to forget her—and you. I spent my days living in a daze and before I knew it, I’d lost my job and Maria’s mother left me. I had no one. I was alone. And I deserved it all. I did try to get help. I also found you. Drunk and from afar, I watched you, and I was so proud. But eventually I surrendered to my grief, and one day I came home to find that I no longer had a home. I have been homeless for years. I visit food pantries when I have the strength; I seek out shelters when it gets too cold. I no longer care what happens to me. God should have stricken me dead a long time ago.”

This was my father’s story. This was what he carried with him each day. This is what tortured him, haunted him, and suffocated him. And it was now also part of my story. I had every right to be angry...to want to stand and turn my back on him. I had sought out answers for so long and now here they were, and I hadn’t run away. My heart bled for my father. Yes, he abandoned me, but I was comforted in knowing that he didn’t leave me because he stopped loving me or because he wanted to be free from parenting.

Hearing him admit his past to me crushed my core, hearing him tell me I had a little sister who I never got to meet, who suffered and died, who never had a chance to make a go at it, to throw her hat in the air and let the world know she was there and ready to claim her spot.

I felt as if my sister was there with us. An innocent ghost had joined us. Maybe it wasn’t Mami who made me stop that day to give a homeless man a bottle of water. Maybe it was my sister. Her spirit sought freedom just like mine. We were connected and my father...
our
father had the power to free us. He held the one piece we both needed. He held the
truth
.

I won’t pretend to know what’s going to happen next. As much as I want to save my father; get him off the streets, help him find a job, help him start a new life, I know it has to come from him. He has to raise himself from the ground and take a step, embrace the new journey that is ahead of him. I can walk by his side, but I can’t lead him. Leading belongs to him and to him alone.

I stroked his hand. “Thank you for telling me the truth. I wish I could have met my little sister. I always wanted a little sister.”

“She would have loved you.”

“Papi.”

“
Hija
, daughter of mine.”

“I’m hurt and I suspect the pain will take a long time to go away, if it ever does. I don’t want to lose you, again.”

He squeezed my hand and kissed it. “Maria is smiling down on us, I’m sure of it.”

“Is this how you want to live for the rest of your life?”

He dug in a plastic bag beside him. Pulling out an unopened bottle of water, he said, “An angel brought me this water. I thought I was dreaming when I saw her. I thought I was dead and that an angel had been sent to take me to the afterlife. I never opened it. But I kept it with me. It was a gift from an angel. It saved my life.”

“What do you mean?”

“I couldn’t be sure it was you, the angel who saved me. It had been so long since I had seen your eyes. I thought I had imagined you. I thought about you every single day. Every day. That day you stopped to offer me water, that was the day I had decided to end it all because I couldn’t take the pain anymore. But then, out of nowhere, you appeared and in the seconds I stared into your eyes, I remembered the man I used to be. The father I was before I left you.”

He had recognized me. He had stared into my eyes and recognized me. I had saved him. My father was going to kill himself and because I stopped to offer him a bottle of water, he didn’t go through with it.
Thank you, God, thank you.

“Will you seek help?” I asked.

“I don’t think I will ever be well again. A big part of me died a long time ago and it can never be resurrected. I can’t make you any promises. I can’t lie to you. I have broken enough promises.”

“Will you be here tomorrow?”

“No.”

I threw my arms around him. “Oh, Daddy. Oh, Papi, I love you. I want you to be okay.”

I was a child again, clinging to her father.

“Don’t cry, sweet girl. You saved me. I must now walk alone. I will never burden you again.”

I hugged him tighter. “I miss you. I miss you so much.”

“I’ll always be there, I swear it.”

I let go of him and conceded. My father and I would never ride a Ferris wheel together. We would never go to the theatre or a baseball game or a picnic. He was someone from my past who reentered my life for one tiny moment. One moment that he—that I—needed, that the spirits of my mother and sister needed, but that was all it was. Just a glimpse. Borrowed time, nothing more.

We sat on that dirty sidewalk, my father and I, holding hands, not saying a word, barely breathing, and watched time slip away from us. We sat there as if we were petrified, as if we had ceased to exist.

Gradually, I breathed again, blood began to flow within my veins again and I gently removed my hand from his. “
Me voy
, I’m leaving.”

“
Si, si
, go.”

“I’m not going to say goodbye.”

“
Hasta luego?”
he asked.

I stood. “Until we see each other again.”

I started walking. I held back my emotions for fear of twisting around and running back to him.

The day I had looked into my father’s eyes, the first day of my new job, I had known two things: One, I needed him and two, he needed me.

As my feet carried me away from him, I knew one thing: I had forgiven him.

––––––––

C
rossing the street on my way to the food trucks which were lined up on Maryland Avenue, I suppressed my emotions. I outright demanded they remain intact. If I let myself cry or feel anything at that moment, I’d be dragged to a place from which I didn’t think I was strong enough to escape. I didn’t know if I would ever see my father again; the thought of not seeing him again, frightened me, yet, what could I do? He had chosen to walk away from me, to continue living as he was living. Yes, every single part of me wanted to run back to him and get him some help. I wished for a happy ending for my father. If I could just close my eyes and tap my shoes together and make it come true for him, if I could just wave a magic wand, chant a spell, invoke the help of all the Gods in all the worlds, if I...there was nothing I could do.

I called Aunt Conchita.

“Tia, it’s me.”

“I’m here. What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing. I just wanted to say hi.”

“You’re lying.”

“I haven’t told you something.”

“Then tell me. You chose to call me. Andale, tell me what’s wrong.”

“My father.” My voice was shaking and I thought I was going to swallow my own tongue.

“What about him?”

“I saw him. I know where he is.”

She didn’t respond.

“Tia, did you hear me?”

“Si, si, I heard you. How is he?”

“Not good. He’s homeless.”

“I’m sorry. Did you talk to him?”

“Yes. He doesn’t want help. He doesn’t need me.”

“Oh, sweet girl. I’m so sorry I’m not there.”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“Yes, you do.”

“I want to be part of his life.”

“Then don’t let him push you away.”

“What can I do? How do I convince him to let me help him?”

“You’re strong. You’ve always been strong and determined. You may be young and the Saints know they’ve put you through too much, but sabes que?”

“What?”

“You’re going to be more than okay. The Saints have put you through this because they know you can handle it. They know you’re a fighter. So, if you want to be part of your father’s life, put yourself in his life. Fight for your place.”

“I’ll try.”

“You’ll do more than try.”

“Thank you, Tia. Adios, Tia.”

“Adios.”

Standing in line with about ten other people, I waited my turn for rice and lentils and curry chicken. My turn came and I received a white foam container brimming with food.

Darkness was hours away; light shielded me still. I had time before the earth would crack open and expose everyone’s secrets. I sat on a bench and opened the container. Indian food was my favorite, but as my senses inhaled the aroma, my stomach rejected it. Not too far from me stood a man grasping a sign which read,
I’m a veteran. Please help. I’m hungry.

My father wasn’t the only homeless person in DC. We had many and I had never stopped to help any of them, not one, except for my father. I passed them every day, just like I passed my father, but not once had I been compelled to stop and talk to them, to ask them their name, to ask them how I could help, to offer them food, a smile, a nod, some sort of acknowledgement that would let them know they weren’t invisible, that they existed and although most of us ignored them, we knew they were there. Our minds recognized their loneliness and hunger.

I closed the container and went up to the homeless man. “Take this.”

His somber eyes gazed at me from his wrinkled face. Timidly, he took the container from my hands.

“Do you like rice?” I asked.

He nodded.

“How about lentils and chicken?”

“Yes.”

“Good, enjoy.”

I turned and started walking.

“Miss, thank you. God bless you,” he said.

I peeked across the street to the sidewalk under the train tracks. He wasn’t there. My father was gone.

***

W
hen I got back to the office, there was a post-it note on my computer. It read,
Jadie, please cancel any appointments I have this afternoon. I won’t be back in the office until the morning. Thank you.

This was the second time Mr. Walker had taken the entire afternoon off without letting me know where he was going or what he was doing. I was curious, but couldn’t come right out and ask him what he was up to. It was none of my business.

After work, I called Reece. I decided not to tell him about my conversation with my father, not yet, anyway. I also decided not to mention Mr. Walker’s mysterious afternoon disappearances.

“Hey, beautiful,” he said.

“You up for dinner with my roommates tonight?”

A block away from my apartment, I held on tight to the brown grocery bag I was carrying. I had texted Lisa back earlier and let her know she had won. I was going to invite Reece over for dinner tonight.

“Okay, yeah, I guess it’s interrogation time, huh?”

“The heat lamp is all ready to go.”

“Should I be scared?”

“A little.”

“Thanks for the warning,” he said.

“Baby?”

“I love that you just called me baby.”

“How about I whisper it into your ear later tonight?”

“While I do nasty things to you?”

“And I to you.”

“Come over right now,” he said. “I need to touch you.”

“Is that all you need to do?”

“That’s just the start of it.”

“First dinner and then dessert,” I said.

“I don’t think I can wait.”

“You don’t have a choice.”

“You’re cruel,” he said.

“You’re only just finding out?”