The rest of the night is spent with the Bingonians cackling away at memories they have together. Aunt Shelley laughs along, and it makes me smile. She doesn’t smile too often. Well, she does, but it’s usually a sad smile as if she’s missing something-or someone. None of her friends bring up any family Aunt Shelley may have had. She doesn’t have any photos around her house—other than the ones of me and some of her when she was younger.
I ask her if she’d ever been in love and she smiles brightly and says that she had been.
“What happened?” I ask.
She gives me a small smile and caresses my cheek. “Sometimes you need to do things that hurt in order to protect the ones you love.” I frown and ponder her answer, but don’t question her about it, even though it doesn’t make any sense to me.
I’ve never asked if she had kids. Surely, if she did, I would have met them in the almost ten years I’d been living here. As the weeks pass, Aunt Shelley becomes weaker. Every day, she rambles on about things that don’t make much sense. She tells me that one day I’ll understand my life. She tells me that if I ever find a good man that puts others before himself, I should hold on to him.
“Find a man that will watch over you. Don’t settle for men who only have one thing in mind. If he doesn’t like to eat, something is wrong with him,” she says, which makes me laugh. “He needs to put you before himself—always,” she would tell me. “He needs to love you more than you love him.” That one confuses me a bit, but I don’t ask.
The rambling goes on for a week before the live-in nurse we had tells me that the medication is making her a little spacey. One night Aunt Shelley asks me to lie in bed with her. With tired, shaky hands, she strokes my long hair and caresses my face.
“You mustn’t be afraid of love, Blake. No matter what you go through in life, don’t be afraid to love. Loving is the only thing that keeps us sane. If it weren’t for love, the suffering we experience wouldn’t be worth it. If it weren’t for the suffering, we wouldn’t cherish the good things life gives us. Sometimes it’ll seem as though life only knocks you down, but you have to learn to pick yourself up and fight back. I love you, Blake. I will always love you even when I’m no longer here to tell you,” Aunt Shelley breaths weakly.
“I love you, too, Aunt Shelley,” I whisper as tears run down my face.
Her hand stills in my hair, and I look up to see her smiling at me. A happy smile. I sleep in her bed that night. The next morning I get up to shower, careful not to wake her, and when I get back to her room after drying my hair and changing, the nurse tells me that Shelley is gone.
Phoebe comes over within ten minutes. I lock myself in my room for a couple of hours before Phoebe tells me that I have to go stay with her for a couple of days. Aunt Shelley has left preparations for her funeral and burial. I don’t remember any of it. Those days are a blur to me. I feel dozens of hands on my shoulders. I hear hundreds of “I’m sorry for your loss” sentiments. The only thing I remember is the empty feeling in my heart and thinking that I was alone, again.
When Phoebe asks me to pack up because she’s going to drive me to Mrs. Parker’s house, I am still empty. When I get to Mrs. Parker’s house and meet the other kids, I feel at home and my heart starts to refuel with love—little by little.
I’m thankful to Shelley for the advice she gave me that week and I’m thankful that I still remember it. Thinking of her happy smile that night still makes me smile even though it was bittersweet. In retrospect, I wish I would have been more aware during the funeral and burial. I wish I could remember the faces of those who went. I wonder if that man that called her “Ma” was there. I wonder if Mark was there. I think back to the letter she left me—the one I decided to burn. She wrote that she was not my aunt. I figure that to be my aunt she would have had to be younger—but you never know. I don’t know who she could have been. Unless—
My thoughts are interrupted by my ringing house phone. I groan and reach over to pick it up. Cole left for work awhile ago, and Aubry and Aimee are away this week. I wonder which one of them is calling—or maybe it’s Becky. I look at the caller ID, and it says Private. I consider letting the machine pick it up, but curiosity gets the best of me—as usual.
“Hello?” I say.
“Is this Blake?” a harsh male voice asks.
“Who’s calling?”
“An old friend of her pops,” he replies, giving me chills.
What the fuck?
“Blake doesn’t have a father,” I reply as evenly as I can.
He laughs and coughs heavily. I can tell he’s a smoker. “Everybody has a father, Cupcake. Let me speak to Blake.”
“Blake’s father is dead, sir. Please don’t call here again,” I say before hanging up.
I feel my face heat from the blood rushing to my head before the phone rings again. Private caller. I grab my cell phone with my shaky hands and call the first person I think of-Mark. I rapidly explain the call I received and what the man said to me. He tells me that he’s sending Bruce—my old security guy—to pick me up in five minutes. I agree and start getting dressed rapidly. When I’m in the closet, I hear the machine beep, and the same man’s voice flows through the room.
“Blake, pick up the phone,” the rough voice says. “Your father’s not dead. He just doesn’t want to be found...but I can take you to him.” My stomach drops and I hold on to the doorframe as I try to catch my breath.
Why are these people bothering me? How did he get my information?
“Blake, what happened to the boy? Cathleen?”
I can’t breathe. I try, but I can’t. Only gasps escape me. My legs finally begin to function, and I run to the phone.
“Hello?” I shout. “Hello?” But the line is silent.
A loud knock on my front door makes me jump. I take a couple of deep breaths and walk out of my room. I look through the peephole and see Bruce standing on the other side, his full-grown beard bleeding into his scruffy salt-and-pepper hair. I open the door and see him eye me curiously. I look down and see my disheveled wardrobe. I grab my long black pea coat and put it on. It’ll have to do.
I ask Bruce to give me a minute and run back to my room to grab the answering machine. I have to play the message for Mark. When I get to his office, I don’t even bother to check in with Skipper. I just barge right into Mark’s office. He looks up annoyed but stands when he sees it’s me. I take a seat before he reaches me, because the adrenaline I’m running on is fading, making my knees weak again.
“Are you alright? Give me the machine,” he says, grabbing it from my hands. “Let me get you some water.”
As he serves me the water, I explain to him again what my conversation with the man was like. He plugs in the machine, and when I hear the voice, I cover my ears and look down. I can’t bear to hear the man’s words again. I look at Mark and his face has completely gone pale.
“Who is it?” I ask, my voice barely a whisper.
He clutches on to his shoulder as if he’s been hit by a bullet and sinks into his seat. He doesn’t answer me. He just stares blankly into my face.
“Is it true? Is my father alive?”