“You’re probably right. To answer your other question, obviously, I still live in Holyoak, and like I said earlier, I work at Lottie’s—well, run it mostly. My grandfather handed it over a few years back.”
“Did you major in restaurant management or whatever the degree would be? If I remember correctly, you were headed off to Boston for college.”
“Yeah, I never went. I stayed home instead.”
“How come?”
Charlotte’s deep inhale echoes in my ear. “Jack,” she says my name tenderly, sending shivers down my spine. “I have something to tell you,” she pauses.
My heart sinks as I wait for her to finish. “Go ahead.”
“I have a daughter. Her name is Arla. She’s nine-years-old. And she . . .” There’s another pause and what I believe to be a sniffle. Is Charlotte crying? “She’s yours. You’re her father.”
My mouth opens to say something, anything, but there are no words. It’s like my brain has stopped working. The silence grows between us. Only the sound of us breathing can be heard. Surely, I didn’t hear her right. There is no way Charlotte said the words I’m replaying over in my mind.
“Jack, this isn’t how I wanted to tell you. When I found out—”
I interrupt her and ask, “Can you repeat what you said?”
“Which part?”
“The important part.”
“We have a daughter. A beautiful, energetic, smart, and amazing daughter.”
“Daughter,” I mutter. “Are you sure—” I stop myself before I insult Charlotte further. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean that the way it sounds. I just . . . I don’t know what to say.”
There’s some movement on her end, and I definitely sense that she’s crying, making me wish we were having this conversation in person. Damn it, why couldn’t she have asked if I was coming back to town? I would’ve, for her.
“I know it’s a lot to take in. I can send you a picture of her if you want. I think she looks like you. The only pictures I have of us together are from that summer before you left. We were both so young.”
“I’d love to see her,” I tell Charlotte. “What did you say her name was again?”
“Arla,” she says. “Arla Mae Carmichael. I named her after my grandma.”
“Arla,” I say her name slowly. It’s cute, different, and I find myself smiling when I think of her name. I bet she’s the only Arla in her class.
“I just sent you a picture. It’s from a few days ago. We were at the lake, feeding the ducks.”
“Okay, let me look. I’m in Montreal, so the service is a bit spotty.” I pull my phone away from my ear and open my text messages. It takes a minute, but Charlotte’s name appears. I had added her name to my contact list as soon as Krew gave it to me, even though I was unsure whether I would call her not. Now that I know why Krew was so insistent that I do, it all makes sense.
I open her text and wait for the image to load before clicking to enlarge. Her face, with a toothy grin, fills the screen of my phone. Her hair color is the same shade mine was when I was younger. A dirty blond is what my foster mothers would say. Once I shaved it, my roots started to darken. Honestly, I can’t remember the last time I let my hair grow enough to remember what it looked like. It’s Arla’s eyes though that catch my attention. Big and bright blue, full of life. She looks like a happy child, a loved child. Tears fall from my eyes, and I wipe them away. I’m not a crier. I’m not even emotional most of the time because I’ve learned not to care, but there’s something about this little girl staring back at me that makes my knees weak.
“Charlotte, I’m so sorry,” I say when I bring the phone back to my ear.
“For what?” she asks.
“For leaving you alone to deal with this, to raise a child by yourself.”
“You didn’t know, Jack. I tried to find a way to get word to you, but it was hard not knowing where you were.”
“That’s my fault. I could’ve written or called.” I take a big shuddering breath to try and compose myself. “Fuck, I really messed things up for you.”
“You didn’t, and we’re fine. I promise. I’m not telling you about her because I need or want anything from you. I’m telling you because you have a right to know. Krew was right to tell you to call me.”
“Does she know about me?” I don’t even know why I ask because I’m certain the answer is no. Who would tell a child about their missing father?
“She does. She knows your name and knows that we cared deeply for each other when you were here, and she knows that you joined the Army to protect our country and her.”
“Jesus,” I say as tears stream down my face. I’ve done nothing in my life to deserve this sort of care or love. Hell, I’m not sure how to return it.
“Can I meet her? I know I don’t have the right to ask.”
Charlotte lets out what I’d considered a chuckle or gasp for air. I can’t be sure. “Of course, you can. I won’t keep her from you unless it’s what you want.”
She’s giving me an out, an escape. I’ve never had anything in my life that was mine. Even now, the Army owns me. They tell me where to go, what to do, and how to dress. Arla gives me something to live for, someone to love that could love me back, even though I have no idea how to make things work.
“I’d like to know her, Charlotte, as much as my job allows. As I said, I live in Italy. It’s not like she can fly there for a weekend visit.”
“We can figure all of this out later. Are you passing back through this area? I can arrange a meeting.”
I get the sense that she doesn’t plan to be there, and the truth is I’d like to see her as well. “What about you? Can I see you?”
Charlotte doesn’t say anything. My phone vibrates with an incoming call—a video chat from Charlotte. I accept and wait for the screen to show me the girl I once knew. She smiles, and just like that, I’m transported back to the day when she invited me over to study. I was so foolish in thinking she just wanted to hook up, thanks to that kid in our class.
“Hey,” I say to the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known. Her hair is darker than I remember, and small pieces frame her face. She looks tan, likely from the summer she spent on the lake.
“Hey,” she says back. There are more awkward pauses, much like the rest of our conversation, but this time, we’re staring at each other, and it feels good.
“It’s really good to see you,” I tell her.
“You too. I wish this were yesterday or even tomorrow when I’m at the restaurant.”
“You know, I almost didn’t stop, but my friend was hungry. I saw the sign for Holyoak and took the exit. I’m still in shock that Krew remembered me.”
“I’m thankful he did,” she says with a grin.
“Are you? This doesn’t make your life complicated?” I’ve heard enough stories from my team about a weekend fling turning into a lifetime commitment. However, Charlotte and I had more than a weekend thing going on.
Charlotte nods. “This is a good thing for you and Arla. She’s asleep now. Otherwise, I’d let you talk to her.”