If you could see the pages I’m writing this letter on, you’d see the tearstains. Crying seems to be the only thing left in life that I’m good at. Crying and making bad decisions.
And, of course, I’m good at writing you bad poetry. I’ll leave you with one I wrote on the bus ride back to this town.
I have a daughter I have never held.
She has a scent I have never smelled.
She has a name I have never yelled.
She has a mother who has already failed.
Love,
Kenna
CHAPTER EIGHT
LEDGER
I didn’t park in the garage when I got home last night. Diem likes to wake up and look out her window in the mornings to make sure I’m home, and when I leave my truck in the garage, Grace says it makes Diem sad.
I’ve lived across the street from them since Diem was eight months old, but if I don’t count the years I moved out of this house and lived in Denver, I’ve technically been in this house my entire life.
My parents haven’t lived here in several years, even though they’re both passed out in the guest room right now.
They bought the RV when my father retired, and they travel the country now. I bought the house from them when I moved back, and they loaded up and left. I figured it would last a year at the most, but it’s been over four years now, and they aren’t showing any signs of slowing down.
I just wish they’d warn me before they show up. Maybe I should download a GPS app to their phones so I’ll have some kind of warning in the future. Not that I don’t like their visits. It would just be nice to be able to prepare for them.
This is why I’m building a privacy gate at my new house.
Eventually.
It’s slow going because Roman and I are doing a lot of the work ourselves. Every Sunday from sunup until sundown, I drive up to Cheshire Ridge with Roman and we work on it. I contract out for the more difficult stuff, but we’ve completed a good chunk of the build ourselves. After two years of Sundays, the house is finally starting to come together. I’m maybe six months from moving in.
“Where are you going?”
I spin around when I reach the garage door. My father is standing outside the guest bedroom. He’s in his underwear.
“Diem has T-ball. You guys want to come?”
“Nope. Too hungover for kids today, and we really need to get back on the road.”
“You’re already leaving?”
“We’ll be back in a few weeks.” My father gives me a hug. “Your mother is still asleep, but I’ll tell her you said bye.”
“Maybe give me a heads-up before the next visit and I’ll take off work.”
My father shakes his head. “Nah, we like seeing the surprise on your face when we show up unannounced.” He heads into the bathroom and closes the door.
I walk through the garage and toward Patrick and Grace’s house across the street.
I’m hoping Diem isn’t in a talkative mood because my concentration is going to be shit today. All I can think about is the girl from last night and how much I want to see her again. I wonder if it would be weird if I left a note on her door?
I knock on Patrick and Grace’s front door and then walk in. We’re all back and forth at each other’s houses so much, at one point we got tired of saying, “It’s open.” It’s always open.
Grace is in the kitchen with Diem. Diem is sitting in the center of the table with her legs crossed and a bowl of eggs on her lap. She never sits in chairs. She’s always on top of things, like the back of the couch, the kitchen bar, the kitchen table. She’s a climber.
“You’re still in your pajamas, D.” I take the bowl of eggs from her and point down the hallway. “Get dressed, we gotta go.” She runs to her room to put on her T-ball uniform.
“I thought the game was at ten,” Grace says. “I would have had her ready.”
“It is, but I’ve got Gatorade duty, so I have to run by the store, and then I have to swing by and pick up Roman.” I lean against the counter and grab a tangerine. I peel it open while Grace starts the dishwasher.
She blows a piece of hair out of her face. “She wants a swing set,” she says. “One of those ridiculously big ones like the one you used to have in your backyard. Her friend Nyla from school got one, and you know we can’t say no. It’ll be her fifth birthday.”
“I still have it.”
“You do? Where?”
“It’s in the shed in pieces, but I can help Patrick put it back together. Shouldn’t be too hard.”