Reminders of Him

Dear Scotty
I want to read more, but I close the bag and respect her privacy. I go to
leave the break room and say to the girl, “Kenna is sick. I’m taking her
home, but do you think you can check on her this evening?”
The girl’s eyes are focused hard on me. She finally nods. “Okay, jerk.”
I want to laugh, but there are too many things suppressing that laugh
right now.
When I get back to Amy, she says, “Let her know I clocked her out,
and to call me if she needs anything.”
She has no phone, but I nod. “I will. Thank you, Amy.”

---

When I reach the truck, Kenna is curled up in the passenger seat,
facing more toward the window. She flinches when I open the door. I set the
tote bag between us, and she pulls it to her side. She’s still crying, but she
doesn’t say anything to me, so I don’t say anything to her. I wouldn’t even
know what to say. I’m sorry? Are you okay? I’m an asshole?
I pull out of the parking lot and don’t even make it half a mile down
the road when Kenna mutters something that sounds like “Pull over.”
I look at her, but she’s looking out the window. When I don’t put on
my blinker, she repeats herself. “Pull over.” Her voice is demanding now.
“You’ll be home in two minutes.”
She kicks my dash. “Pull over!”
I don’t say anything else. I do what she says. I flip on my blinker and
pull over to the shoulder.
She grabs her tote bag, gets out of the truck, and then slams the door.
She starts walking in the direction of her apartment. When she gets several
feet in front of my truck, I put it in drive and move along the shoulder,
rolling down my window.
“Kenna. Get back in the truck.”
She keeps walking. “You told her to leave! You saw me coming and
you told her to leave! Why do you keep doing this to me?” I continue
driving at the pace she’s walking until she finally turns and faces me
through the window. “Why?” she demands.
I press on the brakes until we’re even. My hands are starting to shake.
Maybe it’s the adrenaline, maybe it’s the guilt.
Maybe it’s the anger.
I put my truck in park because she looks like she’s ready to tackle this.
“Do you really think you can confront Grace in the parking lot of a grocery
store?”
“Well, I tried to do it at their house, but we both know how that turned
out.”
I shake my head. The location isn’t what I’m referring to.
I don’t know what I’m referring to. I work to gather my thoughts. I’m
confused because I think she might be right. She tried to approach them
peacefully the first time, and I stopped her then too.
“They aren’t strong enough for whatever it is you’re here for, even if
you aren’t here to take her from them. They aren’t even strong enough to

---

share her with you. They’ve given Diem a good life, Kenna. She’s happy
and she’s safe. Is that not enough?”
Kenna looks like she’s holding her breath, but her chest is heaving.
She stares at me for a moment and then walks toward the back of the truck
so that I can’t see her face. She stands still for a while, but then she walks
into the grass on the side of the road and just sits down. She pulls up her
knees and hugs them as she stares out over an empty field.
I don’t know what she’s doing, or if she needs time to think. I give her
a few minutes alone, but she doesn’t move or stand up, so I finally get out
of the truck.
When I reach her, I don’t say anything. I quietly sit down next to her.
The traffic and the world continue to move behind us, but in front of
us is a big open field, so we both stare straight ahead and not at each other.
She eventually looks down and pulls a small yellow flower out of the
grass. She rolls it in her fingers, and I find myself watching her now. She
inhales a slow breath, but doesn’t look at me when she releases it and starts
to speak.
“Other mothers told me what it would be like,” she says. “They told
me they’d take me to the hospital to give birth, and that I’d get two days
with her. Two whole days, just me and her.” A tear falls down her cheek. “I
can’t tell you how much I looked forward to those two days. It was the only
thing I had to look forward to. But she was born early . . . I don’t know if
you know that, but she was a preemie. Six weeks. Her lungs were . . .”
Kenna blows out a breath. “Right after she was delivered, they had to
transfer her to the NICU at another hospital. I spent my two days alone in a
recovery room with an armed guard keeping watch over me. And when my
two days were up, they sent me back to the prison. I never got to hold her. I
never even got to look into the eyes of the human Scotty and I made.”
“Kenna . . .”
“Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say, don’t. Trust me, I’d be lying if I
said I didn’t come here with the ridiculous hope that I would be welcomed
into her life and even given some kind of role. But I also know she’s where
she belongs, so I would have been grateful for anything. I would have been
so grateful to finally get to look at her, even if that’s all I was ever allowed
to do. Whether you or Scotty’s parents think I deserve that or not.”

---

I close my eyes because her voice is painful enough. Looking at her
and seeing the agony on her face when she talks makes it so much worse.
“I am so grateful to them,” she says. “You have no idea. The whole
time I was pregnant, I never had to worry about what kind of people would
raise her. They were the same two people who raised Scotty, and he was
perfect.” She’s quiet for a couple of seconds, so I open my eyes. She’s
staring right at me when she shakes her head and says, “I’m not a bad
person, Ledger.” Her voice is full of so much regret. “I’m not here because I
think I deserve her. I just wanted to see her. That’s all. That’s it.” She uses
her shirt to dry her eyes, and then she says, “Sometimes I wonder what
Scotty would think if he could see us. It makes me hope that an afterlife
doesn’t exist, because if it does, Scotty is probably the only sad person in
heaven.”
Those words hit me in the gut, because I’m terrified she might be
right. It’s been my biggest fear since she showed back up and I started
viewing her as the woman Scotty was in love with rather than the woman
who left him to die.
I stand up and leave Kenna alone in the grass. I walk to my truck and
open my console. I get my phone and take it back to where Kenna is sitting.
I sit down next to her again and open my photo app and then open the
folder where I keep all the videos I’ve taken of Diem. I pull up the most
recent one I took of her at dinner last night, and I hit play and hand the
phone to Kenna.
I never could have imagined what it would be like for a mother to lay
eyes on her child for the first time. The sight of Diem on the screen steals
Kenna’s breath. She slaps a hand over her mouth and begins to cry. She
cries so hard, she has to set the phone on her legs so she can use her shirt to
clear her eyes of tears.
Kenna becomes a different person right in front of my eyes. It’s as if
I’m witnessing her become a mother. It might be the most beautiful thing
I’ve ever seen.
I feel like an absolute fucking monster for not helping her experience
this moment sooner.