Reminders of Him

I’m sorry, Scotty.

---

She watched four videos while sitting in the grass on the side of the road.
She cried the whole time, but she also smiled a lot. And she laughed every
time Diem would speak.
I let her hold my phone and continue to watch more of them as I drove
her home.
I walked her upstairs to her apartment because I would have felt too
bad taking my phone away from her, so she’s been watching videos for
almost an entire hour. Her emotions are all over the place. She’s laughing,
she’s crying, she’s happy, she’s sad.
I have no idea how I’ll get my phone back. I don’t know that I want to.
I’ve been in her apartment for so long Kenna’s kitten is now asleep in
my lap. I’m on one end of the couch and Kenna is on the other, and I’m just
watching her watch the videos of Diem, full of pride like a father, because I
know Diem is healthy and articulate and funny and happy, and it feels good
to watch Kenna realize all these things about her daughter.
But, at the same time, I feel like I’m betraying two of the most
important people in my life. If Patrick and Grace knew I was here right
now, showing Kenna videos of the child they’ve raised, they’d likely never
speak to me again. I wouldn’t blame them.
There’s just no way to navigate this situation in a way that I don’t feel
like I’m betraying someone. I’m betraying Kenna by keeping Diem from
her. I’m betraying Patrick and Grace by giving Kenna a glimpse of Diem.
I’m even betraying Scotty, although I don’t quite know how yet. I’m still
trying to figure out where those feelings of guilt are coming from.
“She’s so happy,” Kenna says.
I nod. “She is. She’s very happy.”
Kenna looks up at me, wiping her eyes with a crumpled-up napkin I
handed her in the truck. “Does she ever ask about me?”
“Not specifically, but she is starting to wonder where she came from.
Last weekend she asked if she grew in a tree or in an egg.”
Kenna smiles.
“She’s still young enough that she doesn’t really understand family
dynamics. She has me and Patrick and Grace, so right now, I don’t know
that she really feels like anyone is missing. I don’t know if that’s what you
want to hear. It’s just the truth.”

---

Kenna shakes her head. “It’s fine. It actually makes me feel good that
she doesn’t know I’m missing in her life yet.” She watches another video
and then reluctantly hands me the phone. She pushes off the couch to walk
to her bathroom. “Please don’t leave yet.”
I nod, assuring her I’m not going anywhere. When she closes the
bathroom door, I move Kenna’s kitten and stand up. I need something to
drink. The last couple of hours have somehow made me feel dehydrated
even though Kenna is the one who has been crying.
I open Kenna’s refrigerator, but it’s empty. Completely empty. I open
her freezer and it’s empty too.
When she steps out of her bathroom, I’m looking through her empty
cabinets. They’re as barren as her apartment.
“I don’t have anything yet. I’m sorry.” She seems embarrassed when
she says that. “It’s just . . . it took everything I had to move here. I’ll get
paid soon, and I plan to move eventually, to somewhere better, and I’m
getting a phone and—”
I lift a hand when I realize she thinks I’m judging her ability to
provide for herself. Or maybe for Diem. “Kenna, it’s fine. I admire the
determination that got you here, but you need to eat.” I slide my phone into
my pocket and head toward the door. “Come on. I’ll buy you dinner.”

---

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
KENNA
Diem does look like me. We have the same hair, the same eyes. She even
has the same slender fingers I have.
I was glad to see she got Scotty’s laugh and smile. Watching the
videos of her was like a refresher course in the history of Scotty. It’s been
so long, and I had no pictures of him in prison, so I was beginning to forget
what he looked like. But I saw him in her, and I’m thankful for that.
I’m grateful to know that when Patrick and Grace look at Diem, they
can still see some semblance of their own son. I always worried that if she
looked too much like me, they might not see remnants of him.
I thought I’d feel different after finally seeing her. I was hoping there
would be a sense of closure within me, but it’s almost as if someone has
stretched open the wound. I thought seeing her happy would make me
happier, but in a way, it’s made me even sadder, in a completely selfish way.
It’s not that difficult to love a child you gave birth to, even if you’ve
never laid eyes on them. But it’s extremely difficult to finally see what they
look like and sound like and are like, and then be expected to just walk
away from that.
But that’s exactly what they all expect me to do. It’s what they want
me to do.
The thought of it makes my stomach feel like it’s full of tight, knotted
ropes, and they’re all about to snap.
Ledger was right, I needed food. But now that I’m sitting here with
food, all I can do is think about the last couple of hours, and I don’t know if
I can eat. I’m nauseous, full of adrenaline, emotional, exhausted.
Ledger went through a drive-through and ordered us burgers. We’re
sitting in his truck in the parking lot of a park, eating our food.

---

I know why he didn’t want to take me anywhere public. His being
seen with me probably wouldn’t go over well with Diem’s grandparents.
Not that I know a whole lot of people in this town, but I knew enough
people back then that there’s a chance I could be recognized.
If I haven’t been already. I had a few coworkers back then, and even
though I never met Ledger, I did meet a handful of Scotty’s other friends.
And since it’s a small town, I could possibly be recognized by anyone who
was nosy enough to pass around my mug shot.
People love a good rumor, and if there’s anything I’m good at, it’s
being fodder for gossip.
I don’t blame anyone but myself. Everything would be different if I
wouldn’t have panicked that night. But I did, and these are the
consequences, and I’ve accepted that. I spent the first couple of years of my
sentence replaying every decision I’ve ever made, wishing I could go back
and get a second shot.
Ivy once said to me, “Regret keeps you stuck on pause. So does