Hummingbird Heart (28 page)

“Why, though? I don't get it.”

“I think I was scared of how I'd feel if I saw him. It was all mixed up with my mom dying and Dad cutting me off, and all the stupid things Sheri and I did. Stuff I feel kind of ashamed of, now. I'd made such a complete break from my old life, you know? It was like, the longer I avoided it, the bigger it all got. When he called two years ago, I thought I'd have a heart attack.” She shrugged again. “Now that he's here and I've seen him, it's like all that fear was a big balloon and it just got popped.”

“When he called this time, you let me see him. How come?”

“Because I'd felt guilty for two years,” she said. “Anyway, he said if I didn't agree to let him see you, he'd contact you directly.”

I almost laughed. “In other words, you didn't have a choice.”

She shrugged and didn't say anything for a while.

“I told him about the pictures,” she said at last. “I mean, that you had tried to get in touch with him. And that I hadn't sent them.”

“You did? What did he say?”

She gave a laugh that was almost a sob. “He said if I still had them all, he'd really like it if I could send them.”

I blinked hard and tried to swallow the lump that had suddenly swelled in my throat. “What did you say?”

“I said that was just too damn bad.” She looked at me defiantly. “He really is an asshole, Dylan. I don't want you getting hurt by him.”

“Like you did.”

She looked startled. “You think this is all about me?”

“Isn't it?”

“Baby…Oh, I don't know anymore. The way he just showed up like this. Not that I blame him for wanting to do whatever he could for Casey, but…”

“You still think he's an asshole, don't you? Even though he wasn't much older than me when you knew him.”

“I'm sorry if that isn't what you want to hear, but yeah. I really do.”

“People change,” I said. “People grow up. Anyway, he seemed like he was nice to Casey.”

Mom frowned. “You think I'm being too hard on him?” She dropped her eyes, twisted her hands together and studied her fingers. “You think your life would have been better with him in it?”

“I think you should have given him a chance.”

“There was a reason I didn't send him those photos, you know.” She looked at me as if she knew what I was thinking. “Not because
I
didn't want to see him, Dylan. Because I love you. Because I honestly thought you'd be better off without him in your life.”

“Do you still have all those photos? Did you keep them?”

She nodded.

“Can I have them?”

“For Mark? Are you going to give them to him?”

I met her eyes. “Maybe. I haven't decided. But I think it should be my choice, not yours.”

She cleared her throat. “They're in a box in my closet. I'll find them for you.”

“Mom?”

“Yeah?”

“Turn off the engine, would you? You shouldn't leave it running in the driveway like that.”

She turned it off, reached across and gave me a hug. “Dylan?”

I leaned into her, resting my head on her shoulder. “Mmm.”

“We're okay? You and me?”

“Yeah,” I told her. “We'll be okay.”

That evening, up in my room, I looked at the business card Mark had given me. His email address was on it: [email protected]. I wondered what the
L
in his name stood for. Liam? Lorne? Larry? I wrote him about a dozen emails and deleted them all. Too sappy, too formal, too desperate, too offhand, too serious, too jokey… The one I finally ended up with was short, just a few lines.

Dear Mark,

I hope Casey is still doing well and that the transplant
goes smoothly. Please tell her that I send hugs and hope to
see her again soon. Maybe after she recovers you can visit
us again. It'd be good to stay in touch.

Best wishes,

Dylan

I wondered if it was too unfriendly. I thought about signing it
Love, Dylan,
but then I decided not to. It didn't seem honest. The truth was, I loved Mom and Karma and Toni, but I barely even knew Mark. All we had in common was some
DNA
.

Then again, he had asked Mom for the photographs.

I searched his name online and found a bunch of law-related stuff. Committees he'd sat on, an article he wrote in some journal. One photograph, a formal head shot, on his law firm's website. I really did have his eyes and his chin.

My phone rang and I answered, expecting it to be Toni.

“Dylan? It's Mark.”

“Oh. Hi.” My heart was suddenly racing.

“You left so quickly, I didn't have time to say…well, anything.”

“Sorry.” I sat on the edge of my bed. “It seemed like it should be just your family there.”

“Dylan.” He hesitated. “I'd hoped that you might start to consider us family. But, well, I don't want to be pushy. Or, ah…to give the impression that I feel entitled to anything.”

“Family? You and Casey?”

“All of us, really. Lisa would like to get to know you too.”

“Mom thinks Lisa hates her.”

“Why on earth would she? Lisa knows I lived with your mom before she and I met.”

“She didn't know about me though,” I pointed out.

“She's had a couple of years to get used to that. Actually, we'd talked about it and decided to get in touch again when you were eighteen. To contact you directly if Amanda didn't want to be a part of it. But then, with Casey getting sick…” He cleared his throat. “It wasn't the best way for us to meet. I'm sorry about that.”

“Oh.” I rubbed my ankle where my too-tight sock had left indented lines. “You would have got in touch anyway?”

“Definitely.”

There was a long pause. “Mom told you I wanted to send you pictures, right?”

“Yes. She told me.”

“If you still want them…”

“I do.”

“Okay. Well, I'll just mail them, I guess?”

Mark answered my unspoken question. “We're flying out tomorrow evening. But if you have time, I thought maybe…Lisa will be here with Casey so I could…” He sounded as nervous as I felt. “Can I pick you up at school? Take you out for coffee? Or tea? You drink tea, right? Or maybe lunch?”

I held my breath for a few seconds, then let it out in a long steady exhalation. “Yes,” I said. “Yes. You can.”

Mom was out on the porch, scraping the peeling paint off the wooden bench.

“You know, I was thinking I might paint the porch. These railings…green, do you think? Or purple?”

I ran my hand along the peeling wood railing. “You've been saying that forever.”

She laughed. “I know, I know. I think I might though. And wind chimes, don't you think? There's a hook there already.”

I glanced up at the overhanging roof. “It'd be beautiful, Mom. You should do it.”

“Well, I think I will.” She put her arm around me. “Oh, Dylan. Just look at that sky.”

I looked out into the night. The lights of the city faded the stars, but they were still visible, a scattering of faint pinpoints of light. A full moon hung low and orange in the sky. “Yeah. It's beautiful,” I said. I let myself lean against her, just a little bit. “I could help you with the porch. If you wanted, I mean.”

“I'd like that.” Her voice wobbled slightly.

“Mom? I just talked to Mark.”

“You did?”

“I'm having lunch with him tomorrow.”

“He called you?” She stepped away from me.

I looked up at her and nodded. “Did you know he was planning to get in touch with me anyway? When I was eighteen?”

She shook her head. “No. Did he tell you that?”

“Yeah.” I was quiet for a minute, half expecting her to say something skeptical, but she didn't say anything. “I want to get to know him.”

“I know you do.”

“Is it okay? I mean, are you okay?”

“I'll be fine.” She blinked and smiled at me. “I found the photos for you. The ones I didn't send. They're in the living room. In the shoebox on the coffee table.” She cleared her throat. “If you want, you could give them to him tomorrow. Save you the postage.”

I took the pictures into my bedroom and spread them out on my bed, from oldest to most recent. The first five were school photos. There I was at eight years old, with a nervous smile and shoulder-length hair tied into two limp braids. Age nine, ten, eleven, twelve—getting older, taller, thinner; my hair longer each year, growing out the bangs; the plastic barrettes being replaced by plastic headbands; posed stiffly against that same blue background every year.

Age thirteen, the first family photograph, with me squeezed between Karma and Mom on the couch. I remember taking that one. It was only a month or so after Karma came to live with us, when I wasn't yet sure if she was family or not. And the last two pictures, at fourteen and fifteen, with Karma and me laughing as the camera's timer went off. I hadn't noticed before, but Mom's face in those last photos was sort of sad, her eyes shadowed, her smile forced. I wondered if she'd felt guilty, knowing she wouldn't send the pictures. I wondered if she'd regretted letting herself get trapped in her own lies.

I hadn't got this year's picture printed yet. I picked up my camera from my bedside table, turned it on and studied the photograph. Even on the small screen, I could see Mom's stiff smile, Karma's bored expression and my tense grin. I pushed delete. I'd give Mark the others, but I wasn't going to print this one. I'd bring my camera tomorrow, when Mark took me out for lunch.

If I wasn't too shy to suggest it, he could take this year's picture himself.

A
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K
no
WL
e
DG
men
TS

Many thanks to the Canada Council for the Arts for their generous financial support during the writing of this novel. Thanks also to my hardworking and talented editor, Sarah Harvey, and to all the friends and family who read countless drafts, shared their thoughts and encouraged me to keep writing, especially Maggie Bird, Michelle Mulder, Cheryl May, Holly Phillips, Pat Schmatz, and Ilse and Giles Stevenson. I am so very lucky to have you all in my life.