Learning to Heal (24 page)

Half an hour later I’m cleaning the table off when the phone rings. It sounds eerie and a bad feeling sets in my gut. “Hello.” I hear crying and it sounds like a woman. Instant panic sets in. “Hello? Jazz, is that you, baby?”

It’s a woman but not Jazz. “No … no, sweetie. My name is Ginger.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m sorry. But you sound just like him.”

Okay?
“Can I help you?” I don’t want to be rude but this is weird.

She clears her throat. “Is this Mason?”

“Um … yes.”

A relief filled exhale comes through the line. “I’ve been calling every Reed in Mobile today trying to find you. Is your mom home?”

“No, ma’am. But can I ask who this is, because I’m really confused.”

“I’m sorry. I’m obviously not myself today. This is your grandma Ginger. And I called to tell you something terrible happened to your dad last night. Your father had a massive heart attack last night and passed away.”

She continues talking between tears, but I’m not hearing anything. Her words regarding my dad have stopped my ability to think. I feel my stomach drop as disbelief and confusion war. I quickly shake the feeling of confusion aside and think her words through. It’s crazy and this woman is crazy, because my dad died overseas. Years ago. “I’m sorry for your loss. Truly, I am, but you have the wrong person. My dad died when I was little.”

There’s silence for a few long seconds. “No, sweetie. You’re mistaken.” She pauses for a moment. Your dad … was his name Gregory Reed? From Indiana?”

What the hell? Now instead of confusion I feel anger. I sit down before my legs give out. Hearing my dad’s name spoken from this stranger’s mouth has me floored. Try as I might, I can’t think of how she might have that information other than she’s telling the truth. And the truth hurts.

I’m sitting on the couch when Mom gets home at midnight. Other than feeding Grace and putting her to bed, I haven’t done shit. I turned off my phone earlier and ignored the knocking. My fury and hurt of the situation about my dad has me ready to go off on somebody, and I know the next person to piss me off will get it. This feeling is so foreign to me. I hardly ever get upset and I’ve never felt something like this. Rage, pure and not so simple rage. The lady who’s actually my grandmother told me she and my dad have been trying for years to see me, but Mom refused. I just don’t understand why she’d do that. The idea and vision of my dad I’ve had all these years was a lie. My entire past was basically tainted by a lie that stole years from him and me. He wasn’t a hero who died overseas. He wasn’t even in the service. He was an electrician. Someone who hated confrontations and loved the Beatles. This whole situation is fucked up. I’m pissed off and I don’t want to take it out on just anybody. There’s only one person that deserves it and she just got home.

“Hey, honey.” She puts her keys on the table and takes off the sweater she’s had for years. It has stains and a few holes, but she keeps it around. It used to give me comfort because it was a constant. Now I feel pissed off while looking at it. Why not get help from someone or the family who wants to help? Why struggle so damn hard to make it when you don’t have to?

I take a deep breath so I won’t go off the deep end. Words are hard to form but I need answers. “How did Dad die again?”

She looks at me warily and I see the moment when she decides to lie again. “I told you ... he died during Desert Storm.” She doesn’t continue, only grabs a drink from the fridge and comes in the living area.

“But how did he die?” Resting my elbows on my knees, I wait for her answer and keep my eyes trained on her.

“I really don’t like talking about the details, baby. You know how upset I get.” She sits on the opposite end of the couch and faces me. “Now, how was Grace this evening?”

I’m not dropping the subject. Not this time. Whenever I asked as child she’d say the same thing then switch the topic. How did I not see the lie? Standing, I walk over and pull out the picture of the man I missed out on. He looked like a normal guy but his eyes and smile are the same as mine. I see a piece of him everyday in the mirror and I had no clue. Thank God for the Internet and Facebook. After Ginger told me about Dad, she mentioned a sister I never knew about as well. Her name is Symone and she’s seventeen. “Who’s this then?” I stick the picture in her line of vision and watch as her features turn from confusion to sadness, then to anger and confusion again.

Snatching the picture from my hands, she stares at me like I betrayed her. “Where did you get this?” Her anger causes it to come out as a hiss.

It doesn’t affect me though, not like it usually does. I’m not trying to make her smile and cheer her up tonight. I want some damn answers. “The internet. In fact, it’s off my sister’s Facebook. A sister I knew nothing about until a few hours ago. She lived with that guy...” I tap the picture that’s still clutched in her fingers “...who happens to be my father. Who was well and alive until last night.” My voice is loud, but pissing neighbors off and waking people up is the last thing on my mind.

“How … who?” She wipes her tears and takes a breath. “What do you mean? Until last night?”

I turn my back and rub my hands down my face. “Oh! Now you give a shit about him or me for that matter? Well, Mom, I received a call from a lady named Ginger, who claims to be my grandmother. She says he had a massive heart attack and died last night.” When I turn around again I see her face is covered behind her hands and her shoulders are shaking. “You know what else she told me? She said that they’ve been begging you for years to see me. To let me visit, but you refused. You even told them I didn’t want anything to do with them.”

She continues to cry while I wonder what to believe anymore. “I don’t understand how a person can deny a child a family. Do you know I haven’t been a kid since I was eight? I have always felt like I had to be the man of the house. Giving up every social aspect of my life to help you out. And all you’ve done is lie to me. All these years you have done nothing but lie.” I wipe the tears that run down my cheek. “What about the medals mom? The medals I took to school to show everyone my dad was a hero. Where did you get those?”

She finally looks up and it kills me to make her cry, but dammit I deserve the truth! “Where did you get them, Mom?”

“Some were my dad’s but most were from novelty shops.” She watches me for a minute while I hunch over to catch my breath. “Mason, you don’t know the whole story. Let me explain please. I did what was best for us. He had an affair. He got her pregnant and he decided to leave us. Not just me. He walked out on me and you.”

“If he didn’t want me, then why try to see me all those years? Why didn’t you let me make the choice about having him in my life?” I stop and gain composure. The sound of her tears and horns honking outside are the only noise throughout the apartment. “I’m leaving and going to Indiana to pay respects to a man that was stolen from me. To meet a family that wants me to know them.”

I go to my room and turn my phone on. I see several texts from Jazz and Chanda. Ignoring them, I call a cab and start packing. I hate leaving Jazz but I need to do this. I go to text her but open Chanda’s message instead. And my legs give out on me so I sit on my bed. There on my screen is a picture of Professor Wallace leaving Jazz’s apartment with a cocky smirk on his face. Jazz is behind him and even though I can’t see her face I know it’s her. She’s wearing the same dress from earlier. My Jazz with the guy who really got her pregnant. Throwing my phone across the room, I hear the crack before it hits the floor in pieces.

After grabbing my bag, I kiss Grace on the head and go wait outside for the cab. Sitting on the steps I can’t help but picture Jazz and Professor Wallace. Their bodies wrapped together and sweaty, planning their family while I’m at home watching Grace. Then I think of Professor Wallace’s wife. The sweet lady I met today and how he and Jazz are sneaking around not only my back but hers as well. Fucking home wreckers. That’s what happened to my parents and that’s what’s happening to Mrs. Wallace’s family.

Hearing delicate footsteps pattering on the cement sidewalk, I see a shadow approaching and recognize it immediately.
Jazz
. She stops when she sees my face. Maybe it’s the anger or the tears in my eyes, but I’m grateful. I don’t want her anywhere around me.

“Mason?” Are you okay? I’ve been calling and I need to talk to you about today. I need—”

“What, Jazz?” I explode and she jumps from my unexpected outburst. “You need to tell me how you fucked a professor? You need to tell me how you’re pregnant by a man who’s old enough to be your own dad? Guess what? I already know. And I also know how you ruined a happy family. How you continue to ruin them with your games and lies. How can you even stand to look in a mirror, knowing what you’re doing to people’s lives? God you make me sick.”

I refuse to look at her as the words continue to spew from my mouth, refuse to watch as I hurt her, even though I want to cause her pain like she’s caused me. So my eyes are trained on the parking lot. I see my cab pull up just as Chanda gets close to the steps. Standing, I walk past Jazz and keep my eyes trained on Chanda who watches me. I see the smile that lifts the corner of her mouth. “Well, Jazz. Two can play at that game.”

I wrap my arms around Chanda and kiss her like I’m fucking her, kiss her like an asshole who doesn’t give a shit while the girl I love and thought loved me watches. When I’m done I unintentionally look over at where Jazz had been and see she’s gone. Pushing away from Chanda, I grab my bag and hop in the cab. Hopefully to a place that will help me forget the lies everyone has been telling me all my life.

I’m numb, so numb that I don’t feel the sun’s warmth or the breeze as it lifts my hair from my face. It hasn’t been brushed and I haven’t worn makeup since my heart was stomped on. It’s been two weeks and I’m positive I look horrible, but honestly, I just don’t give a shit. All the reasons to smile and laugh or think of myself are the last thing on my brain. All I want to do is get the last time I saw him out of my mind, get the kiss he gave someone else to leave my thoughts and nightmares. But it stays there no matter what I do. My tears finally left me a few days ago after I arrived at my parents’ house. Tru thought me spending time with my family at the beach would help, but I know nothing will help. Nothing will take away the broken heart that I carry in my chest or wash away the shame I feel throughout my entire being. I ruined a family and the one person who I love left when he found out how disgusting I am. He’s right. How can I continue to look at myself in the mirror?