"The Cost of Loving" (2010)

            For five years, my mother had lived in the trailer park next to the Motel Six with her roommate, John. One Friday afternoon, she died on the floor of the bathroom in room 106, moments before cleaning the tub. I received the news over the phone from the manager, in a panic because the room she’d been found in was reserved for later that night.

            Brian and I had barely been married for six months at the time of her death. At his insistence, she had not been invited to our wedding. We lived half a mile away from the trailer park and had never paid a visit. Brian became upset when I told him that John had offered to let us look through her belongings before he shipped them off to Goodwill.

            “I don’t know, May. How do you know we can trust him?”

            Despite our misgivings, I had Brian drive me to the trailer park the next morning, where John was waiting for me in his Jaguar. Brian sat in our old Toyota and watched as I got out, waving me on as I headed towards the trailer.

            John got out to shake my hand. He was tall and thin with wispy grey hair and a good amount of stubble, wearing a dirty plaid jacket and torn muddy jeans. His eyes were glazed over. I was hit by a familiar odor before I even opened the screen door. Overcooked eggs and burnt bacon – the same greasy breakfasts I’d stomached throughout my childhood. Walking through the door, we were immediately brought into the kitchen.

            My mother’s room was located at the end of a small hallway. The door was broken straight down the middle. Looking around, I saw a bare mattress, drooping houseplants, and a collage on the back wall. The side table by the bed was tilted to one side. John walked over to it and opened the drawer.

            “I’m afraid this may be the only thing you’ll be interested in,” he said, reaching in and pulling out a bent-looking envelope. “Says your name on it.”

            He sat on the bed and looked at the wall as I opened the envelope. “You know, I wouldn’t have recognized you if it weren’t for all these pictures she put up.”

            My mother’s handwriting was a childish scrawl, the body of the letter compacted in the middle of the page:

            May,

            I know we never exactly got along. I wish I could have seen you at your wedding. There is something I think you should know. Your father knows about you.

            Love, Mom.

            John was still eyeballing the wall covered in pictures when I looked back up at him.

            “You done?”

I nodded and turned the letter over.

            “Davy Langdon. 95 Green Street.” The address was about two streets over from where my mother had lived when I was born. I’d never known whether my parents lived together before they had me or not. John was shuffling his feet as I pondered over the address.

            “I said are you done?”

            I looked over at him and folded the letter back up. “I’d say so. There’s nothing here I really want.”

            “Suit yourself,” he said, shrugging and walking back out of the room. My mother hadn’t brought much when she’d moved into the trailer. The mattress and plants appeared as though they’d been there longer than she had.

            Brian honked eagerly when he saw me walk out the screen door, with John trailing behind me.

            “So how’d it go?” he asked as I got in the car. I showed him the envelope and shrugged.

            “Not much.”

            “What’s that?”

            “Nothing that John would have wanted, at least.” I put it back in my purse and looked straight ahead. Brian kept driving and I put all thoughts of the note in the back of my mind.

            I couldn’t sleep later that night. Around two in the morning, Brian finally had to throw his arm around my waist to keep me from tossing and turning.

            “Babe, you alright?” he whispered. I had the note on my nightstand and grabbed it, shaking it in his face.

            “My father knows about me! My father knows about me!” I screamed, nearly falling over the side. Brian grabbed me before I tumbled over and turned me to face him.

            “What are you talking about, May?” he said, his eyes following the note as I waved it about. “Are you sure you’re not dreaming?”

            “How could I have been dreaming if I wasn’t asleep?!” I cried, collapsing onto my pillow. “All these years of wondering where Daddy had been…He knew about me all along and didn’t care!”

            “Let me see that.” He took the note from my hand and pored over it, squinting without his glasses. He raised an eyebrow as he turned it over and read the address. “Well, what do you know?”

            “What do you think?”

            “I think we should stop worrying for tonight and get some sleep,” he said, putting the note on his nightstand and lying back down. “Don’t think about it for now, babe. Save it for the morning. I love you…”

            I felt his hand rubbing my shoulder and relaxed a little. Though my thoughts were still racing, I eventually drifted into a state of uneasy sleep.

            We went to check out the address the following weekend. Green Street was on the poorer side of town, lined on both sides with run-down houses, their lawns yellowed and spotted with weeds. Number 95 was somewhere in the middle. It was a slate-grey Victorian, with a droopy spruce tree in the front. There was no car in the driveway.

            “Are you sure anyone’s home?” Brian sat idling the car in front of the house, looking from it to me and back. “He may have moved since she wrote it down.”

            “My father lost his license for good shortly before he met my mother. He’d have no reason to own a car.” He shrugged and pulled into the driveway. “Are you coming in?”

            “I think this is something you should work out on your own.”

            “Suit yourself.” Getting out of the car, I felt my stomach lurch. Brian patted the steering wheel and watched as I walked up to the door.

            I was hesitant to knock the first time. I waited for half a minute and tried again. I heard a thump, followed by the sound of slippers scuffing on a carpet.

            An elderly woman stood in the doorway, hunched over her cane. She looked up at my face and narrowed her eyes.

            “Can I help you?”

            I looked down at the ground and shuffled my feet.

            “Um…may I speak to Davy Langdon?” She stepped back a few feet and looked around.

            “What business do you have with my son?”

            “I think I need to speak with him.”

            “I’ve never seen you around here before. I don’t believe you have any business with my son.” She reached for the door. “Please leave now.”

            “Ma’am…”

            “Go.” I heard a man’s voice in the background as the old woman went to shut the door in my face.

            “Mom? Is everything alright?”

            “Yes, Davy, I’m fine. Some strange girl just wanted to speak with you.” Her voice softened when she spoke to him. “Just tell her to go away.”

            “All right, Mom.” I could hear the old woman shuffling back into another room, and the door opened once again. “Hello?”

            A man stood in the doorway, wearing a Budweiser shirt and a pair of flannel pajama pants. He was about half a foot taller than me, with a head of brown hair streaked with grey. Looking out at me, he held fast onto the door.

            “Davy Langdon?”

            “Who are you?”

            “I don’t know if you’d remember me, but I found your address on the back of a note my mother left for me shortly before she…died. Apparently, you’re my father.”

            His eyes narrowed as he looked me up and down. “What do you mean by that?”

            “Please just hear me out. If you think I’m wrong, you can tell me to leave at any time, but…”

            “Look kid, I have no idea what you’re talking about. I’ve done a few things in my life that I’m not exactly proud of. Maybe you are my daughter, and maybe you’re not. I don’t want to hear your life story, and I don’t want to hear you sobbing about how much you’ve missed your Daddy.  That part of my life is over. I have other things to take care of now,” he said, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket. Putting one in his mouth, he looked just like a man in one of the photographs my mother had had on her wall. “I suggest you start moving.”

            As I backed away from the porch, he remained standing in the doorway, slowly shutting the door. When he’d gone back inside, I headed back to the car.

            Brian was sitting in the driveway tapping on the steering wheel as I walked back. He saw me slumped over and unlocked the door.

            “Babe?” he said as I reached for the handle. I threw my purse inside and slid myself into the seat. “May, are you okay? How’d it go?”

            I let my head fall onto his shoulder and started sobbing, reaching for his hand in his lap. He rubbed the back of my hand before putting the car in gear, and we started the long drive back home.