01 | Daddy Dearest
"So let me get this straight. That cheek swab you did last week was not a required test for all kids about to age out of the system?" Even I heard the dangerous edge to my voice. I paced back and forth in the limited space that her office had to offer.
"No," Stella said, showing no remorse for tricking me.
"Okay. You lied. What else is new? But what I don't understand is why in the world you would think some stranger could possibly be my father? What, you just get a call one day from a stranger claiming to be my long lost daddy, and you believe them?" Normally the lack of color in her office keeps me calm, but right now not even grey walls and a next to empty office can keep the emotions away.
"Brooke, you know it's more complicated than that. I got a call from an old friend of your mother's. They gave me the name of a man they believed to be your father. Of course, I had to follow up on it," Stella reasoned. "Roger answered all my questions and confirmed he had a serious relationship with your mother. I believed I had enough to order a DNA test. I knew you'd never agree, so I lied. Aren't you at least curious to meet your father?"
I tensed. "No. As far as I'm concerned, my father is dead just like my mom said. I don't care about some shitty DNA test. I have two months until I age out. I don't need some random guy coming in and upsetting my plan."
"Well, tough luck. He should be here any minute." Stella had the decency to give me a sheepish smile when I turned my glare on her.
Panic surged through my veins. It took a minute for my breathing to balance back out, but my voice shook when I asked, "You invited him here? And yet you brought me here knowing I didn't want to see him? What kind of social worker are you? I thought your job was to help me."
"Do you know how many kids would be so happy to be in your shoes? Not everyone finds out they have family that wants them, Brooke. I'm not going to apologize for something that will be good for you in the long run. Just give him a chance."
A knock on the door stopped any further conversation. I frantically looked down at my clothes, relieved that I chose my nice pair of jeans and a shirt that looked clean. I tucked my flyaways behind my ear and tightened my ponytail. I wasn't exactly sure why I worried about my appearance, but I knew that I wanted to look somewhat presentable. Stella shot me a knowing smile as she opened the door.
My breath caught as I took in the man standing wide-eyed in the doorway. While I took after my mom with my slender build, average height, and flaming red hair, I finally knew where my eyes came from. His green eyes held the same olive tone as mine. So much time had passed since I felt a physical connection to someone. People used to tell my mom how I was a mini her. I loved that string that kept us together. No matter what, I'd look like my mom. Now to come face-to-face with another person that I shared something so vital, I seemed to be at a loss.
I took in his slicked back his salt and pepper hair. He looked to be in his early fifties. His face appeared youthful with thinner lips and full nose. Even his short, silver beard couldn't hide his sharp jawline. For an older man, his body looked fit. Biceps bulged under the sleeves of his navy blue shirt. He stood tall. He had at least ten inches on my 5'4. His face held the expression of complete awe. As if he couldn't believe that he was actually seeing me.
"You must be Mr. Blake. I'm Stella Daniels. We spoke over the phone." She extended a hand once he turned his attention towards her. "This is Brooke. I know how eager you are to meet her."
He never took his eyes off me. I hesitantly shook the hand he offered, and he beamed. "It's so nice to meet you, Brooke."
"I wish I could say the same." The response left my lips before I can stop it. Stella shot me a look of disproval. Mr. Blake threw his head back and laughed. It was deep and filled the room.
"You're definitely a Blake," he said when he finally composed himself.
"No, sir. I'm a Johnson." At that, his face hardened.
"Why don't we all sit down?" Stella suggested, diffusing the tension. She walked back behind her desk, leaving Roger and me to the two seats across from her. Just like the rest of the room, they were devoid of color and felt uncomfortable. "You'll have to forgive Brooke, Mr. Blake. Having known her for almost ten years, I understood the need to keep any news of you private until everything fell into place. She just learned of your visit."
Shock and a tad bit of anger flashed across his face. "You just told her today? You just sprung me on her?"
Stella bristled at the accusation. "If I told her any sooner, she would have fled. Doing things my way is the only way you two would have a shot at getting to know each other."
I scoffed. "Can we just get this over with? I already told you my decision."
"Unfortunately, that's not the way it works. You're a ward of the state, which means we have to choose what is best for you," Stella told me in her no-nonsense voice. "We have collaborated with the office closest to Mr. Blake's home. They have deemed him an appropriate guardian with excellent references and good standing in the community. Today's visit is just to get you two familiarized before you head back with him."
"What do you mean, 'head back?' Where does he live?" I asked in a frantic pitch.
Roger shuffled his feet. "I live in Flat Creek. It's a small town in Colorado."
"Colorado? You expect me to move to Colorado?" I screamed. I hopped out of the seat, resuming the pacing from earlier. "What about my life here? Why should I have to pack up and leave everything behind?"
"Please, Brooke," Roger pleaded. Sadness filled his eyes. "I know this is a shock, but I promise to try and make things as easy as possible for you. I just want the chance to get to know my daughter. I've been so lost since I found out I have a daughter."
"What do you since you 'found out?' You can't be that lost since you kicked my mom to the curb as soon as she found out she was pregnant," I snarled. I swung around to face him. "You want to get to know me? Well, why didn't you want to get to know me when Mom told you she was pregnant? Why should I give you my time, when you were so quick to run from us to begin with?"
He winced at the raw anger in my voice. "Brooke, I never knew she pregnant. We were set to get married, and I thought everything was great. Then I come home one night to find Jenna's things gone and a note on the counter telling me she couldn't go through with the wedding." His voice cracked as he spoke, and I tried to push the sympathy out of my body. "If I had known about you, I would have done everything in my power to find your mother and be in your life."
"Why would she leave? I may have been young when she died, but I still remember the heartbreak on her face whenever I mentioned my dad. I eventually stopped asking questions, stopped bringing you up."
"I don't know. What all did she tell you about me?"
"That your name was Roger St. Claire. You guys met in Washington, fell in love, and she got pregnant. You left, so she decided to move to Detroit to get over you. That's all I remember. I was young. I looked you up after she died. As far as I knew, you were rotting in a cemetery in Washington."
He sat in silence for a good few minutes. Finally, he shook his head and looked straight into my eyes. "At least she gave you my real first name. My name is Roger Blake. I met your mom in Flat Creek. She had just returned from college. I had just lost my wife the year before, and she helped me cope. Like I said, one day we were in love and the next she was gone." By the time he finished, his voice turned soft and his eyes shone with the memories of the past. "Would you mind telling me how she passed?"
Stella, who had taken a backseat throughout our conversation, jumped in. "Ms. Johnson was murdered in her house. The people responsible were never caught. This is a heavy topic for Brooke. If you could give her time, maybe you guys could talk about it when you're more familiar."
"Oh... Oh. I'm so sorry. I didn't know." he whispered. After composing himself, he gave me a small smile. I offered a small shrug in return.
"I know this is quick, but you fly out pretty early in the morning. Since it's getting late, I think it might be best for you to head back to the Brighton's to pack your stuff and say bye to anyone you want to." This time Stella gave me her sympathetic smile. It was as if she practiced her facials in the mirror.
The fight left me. This was happening. I was leaving the only city I knew for a man that I didn't trust. Not that I trusted anyone anyway, but still the precedent of the situation sat wrong. I nodded my head after a minute and saw Roger's shoulders sag in relief.
"How much am I allowed to bring?" I aimed my question at Roger. He would be the one deciding things from now on anyway.
"How much do you have? If you want, I can come over and help box up anything that won't fit in a suitcase or two. I can mail it back to the house." He sounded hopeful as if he truly wanted to help me. I knew better than to fall for something like that though. How many foster fathers held that same note of concern in their voices? Too many, that's how many.
I shook my head. "I don't have a suitcase, just my backpack. I don't have much though. I'll just pick what I need. The other kids can have the rest."
"You don't own your own suitcase?" Judgment dripped from his mouth as he turned back to Stella. "Why doesn't she have one? From what you said, it's bad enough she had to move so much. Now you're telling me that every time you carted her off to the newest foster home, she didn't have something to carrying everything in?"
"It's not a big deal," I tried to cut in, but his attention didn't waver from Stella.
"We don't have the finances to give every child luggage. They are provided with a new backpack every two years for school. It's the best we can do," Stella responded evenly. It was one of the only things that I appreciated her for- she always fought to give us as much as she could. She just didn't win the battle very often.
Roger let out an unimpressed grunt. "I need the address to these Brightons. I'll bring you a set of luggage. Whatever doesn't fit in it, we can ship." He held up his hand when I went to argue. "What's your favorite color? I'll try to find something you like."
When I stayed quiet, mostly out of shock at the idea someone would willingly spend money on me, Stella stepped in. "She's not a fan of bright colors. She'll also stain anything white. So try to find something neutral."
"Maybe something blue?" I asked tentatively. They both looked at me in shock. I couldn't believe it myself either. "You know what, never mind. I don't care what color."
Roger shot me that huge grin again. "I'll find a blue set. Do you need anything else? We can get any of the essentials you're missing when we get back to Colorado. But if you need something for the trip, just let me know."
I shook my head no. I already didn't know what the suitcase would cost me down the road. Stella rose, holding a piece of paper that she passed to Roger.
"There is the address to her foster home. I know you have my number, but I added Brooke's at the bottom. I'll plan on meeting you back here at five tomorrow." She held out her hand. After a quick shake, she turned to me. "Behave tonight, Brooke. If you need anything, call me."
Roger walked me out. I beelined for my car, hoping to escape any amount of alone time with him that I could before it became absolutely necessary. He kept pace with me easily though. His eyes lit up when he saw the Charger waiting on me.
"Wow, I can't believe this thing is still alive!" he exclaimed. "Looks better than I last saw it."
"Mom left it to me. Not that it did much good at first since an eight-year-old kid can't drive. They tried to sell it, but I begged Stella to let me keep at least the car. I lost everything else. I don't know how she did it, but when I turned sixteen, she handed me the keys. A couple friends knew their way around cars. They taught me some that I was able to use to get this girl back up and running."
Pride filled me as I look at one of the only ties I had left to my mom. When I first got the '67 Dodge, the poor car sputtered to life anytime the key turned over. The muffler let out a loud bang bang pop whenever it came to a stop. An awful grinding announced anyone nearby when the car took a left turn. It had been so bad, I almost stopped driving it. I didn't have the money to fix it, so what was the point.
Luckily for me, a couple of friends helped me out. I worked a part-time job as a waitress and used the money to buy the parts. The guys would do the labor for free in exchange for a favor or two every now and again. Almost two years later and the only thing left was a new paint job.
"Guess I'll leave it with one of my friends. Maybe they can hold onto it until I turn eighteen," I spoke mostly to myself, almost forgetting Roger stood beside me.
"Let me figure something out. I'll make sure you have your Charger, okay? Just let me talk to some people to work out the details." He rubbed his hand over the hood, looking lost in memories. "I'm going to go to the store. I'll meet you at your foster home."
Knowing I'd have plenty of time to pack later, I drove to the one place that I'd miss the most. The Craig Milton Cemetery felt more like home than most of the houses I grew up in. A bus stop happened to be only two blocks away, so even when I was too little to drive, I could come to visit. I walked down the familiar path to the headstone that I picked out as a kid.
Jenna Johnson
January 2, 1978 to August 14, 2008
Loving Mother and Friend
My fingers brushed against the words. I spent more time at my mother's grave than with her in person. Now everything was changing again. I sat in silence for a long while, taking in the way the grass grew around the base of the headstone, how the pink poppies I planted last summer were finally about to bloom in the nice spring weather. I soaked in every small detail so when I wasn't around, I could picture the scene in my head.
"Hi, Mom. I know, I'm early today. Just couldn't wait to see you. So I found out about Roger. I should be really pissed at you for lying to me for so long. I wouldn't believe it if I didn't have his eyes. It was the weirdest sensation gazing into my own eyes. But then again, I look exactly like you from the pictures in the album you kept.
"He's different than I thought he'd be. Rough around the edges, but he seems kind. Then again I thought Ignacio was kind and look where that got me.
"I'm not really sure where to go from here. Everything is changing so fast. This might be the last time I see you for two months. Isn't that depressing? That I look forward to talking to my dead mom than any other person I know?" A light chuckle escaped me.
"But you always knew me- the real me. Even if I was only eight. I guess I'll just go with the flow until I turn eighteen. Well, I love you. I'll think of you often and come by as soon as I'm back." I kissed my fingers and pressed them to the top of the granite stone.
