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“Hey, the choice had never been yours. You didn’t agree to do that work. Those children went to places thatdidmake that choice and agree to that work. People who would put the money toward the kids. Who had the means to take care of the kids.”

“Yeah,” I agreed.

But I was still struggling with that choice.

I hadn’t let myself think about it much since that day. Anytime the memories popped up, I tamped them down with partying, with fucking, with fighting, with any kind of crazy activity I could find.

It wasn’t until Zoe—and, particularly, Lil’ Bit—that it all came back to the surface. Especially when Zoe had been sick and I’d been the one fully taking care of Lainey.

The coos and hoots brought back fifteen other babies and the time I spent rocking them, feeding them, giving them tummy time so their neck muscles developed, getting to share their first smiles and their belly laughs.

Only now—older, not so riddled with responsibility and the bitterness that came with that—I felt a tug. A regret. A sadness at all that loss.

“Have you ever found any of the kids?” Zoe asked.

“What?”

“I mean, I guess maybe the babies wouldn’t remember you. But the older kids. Have you ever tried to see what they’re up to?”

The thought had never crossed my mind.

“No.”

“Do you not remember their names?”

“I remember everything about them.”

Full names, the years they were born, allergies, likes, dislikes, traumas, physical difficulties, their fears, who was plagued with nightmares, which songs they danced and sang, the silly little things some said they wanted to be when they grew up.

“Maybe you should see if you can find some of them. Even just on social media. Maybe that would help with the guilt you feel about the whole thing: to see that they’re doing well.”

“And if they aren’t?”

“That’s still not on you. There were other families after you, their own families, even. They might remember you and want to be in touch. But they wouldn’t remember names like you do.”

“Think they deserved to keep all that shit in their past,” I said, not wanting to upset these adults and teens who just wanted to focus on the present and future, not hard times in their past.”

“Okay,” Zoe agreed, reaching across me to place her hand on her daughter’s back. “Thank you for telling me all that.”

My head turned, resting on the side of hers.

“Can I ask one more thing?”

“Sure.”

“What happened to your parents?”

“My old man shacked up with one of his mistresses. Never came back to my mother, who spent a few years in my grandfather’s house, but eventually she lost it when she didn’t pay the taxes.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.”

This part, this I never told anyone.

But, somehow, I wanted to tell Zoe.

“I bought it.”

“What?”