Page 67
Story: Where There's a Will
I wasn’t so certain, but I didn’t argue with him. I ate with them a few times at the restaurant, and I invited both of them to come swim one Saturday, but Micca had something else to do, so Matty came alone, which was fine, and we had fun, but I couldn’t help but think that Micca was almost like a different person. Whatever had happened must’ve been badsquared.
And I couldn’t really put a finger on exactly what was different. She’s always been just an all-around kind person, and that hadn’t changed. It isn’t like she was rude, or harsh. She just seemeddifferent.
Ten days out from Master’s last concert of the tour, Bubbles came to me at work holding an envelope. “You got a letter from Alaska. Do you know whoMalcolm Jones is?”
I just stared at him a few seconds before I started hyperventilating. I knew what was happening, but I couldn’t stop it. My breaths kept coming faster and faster, and Bubbles picked me up, sat on a bench, and held me in his lap.
“Breathe, Davy. We don’t have to open the letter if you don’t want to. We can pretend it never came.”
I shook my head and tried to get my breathing under control. Eventually, with Bubbles’ calm voice talking me through when to breathe, I managed, and I told him, “I think it’s from my grandfather, but I’ve never met him. Why would he be writing me?” I grabbed his arm. “You don’t think he knows about me and Will! I’ll just die if someone tries to blackmail Will and get money out of him!”
“Calm down, Davy.” Bubbles has this voice that you just kind of have to listen to. I mean, it isn’t like he can spank me or hurt my balls these days, but the voice still works on me, and I calmed right down.
He grinned. “Maybe I should’ve pulled that out to start. Better?”
I nodded and reached for the envelope. My hands were shaking when I opened it, but I managed okay, and unfolded the sheet of paper inside to see really nice handwriting.
It was in cursive, and I’m not so good at reading cursive, but I managed to make it out okay.
Young David,
I hope this letter finds you in good health and good cheer. I am your father’s father, but I was never allowed to meet you when you were young. I only recently discovered you went into foster care at a young age. If I’d known, I’d have done my best to get guardianship of you so I could bring you to Alaska.
My information tells me you had some difficulty getting started into adulthood, but that you’re holding down a good job now, on your way to a career. I’m pleased to hear it. I’d love to talk to you and get to know you. I wasn’t allowed when you were young, but now the decision is up to you. Your grandmother and I would like to be part of your life in whatever way you’re comfortable with. We can begin with phone calls and maybe video calls. If we want to take the next step, I can pay airfare for you to come to us in Alaska to visit with us.
He listed his phone number, email address, and social media information, and I read through it again while I tried to make sense of it.
He wasn’t writing because of Will. He wrote because he wanted to get to know his grandson. That was completely different, and if it was true that he hadn’t been allowed contact with me when I was young — and it likely was because my parents wouldn’t have wanted anyone to see how malnourished I was — then I couldn’t be too mad at him. Could I?
“What are you going to do?” Bubbles asked.
“I don’t know. I need to think about it.”
“Talk it over with Will. He’ll help you straighten your head out around it.”
I wasn’t going to talk to Will about this while he was dealing with the end of his tour, but I nodded to Bubbles.
“Do you think I can buy a burner phone from Brain, in case I want to call? That way, if I don’t want to go past the phone call, he won’t have my number.”
“I’ll check with him. You okay?”
I nodded. “I am. It just caught me off guard. I can get back to work. Thanks for taking care of me.”
I went back through my memory banks, trying to remember meeting family members. I’d known about my aunt because when I started school after I was in foster care, I’d met someone who told me he was my cousin. I’d always assumed she’d known about me and done nothing, but maybe my parents hadn’t let her see me either? Still, she could’ve taken me in, rather than letting me go into the foster system. She clearly knew about me at that point.
I shook my head and walked back to my station, happy I was measuring and cutting, where it takes every bit of my focus to do my job. If I’d been stitching something, my mind could’ve wandered, and I didn’t want to think about my family.
* * * *
Davy
I called Malcolm Jones the following day, on a burner phone Bash told me I could keep for a few weeks. It had ten hours of time on it, and he told me to feel free to use whatever I needed.
I addressed him as Mister Jones when he answered, and when he’d figured out who I was, he’d told me, “I suppose the title of grandfather must be earned, and I haven’t done that at all, so call me Malcolm. I’m so glad you called.”
We talked for two hours, mostly about me, but I learned a great deal about him and my grandmother, since he put me on speakerphone so I could talk to both of them.
He wanted to set up a time for a video call in the coming days, but I told him, “I need to process this, and I hope you understand. Give me a few weeks, okay? After a lifetime without family, this is going to take some getting used to.”
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