They were going to discuss Daniel.
After twenty-two years of his never sending birthday cards or making phone calls, they were going to recognize the man who never did on the one day I had turned up.
As though it had been waiting for me, I felt the pain rise in my throat. I reminded myself to remain motionless, smile, and give them this if they need it.
Ava took out a folded piece of paper from the sleeve of her dress. I saw Claire’s shoulders tremble as she covered her lips with her palm.
The pain in my throat began to build.”We located the notebook,” June remarked. “The one in the kitchen drawer.”
I grabbed the camera so tightly that I heard the plastic creak when I closed my eyes. The gas receipt note, still folded in my wallet, crossed my mind. Every year on Patricia’s birthday, I would sit at that twisted kitchen table with a pen and write to three sleeping girls.
I convinced myself at the time that whether they read it or not, I had spoken what needed to be said.
June then began to read.
I shut my eyes.To my girls. Today is your first birthday. I wanted to write it down even though I’m not sure if you’ll ever read it or if I’ll still be doing this correctly by then.”
A chill went straight down my back.
I was familiar with those words. I was familiar with their rhythm and the man who wrote them, sitting by himself at a kitchen table overlooking a hardware store with three infants sleeping in one cot because he couldn’t afford three.
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