HOME | DD

Description
81. Pen and Paper

Sam was gone. She’d left not long after Danny read through the papers the man from the Department of Children and Families brought him. She’d left right after he’d signed them, the little boy, Andy, sitting quietly on the couch as the adults talked in hushed tones at the small table Danny had in his dining room. Talked. The man had talked. Danny had asked a question, maybe two. Sam had been silent.

Andy. Andrew. His son was named Andrew James Fenton. His mother had done that, and Danny couldn’t bring himself to frown at it. It was like she’d known she wasn’t going to have much time with him, had wanted to make the transition from having no father to having only a father as easy as possible.

Andy was sleeping, even now as Danny sat on his couch and stared down at the slim white envelope in his hand, his name printed neatly on the outside. Danny had given up his bed, had tucked the five year old into it, all the while trying to figure out who the hell Elizabeth Thompson was. Not is, was.

She’d died, two days ago, a fatal heart attack while driving Andy to school. The car had flipped, the boy’s wrist had been broken, and Danny’s sense of stability and the contrived normalcy had shattered because of it. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting the tension headache that was building. Failing, but not bothering to get up for some aspirin as he worked his thumb along the top of the envelope, ripping it open and pulling a few sheets of plain notebook paper.

Dear Danny,

If you’re reading this, then you know about Andy. I know you don’t remember about me, and I don’t blame you for it. I couldn’t blame you for it, even if you thought I was someone else. I took advantage of the situation, and he was my consequence, my blessing. My life.

Obviously it’s over. I assume they’ll have told you. I have a heart condition. It’s not really a big deal, unless I’m under too much strain and stress. Pregnancy will do that. Delivering will only make it worse. I knew after Andy was born that this day would come eventually. I only hope that it didn’t come too soon. I hope that I haven’t wrecked your life too badly, but I couldn’t bear to let them send Andy to a foster home when you would be the best place for him to go.

I imagine that you’re reading this and wondering what the hell I’m talking about. It’s not much. It was one night, less than a few hours. You were drunk. Someone told me that it was because you hadn’t asked Sam to the prom and she’d gone with someone else. You were drunk, and I was willing, and the entire time you thought I was her. If she hates you for that, I’m sorry

I expect by now you two are married and have kids of your own. I hope she understands. Ask her to treat Andy well. Please. He didn’t do anything wrong. I did my best for him, I only ask that you do the same. And her. She’ll be his mother now, or the closest thing to it. I know I’m not making much sense, but it’s hard writing this. It’s hard knowing that my days are numbered, and shorter than I want them to be.

I know you want to know why I would keep this from you. Why I would never tell you. I can’t answer that question. It was a promise I made, and I’m very good at keeping my promises and my secrets.

He’s like you, you know. I’ve tried to teach him how to handle that part of him, but I can’t claim the experience that you have. I’m only human. But Andy knows what he is, what you are. Who you are. I’ve always told him about you, and I’ve always told him that his daddy was a hero who would love him very much if he knew about him.

Please don’t make me a liar. Please be the hero he needs in you.

Always, Star

Danny closed his eyes after he read the last line, the name barely registering before the paper was crumpled in his hands. Anger, hurt, utter and absolute fear. Emotions that he couldn’t control, and none more painful than the dark despair that he was sitting there, reading it alone with no one to talk to, no one to lean on. It hurt, reading it, knowing that the pretty vivacious cheerleader he’d known in high school was dead. Had expected it and faced it bravely.

He didn’t know what he felt knowing that Andy was Star’s son. Their son. A night that he couldn’t remember, a night that he should have remembered. After all, you don’t take a girl to bed and forget it like it never happened. But he had. Even now, brain wracking itself for answers, shreds of memories, there was nothing.

He smoothed the paper back open, eyes blurring it as he read it once more.

Description
81. Pen and Paper

Sam was gone. She’d left not long after Danny read through the papers the man from the Department of Children and Families brought him. She’d left right after he’d signed them, the little boy, Andy, sitting quietly on the couch as the adults talked in hushed tones at the small table Danny had in his dining room. Talked. The man had talked. Danny had asked a question, maybe two. Sam had been silent.

Andy. Andrew. His son was named Andrew James Fenton. His mother had done that, and Danny couldn’t bring himself to frown at it. It was like she’d known she wasn’t going to have much time with him, had wanted to make the transition from having no father to having only a father as easy as possible.

Andy was sleeping, even now as Danny sat on his couch and stared down at the slim white envelope in his hand, his name printed neatly on the outside. Danny had given up his bed, had tucked the five year old into it, all the while trying to figure out who the hell Elizabeth Thompson was. Not is, was.

She’d died, two days ago, a fatal heart attack while driving Andy to school. The car had flipped, the boy’s wrist had been broken, and Danny’s sense of stability and the contrived normalcy had shattered because of it. He closed his eyes and rubbed the bridge of his nose, fighting the tension headache that was building. Failing, but not bothering to get up for some aspirin as he worked his thumb along the top of the envelope, ripping it open and pulling a few sheets of plain notebook paper.

Dear Danny,

If you’re reading this, then you know about Andy. I know you don’t remember about me, and I don’t blame you for it. I couldn’t blame you for it, even if you thought I was someone else. I took advantage of the situation, and he was my consequence, my blessing. My life.

Obviously it’s over. I assume they’ll have told you. I have a heart condition. It’s not really a big deal, unless I’m under too much strain and stress. Pregnancy will do that. Delivering will only make it worse. I knew after Andy was born that this day would come eventually. I only hope that it didn’t come too soon. I hope that I haven’t wrecked your life too badly, but I couldn’t bear to let them send Andy to a foster home when you would be the best place for him to go.

I imagine that you’re reading this and wondering what the hell I’m talking about. It’s not much. It was one night, less than a few hours. You were drunk. Someone told me that it was because you hadn’t asked Sam to the prom and she’d gone with someone else. You were drunk, and I was willing, and the entire time you thought I was her. If she hates you for that, I’m sorry

I expect by now you two are married and have kids of your own. I hope she understands. Ask her to treat Andy well. Please. He didn’t do anything wrong. I did my best for him, I only ask that you do the same. And her. She’ll be his mother now, or the closest thing to it. I know I’m not making much sense, but it’s hard writing this. It’s hard knowing that my days are numbered, and shorter than I want them to be.

I know you want to know why I would keep this from you. Why I would never tell you. I can’t answer that question. It was a promise I made, and I’m very good at keeping my promises and my secrets.

He’s like you, you know. I’ve tried to teach him how to handle that part of him, but I can’t claim the experience that you have. I’m only human. But Andy knows what he is, what you are. Who you are. I’ve always told him about you, and I’ve always told him that his daddy was a hero who would love him very much if he knew about him.

Please don’t make me a liar. Please be the hero he needs in you.

Always, Star

Danny closed his eyes after he read the last line, the name barely registering before the paper was crumpled in his hands. Anger, hurt, utter and absolute fear. Emotions that he couldn’t control, and none more painful than the dark despair that he was sitting there, reading it alone with no one to talk to, no one to lean on. It hurt, reading it, knowing that the pretty vivacious cheerleader he’d known in high school was dead. Had expected it and faced it bravely.

He didn’t know what he felt knowing that Andy was Star’s son. Their son. A night that he couldn’t remember, a night that he should have remembered. After all, you don’t take a girl to bed and forget it like it never happened. But he had. Even now, brain wracking itself for answers, shreds of memories, there was nothing.

He smoothed the paper back open, eyes blurring it as he read it once more.