Page 91 of Quiet Beautiful Things

Ninety minutes later, I’m walking up to the rehab center. I hesitate before going inside, debating why I’m even here. Wondering if she’ll even tell me the things I need to know, while at the same time feeling terrified of hearing them if she does.

I’m aware that one of the steps in addiction recovery is to make amends. Is that what she’s trying to do? Or was she simply strongarmed by her therapist into summoning us here?

After checking in at the front desk and being issued a visitor name tag, I’m escorted through the building and out back to a courtyard. There are quite a few groups of people occupying the various seating areas. I scan the faces, wondering if I’d even recognize Lucinda after all these years.

“Ms. Wilcox is over there,” the staffer says, pointing to a woman seated by a fountain of water cascading into a koi pond.

“Thanks.”

The guy nods before he turns to go back inside.

Lucinda doesn’t see me. She’s working her hands anxiously, wringing them over and over as her left knee bounces up and down.

She’s clearly nervous.

I’m also stricken by how thin she is. Then again, drugs can do that to a person.

When she looks up and sees me, I almost gasp. Her eyes are sunken. Her face gaunt. She’s pale, her skin almost yellow. She immediately looks behind me, surely scanning the area for Maisy.

“Where is she?”

“Where is she?”I bark. “That’s all you have to say? Are you fucking kidding me? Do you even know what I’ve gone through these past few months?”

Seeing her this way, her body screaming with the evidence of years of drug use, has me seething even more. I lose all sense of self control and everything that’s been percolating inside me comes spewing out.

“You almost ruined her. What in the hell did you do, keep her locked up in your apartment because you were ashamed of her? Why didn’t you get her checked out by a doctor? Why didn’t you learn how to communicate with your own daughter? And why in God’s name didn’t you try to find out who her fucking father was? Look at you, Lucinda. You’re a pathetic excuse for a human. People like you shouldn’t be allowed to have children.”

Lucinda’s face is stoic, which somehow pisses me off even more.

“If you think you can do all the shit you did to Maisy, dump her on me, go to rehab for a few months, then get her back, you’d better think again. Because guess what? Despite your criminal neglect of her, she’s thriving. She’s going to school. She’s learning how to sign. She’s fucking happy. For the first time in her miserable life, she’s happy. She calls me Dad, for Christ sake. Tell me, Lucinda, did she ever once call you Mom? And you wanted me tobringher here? You look like death warmed over. You’d have only scared her. Thank God I left her at home.”

I’m not swayed in the least when her eyes become misty. She doesn’t deserve my pity. “Oh,you’resad,” I say, laughing incredulously. “You want me to feel sorry for you after what you did to her?” I throw up my hands, completely exasperated. “Jesus, why did I even come?” Then I remember why. For answers. So instead of spinning around and walking out after saying my piece, I sit and stare daggers. “Do you haveanythingto say?”

“I’m dying.”

Ah, shit.Of all the things I thought she’d say, and all the excuses I was sure she’d spout; this was definitely not what I was expecting. “You’re… dying?”

She nods. “It’s amazing what clarity is brought to your life knowing you’re going to die.”

“I’m sorry to hear that. But did you really think having Maisy see you like this would be good for her? Or are you just wanting to make amends so she doesn’t forever remember you as the monster you were?”

My words are harsh, I know. But being sick doesn’t excuse her past actions.

“I guess it was a bad idea. It’s one of the steps.”

“Maybe normally it would be. But nothing about this situation is normal. Maisy didn’t even know her name. She didn’t even know peoplehadnames. She didn’t know one goddamn thing until she came to live with me. You expect a child like that to understand why she’s been brought here? I mean, you do know she’s deaf, right? How could you not?”

Guilt crosses her face. “I never had her tested. I know it happened because of me. My drug use. I didn’t want to admit it was my fault. Having her tested would mean I’d have to accept the blame. So I chose to ignore it.

“When I found out I was pregnant, I got excited at first. I thought having a baby was going to save me. Be my way out ofdrugs. It was going to be me and her against the world. The first few months after I had her were amazing. But then she didn’t act like other babies. She didn’t look at me when I came into a room. She didn’t react to sounds. I knew something was wrong. I thought maybe she was autistic or brain damaged. I guess… I guess I didn’t want to know.”

I shake my head in disgust at her selfishness. “If she had gotten early intervention it would have changed everything. She’s doing well, but it’s been a struggle. Every day is a challenge. She’s almost five and we can only have simple conversations. It took a long time for her to adjust. For her to understand I’m her father. How could you have been so goddamn self-centered? What did you think was going to happen to her as she got older?”

“I don’t know!” She covers her face with her hands. “I’m a drug addict, Blake. My number one priority was how and where I was going to score my next high.”

Seething over her admission, my brain is at odds with itself knowing she’s going to die. I’m not a complete jerk, after all. “What’s going on with you?”

“Cancer.” She laughs sadly. “I deserve it after what I’ve done. It’s my punishment.”

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