Page 90 of Free to Believe
The message she left Jenna.
“Go ahead, Dad,” she whispers.
With trembling fingers, I fumble it open. Reaching inside, I pull out a single piece of paper. After studying the sketch of me and Jenna laughing in the music room, captured in silence, I flip it over and let out a choked sob. Passing it back to Jenna, I’m surprised when she hands it to Dr. Thurman. He reads it aloud. “Jenna. I can’t stop what I feel. It’s forever. I’m so sorry. Emily.”
“I don’t know when she drew it,” Jenna whispers.
“I do.” One night when Jenna was sleeping at Lynne’s, I saw Em with her personal journal propped on her lap. She had an almost dreamy smile on her face. I remember her closing the book and then snuggling down in bed before I rolled on top of her to make love to her again.
It was a few nights before Mugsy died.
“Dad? If Em feels that deeply, she can’t cut us out that easily, can she?” Jenna’s voice holds a note of panic.
“Baby, I think if you showed up tomorrow, she’d welcome you. If I walked in the door…”
“It was that bad?” she whispers.
Ashamed, I just nod.
“Because of me?”
“No, Jenna, because of me. Because like with all the times with you when you tried to talk with me and instead ended up talking to Grandma or Dani, I shoved her away.”
Silence descends upon the office until Dr. Thurman clears his throat. “Well, I think you have a lot to think about before we talk again, Jake.”
I nod. “Can I say one thing before we go?”
“Of course.”
I turn to my daughter, whose face is a mix of sadness and pain. “This is on me, beautiful. You need to celebrate the second chance you’ve been blessed with. I will do anything—and I do mean anything—to make certain you are protected and happy. You survived, Jenna. You’re a miracle every day. And I’m so sorry for everything I’ve ever said or done to make you think otherwise.”
Jenna struggles to get to her feet, though it’s easier now due to all of her physical therapy. “I love you, Dad.”
Pulling her into a hug, I whisper, “I love you too, baby.”
And I’m whispering my thanks to Emily that she gave me a chance to say that, even if she never gives me the chance to thank her in person.
55
Jake
School started a few weeks ago. For the first time since I’ve become a teacher, I barely remember each day what I’m teaching my students.
Each day is blurring into the next with the exception of Jenna’s excitement about senior year punctuating through the bleakness.
I’ve tried to send Emily letters. They’ve been returned—unopened.
I’ve tried to ask Dani about her. She’s can’t give me information about what she doesn’t know.
I don’t even have music in me anymore. I haven’t been down to the studio in months.
I’m existing in a shallow grave of emptiness because I know she’s out there likely still blaming herself for everything that happened when there’s no fault.
No blame.
Except for what I did to her.
Then the only blame belongs to me.
