Page 84 of Nothing Left To Lose But You

“Good. I know how he talks to you. I can’t have it around my daughter. I hope you understand.” I curl into him, tucking my face into the crook of his neck. The musky-citrus smell of his deodorant—of him—is a comfort.

“I understand. Would Claire be willing to watch Maggie for a bit on the day of visitation? I was hoping you could come and just be nearby. Just in case.” He presses a small kiss against my forehead.

“I’m sure it won’t be a problem, but I’ll check.” I wonder how much he’s told his family about mine.

Two days after Chase sent me the number, I work up the courage to message Dunbar and arrange a visitation. I kept the text short, focused only on my niece and logistics. Instead of replying, he calls my phone. Against my better judgment, I answer.

“My fat fingers have a hard time texting. I usually hit the wrong keys. Thought this would be quicker,” he says, with a thick, gruff voice I could pick out in a crowd.

“I wanted to see if Monday evening works for you to see Rainey?” I’m pleased my voice is calm and strong, not revealing the firework of nerves going off through my body.

“Monday’s fine.” The lack of hatred in his voice throws me for a loop. I wait for the punchline ending with me in tears, but it doesn’t come.

“The weather’s supposed to be good. Can we meet at the reservoir park?” There’s a late-winter heatwave rolling in this weekend and temps are expected to reach over sixty degrees. The park should be a suitable spot for our first visit. With nice weather, there’ll be no shortage of people milling around, and Logan can easily find a place to monitor the visit.

Rainey’s waiting when I pull into the driveway and honk my horn on Monday evening. I’ve tried to keep expectations low about seeing her dad today, but she’s jazzed. We picked out what she wanted to wear before bed last night. It became a debacle with every outfit she owned on her closet floor. I’m not at all surprised when Logan climbs into the passenger seat and tells me about the fun he had fixing her hair before I arrived.

Logan hops out of my car at the far end of the graveled parking lot, near the spot I asked Dunbar to meet us. He brought a book along, but promised to keep a close eye on the three of us. I hope he’s acquainted with dialing 9-1-1 for help, because nothing about Logan screams ‘fighter.’ I hope we don’t need him at all.

Rainey and I round the sidewalk near the winterized water fountain. I’d purposefully planned to arrive ten minutes early, knowing my brother would certainly be late. I expected a moment to collect myself before seeing him. But Dunbar’s sitting and waiting early for once.

Dunbar stands to greet Rainey when she rushes toward him. He looks healthier than I’ve seen him in years. His frail frame filled out in jail, presumably because of a lack of drugs and eating regularly. The dark circles ringing his eyes, a feature I resolved to be permanent, are gone.

“Hey baby,” he says, lifting Rainey up as she runs into his arms. She wraps her legs around his waist and hugs him tight.

“I missed you, Daddy.” Her voice, never this tiny, squeaks out.

“I missed you, too, baby. I’m glad I get to see you today.”

He hugs her back before sitting her on the bench. I take a seat and slide to the farthest end, giving them space. Rainey warms up, telling her dad about ‘her kitten.’ She tells him about her teacher and her good grades, which prompts him to glance in my direction for confirmation.

“It’s true. Her teacher sends home notes almost every week praising her. I’ll start saving them for you,” I offer, a gesture of goodwill.

He peppers Rainey with questions about what her favorite things are now. Seven months doesn’t seem like that long of a time, but when you’re turning seven, it’s an eighth of your whole life. His questions seem genuine, but also reveal he was out of touch with his daughter’s world long before his arrest. Some of the TV shows he asks her about are for toddlers. He asks if yogurt is still her favorite food, and Rainey looks at me funny—she wouldn’t even touch yogurt as a baby.

I glance in Logan’s direction a few times, but never throw our agreed upon hand signal. Logan jokingly suggested I could make a batman mask with my hands if I wanted him to intervene, but I laughed and nixed his idea. We settled on me crossing my legs and putting both hands on my knee and holding them there if I need him.

Dunbar’s considerate toward Rainey throughout the visit. There’s no screaming when I tell my niece it’s getting dark, and we have to tell her dad goodbye until next week. Is it a relief for her to know there’s an upcoming visit scheduled? She’s on cloud nine the whole way to the Owens’ farm to pick up Maggie, unable to contain her excitement to tell her friend about her ‘playdate’ with her dad. As I tuck her in for the night, she still beams from ear to ear.

I move the following Monday’s visit to the library. Temperatures have dipped back down into February-appropriate cold, and all of our fingers would freeze off at the park. Alexandria’s public library has extended hours on Monday evenings to accommodate patrons who can’t visit during normal business hours, making it an ideal spot.

A last-minute web meeting at work came up for Logan, making him unable to join, so I begged Izabeth to come along, promising she can sit in a corner and play on her phone. She agreed, not overly excited to be in my brother’s presence. I sternly reminded her this visitation is for Rainey, not for her to give my brother an earful of what she thinks about him.

We beat Dunbar to the library, and I let Rainey roam in the small room the library has set aside for kids. Iz parks herself in an armchair away from the toys, but texts me she can see everything. I peek out the window at ten minutes past our agreed upon time and see Dunbar climb out of a car I don’t recognize. Rainey waits not-so-patiently and tackles her dad as he comes inside. I follow her, walking us all back to the play area.

The visit starts sweetly, much like the first. There’s lots of back-and-forth conversation between the two of them and it’s a joy to watch. Dunbar’s reluctant to get on the floor when Rainey asks him to play, which strikes me as odd, but he does it—awkwardly moving the trucks and cars around the oversized rug printed with streets and buildings.

Rainey looks back and smiles at me several times. I’m pleased she’s getting to make these memories with her dad. They play, with Dunbar mostly watching, for a long time before Rainey gets bored and asks if she can get a book to read.

The three of us wander away from the toy area and find seats at a low circular table near wooden cubbies overstuffed with children’s storybooks. Rainey picks out two books and sits mesmerized as she listens to her dad read.

As the visit wraps up, Rainey takes her time putting away the books she pulled out.

“What’s she doing here?” Dunbar asks, pointing out Izabeth who is visible from the angle he’s standing.

“She came with us. We’re grabbing dinner after we leave. She said she’d just wait inside and catch up on emails until we’re done.”

“Bullshit,” he hisses at me. “Is she playing bodyguard?”

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