Page 70 of Rootbound

Charlie runs a palm over his face, but proceeds. “She claimed she had told him that there was no way, but she admitted to me that she had no way of knowing for sure. So then, when Duane moved back, and he started asking questions… about how old Ava was… He made comments about her dark hair, and how she already loved math—at age three.

“And your mom suspected that he knew that Ava was… that Ava was his daughter. And I couldn’t—I couldn’t forgive her. I’m so sorry, girls. I’m sorry I wasn’t man enough to forgive her, to take you both and move us allaway, to be the father, the family you guys deserved. But we were already so bitter toward each other.” He swipes angrily at his eyes. “We did some tests to confirm it.”

“I remember that,” Ava says. “I got to stay home from school one day and you guys called it our science day. You took me for ice cream after.”

Charlie nods. “Your Mom didn’t want you guys to be subjected to questions, to ridicule. And I didn’t either.”

“Obviouslyshedidn’t want the ridicule, either,” Ava says, to no one in particular.

Charlie continues. “So she took you, and kept you as hidden away as she could. She knew that if Duane found out, that he’d push for a relationship with you, Ava. And yes, she didn’t want that shame on her shoulders, but more than that, she didn’t want you guys to suffer any unintended consequences from all ofouractions. She didn’t want to cause you any more confusion than the split already would. She moved you away. And I demanded that we all leave you girls alone. And, I want you to know, I wanted to call so much more than I did. I was angry at your mom, yes, angry at this whole situation, yes, but I didn’t want to hurt your mother anymore. I’d already hurt her with a lack of love, so much so that she’d sought it out.…” He sighs, deep and weary. “Up until Ava was eighteen, your mom, Grace, and I were the only ones who knew this. Although it’s clear to me now that Duane had developed his suspicions, by the time that happened it was all too late.”

“I knew,” Duane says. “A lot longer than that.”

“I had my suspicions,” LeighAnn states.

“I, for one, had NO fucking clue,” James says.

“But—wait, what about your letters?” Ava says to Charlie.

“Letters?” Charlie says in confusion.

“I wrote those letters,” Duane says, barely more than a whisper.

“You…”

“It’s why I didn’t sign them for so many years. I knew you didn’t know it was actually me, but I didn’t care. I didn’t want you to suffer either, nor your mom.” He looks at Charlie when he says this, but Charlie doesn’t meet his eyes. “I’ve only ever wanted to be in your guys’ lives. I knew your mom didn’t love me back. I knew what I was to her—a means to an end, a way of lashing out when her marriage was unhappy… I still did what I did, because I loved her. Even still, I wasn’t about to go against her wishes later on. But I’ve been punishing myself for this since by not actively pursuing you. But then you guys grew up, past the years where it’d have been confusing and shameful—well,moreshameful I guess… and I simply wanted to know you. That’s why I started asking you to come visit. I wanted to tell you everything.”

I look to my sister, then. I take in her dark hair, her tall frame, her blue eyes, and of course it’s true. She turns to me, taking me in and mirroring all my thoughts.

Then, Caleb—quiet, reserved Caleb, who I think I’ve actually heard speak only three times in the weeks I’ve known him—says, “This is someJerry Springershit right here.”

“Maury,dear. You’re thinking ofMaury,” Emmaline says from her wheelchair. Scary Dr. Who has brought her out without us noticing, a dumbfounded expression on his face.

“… You know, Maury?‘You’re NOTthe father!’” Em elaborates. “Jerry Springerwas the one where all the people threw chairs.”

My mind decides to elbow its way through this revelation, back to the one at hand.

“Hold on. Henry, you said you called Ava because… because of something going on with Em. But you couldn’t have known she would fall?”

“Henry Marcus Marcum,” Emmaline says, shaking her head in disappointment.

Okay, I’m going to need to address that later.

That’s a terrible teen heartthrob’s name if I’ve ever heard one.

Henry seems to shake his head and come to, clearly as taken aback by this new information as the rest of us. “I’m sorry, Mrs. L. But they deserve to know.”

She sighs in defeat, but shrugs. “Well, ladies, happy homecoming. I’m dying.”

Thirty-Four

Henry

I can’t stop wondering how a heart just fails. I have no medical background, so I guess when I think of the heart, I still think of it as its abstract identity. Not only as muscle, but as the thing that gives someone life; the very thing that drives their actions in turn.

It just seems like, maybe in a perfect world, they’d be related.

How can someone with a broken heart go on to climb mountains and run marathons, yet when there’s so much life, vitality, and love in another person, their heart can just slowly fail?