Novel Excerpt: Missing Out

“It won't be long now. Can you please try?”

The feminine voice at the other end of the phone pleaded sorrowfully with me. I was biting my lip again and twirling the phone cord around my fingers. She wanted me to meet her. This girl. My daughter. That concept was still hard to accept. At the beginning of this year, I didn't have a daughter. Now, suddenly, one was pleading with me to come join her. How could I not? I allowed my thoughts to drift back to Reese, my love, so many years ago. Her dark hair and pale eyes bewitched me. I was young and fell hard for her carefree spirit. She always had so much energy, she was so full of life, bursting with light. We were mad for each other, passionate but brief. She left one day, without me, without a kiss, without a goodbye. I longed for her.

“Will you make it?” the soft voice asked me, “I'd still like you to come to the funeral.”

The funeral. I had never been scared of impending events, but I couldn't get my mind off of this one. Reese, my beloved Reese, was dying. I only I'd known! If only I'd known how to find her. But she escaped, slipped away from me, and had our daughter in secret. The secret was out. She was pleading on the phone with me now. I'd looked up the meaning of her name and found Tanaya meant 'daughter'. My daughter.

“I'll be there,” I promised.

“Thank you, thank you so much. I don't know if I could've done this without you,” her voice was clearly relieved. “Our agreement is still in place, there is no need to worry. I still think it's best for everyone.”

The agreement. Yes, the agreement. How could I forget the agreement. There was much at risk. Tanaya had only found me out of desperation. Her husband had died on duty in the army and left her with 2 small boys. Her mother was really the only one there to help her raise them. When her mother got sick Tanaya had tried to make everything work, but as the illness continued, Tanaya faced the daunting task of losing her mother and raising her boys alone.

We developed an extensive long-distance relationship, via phone and email only. She said that getting to know me added a strength to her life. Her mother was only getting worse and any day they could lose her. She invited me to the funeral with a few conditions. She claimed that since her boys were still so young, and losing their only grandparent it was ultimately bad timing to introduce them to a strange new one. I had agreed, my initial hope of meeting my grandchildren extinguished. I knew she was right, they were already experiencing a burdensome loss, and now wasn't the time for me to come into their lives. Suddenly, in less than a month, I had gone from a middle aged bachelor to suddenly having a daughter and two healthy grandsons that I couldn't play with.

Her second condition was that I not see her mom. She explicitly asked for a closed casket. She told me that it was for my sake, that surely I must want to cherish her mothers memory untarnished with what she became. Again, some spark inside of me died knowing that I'd never again see my beloved Reese. I hadn't even realized that I wanted to. Again, I knew Tanaya was right, it was better if I didn't see her. I didn't want to imagine her sick and dying, I wanted to remember her young and full of promise. And I sensed that my daughter was only half concerned for me. I'm sure my presence would upset Reese, and in her frail condition I knew our daughter didn't want any more changes. I had agreed. Knowing I had a daughter was overwhelming enough, I knew she was trying to protect me. Or, more accurately, protect herself.

I made plans to fly out. They lived one state over and I didn't want the long hours in the car. Once everything was finalized I called my mother. Being an only child was difficult for me as I was the one person she relied on for everything. Tonight, as every night, I was to visit her for dinner. It was our ritual. I'd be there at 6 and leave promptly at 8:30. So at 6:00 that evening I was seated in the living room with the TV on and some appetizers in my mouth. She looked smaller to me somehow, shorter, I noticed more bones under her skin. She teetered around in fuzzy slippers and I hoped that it was just Reese in my thoughts reminding me of our shared mortality. For the first time ever I actually realized that my mother would someday be gone, just as Reese would someday soon, be gone. And I too, I would be next, then my daughter, and one by one her sons. We were all going to die.

I took a sip of my drink to clear my head. I had to shake this morbid mood. My mother had been suspicious of me lately. I hadn't told her that a secret daughter had contacted me, that I was planning to see her, that her mother was dying. I wasn't sure how that conversation would go, my mother had never known about Reese. I didn't tell her about any of my girlfriends. For as long as I could remember my mother had nagged me about having a family. As soon as I was old enough to notice girls she kept pointing them out to me.

“Look at little Nancy next door, Truman, isn't she cute?”

It used to embarrass me. It still did. She never stopped doing it. If we ever left the house she'd always point out ladies. As I grew older she started asking me if I was even still attracted to ladies. I knew she was concerned that she never saw me with a woman. I did date, but never seriously, and as the years passed my prospects grew older and older, and fewer and fewer. To my continued shame, my mother still longed for a grandchild. I had not yet found the courage to tell her that yes, she actually did have a grandchild, and not only that but two great-grandchildren. That would be a dream come true, but I could not involve her due to the agreement. I could never prevent her from contacting Tanaya and the boys. I couldn't risk it. Instead I evaded her questions and made up lame excuses.

In truth, I couldn't keep my mind off Reese. She plagued my thought during my flight to where she eventually called home. I couldn't forget her smile, her eyes. She made me feel alive, helped me explore life. She had an adventurous spirit. I had loved her, I was startled to realize I still did. I wondered if she loved me, or thought about me. I knew she probably didn't. She was too sick. But didn't the dying think about their loved ones? Even from long ago? I knew it didn't matter. She had made a choice. She couldn't have predicted it would affect so many lives. She couldn't have known that her secret would be unraveled with her passing.

It made me sick to think of her, to think of Tanaya. We could've been a family. I could've had a family. Those kinds of thoughts made me bitter, and I already felt terrible. I hadn't slept well, the flight was cramped, the love of my life was dying and I was about to meet the daughter I never knew I had. I felt like I was going to be sick. Finally we landed. Immediately my phone rang.

“Have you arrived?” that feminine voice questioned.

“Yes, just now.”

“I've been trying to get a hold of you,” her voice cracked, “she's gone.”

I stood there a moment and forgot where I was. I was stone as life continued to flow around me. She was gone. She was gone. I was on my way, I could've seen her, I was too late. It's all too late. A feeling of deep sorrow came over me. She was gone. My love was gone. The world got darker and made my memories of her more colourful. Her eyes, her smile, the way she smelled, how I had felt in her arms. How she felt in mine. I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk. I realized I had a phone in my hand. I realized Tanaya was crying. I realized I was crying. I felt powerless to comfort her.

The funeral home was small, dry, and tidy. I was nervous to go in. I had purchased a suit just for the occasion and had picked up a small bouquet of flowers. I had spent hours in my tiny motel mirror trying to get my hair just right. I wanted to look perfect for when I saw her. I wanted her to like me. I still couldn't believe I was a grandfather. A grandfather. I had grandsons. I abruptly realized that I looked older. And here I was, an old guy, standing alone in front of a funeral parlour. I didn't recognize anyone. I felt like a fool. I almost left. But then I saw her. That hair, those lips, the same eyes. It had to be her. It looked just like her. Tanaya. My daughter. A replica of the woman I loved. My feet started walking. I was getting closer.

“I'm Truman,” I greeted her with a polite handshake, handing her the modest bouquet.

She drew in a breath and stared at me; her eyes were searching for something. I bit my lip self-consciously. I couldn't breathe while standing next to her. She was the same age as Reese when I met her and we fell in love. I was a young man again, standing next to the girl I adored. I had not been prepared for this, in my mind I just assumed my daughter looked like me. I had not fathomed a girl with long dark hair, abruptly pale eye, and a curving smile that matched hers. I had to admire her shade of lipstick. I knew her mother would've approved. I bit my lip again against the old memories of Reese. I had no idea what to do next. Thankfully, Tanaya smiled.

“Hello Truman, it's nice to meet you. I bite my lip too,” she whispered conspiratorially.

I laughed with relief. This may actually go better than I feared. She led me inside and showed me the refreshment table.

“Thank you for being here. Can we chat later? Just knowing you're here helps. Thank you, again.” she squeezed my arm to show her sincerity.

“It's my pleasure. You look just like her,” I added quickly. I flushed with embarrassment. Obviously she knew that.

“Thank you, she was a beautiful woman.”

“Yes. She was,” my voice trailed softly.

She smiled, her red lipstick gleamed against the white of her teeth. I wanted to kiss her, like a father would kiss a daughter he was proud of. But I stood, awkwardly, without knowing what to do. I let her go off to be hostess. As hard as today was for me I knew it was intensely more difficult for her. She looked so poised, polished, from the stylish shoes on her feet to the red of her lips against her pale skin.

I wandered around the funeral home purposely avoiding the auditorium. I said I didn't want to see her, Reese, that girl I had loved so long ago, who had stolen my heart, and only here, now that she was dead, did I even know it was missing. I hadn't wanted to see her, but now, I wished I could. I yearned for the life she stole from me. I wanted to confront her somehow. Finally I built enough courage and turned to go in. As soon as I passed through the archway I saw her. There it was, a picture of Reese, exactly how I remembered her. Her skin looked soft. Her pale eye shone and laughed mischievously, her pert mouth turned up in her signature smile. For a moment I imagined I could still smell her hair. I fought back the tears as I thought about her. I missed her with a terrible ache in my heart. I knew by seeing her face again that she was why I had never married. I loved her even then.

I found a seat in the back corner. I could see two boys in the front row, both with dark hair. I suspected they too had pale eyes. The service was crowded with friends and acquaintances. I didn't want to answer any hard questions and was hoping to remain unseen. As I sat there, listening to all the stories and memories from Reese's closest friends, I realized just how much I hadn't known her. She had never given me the chance to be a part of this life. It dawned on me that I was at the funeral of a stranger. Only her eyes in the picture told me I was wrong. That I had known her, intimately, and she had kept, and raised, our child. Tanaya took her turn at the lectern to say her goodbye speech. It seemed for a second that her eyes swept the crowd until she saw me. I sat a little straighter to get a clearer look. She stared at me for a moment, and then spoke the first words.

“Friends, family, and those who loved her most,” her eyes again settled on me, “thank you for coming.”

When it was over I stood alone in front of the picture of the face I thought I knew so well. Her eyes were looking right at me. I wondered if she saw me, if she remembered me? There were a book of photographs open on the table. It was the depiction of her life since I'd known her. Pictures of Tanaya as a baby, as a child, growing older in front of my eyes. First birthday, first day of school, graduation day. Reese stared out at me from the pages of her life, a life she built without me. One that she ran away from me to pursue. I flipped through the pages and saw Tanaya as a young woman, then a picture of her first-born. Reese, a proud grandmother. I noticed, as I flipped, that Reese had never found anyone either. I dared believe that it was because, deep down, maybe she loved me too. Each page I looked at brought me some of her fondest memories. I pretended I was the man taking all the pictures, the man in her life.

I heard someone approach me softly. I turned to see Tanaya. I felt my face crumple in tears. I couldn't help myself. It was all too much. Tanaya rushed to wrap me in her arms and buried her face in my shoulder. I sobbed and sobbed, my tears soaking her hair. My daughter, a daughter. I have a daughter. The life that should have been mine was right here in front of me. It was a cruel twist that the first time I held my daughter in my arms was at her mothers funeral. I cried for everything kept from me.

“Mommy, are you OK?” a small voice broke through our embrace. She let go of me hurriedly and I turned to compose myself. I was acutely aware that this may be my only meeting with these boys, my grandsons.

“Yes, darling, I'm OK. It's been a long day. Do you want to meet someone?”

I felt myself stiffen, this was it, this was the moment. I turned and faced the boys. Their features blurred as I struggled with my tears. I clearly and painfully saw her in them. I was suddenly angry that she had kept them from me. How dare she?

“This is Andre and this is Paul. Boys, you say hi to Truman. He loved your Grammy a very long time ago. He wanted to meet you.”

“Hi,” Andre, the oldest, took a step forward and stiffly stuck out his hand.

“Hi,” Paul, the smallest, and only about 4 years old, copied his big brother and stiffly stuck out his hand too.

“Hello boys,” I looked to Tanaya, I didn't want to cross any lines. She smiled in reassurance. “You two look like little soldiers. The army would be lucky to have fine men like you. Salute,” I touched my first two outstretched fingers and placed them on my forehead. The boys laughed and saluted back.

“My dad was in the army,” Paul, the little one offered, his fingers still in salute on his head.

“Yes, your mother told me. He'd be very proud of such fine, upstanding boys. Keep up the good work. Be good soldiers for your mommy. OK?” I made them promise.

“Boys, say goodbye, let Truman and I have a moment alone, won't you?” She asked them, tears visible in her eyes.

“Goodbye,” Andre offered to shake my hand again.

“Goodbye,” Paul copied.

I watched them leave. I sighed and held their memories close to my heart. I turned back to Tanaya, I saw the emotional toll in her face.

“Thank you for being good with them. They haven't really understood what this all means yet.”

“I hope for a chance to get to know them in the future,” I couldn't hold back.

I didn't want this to be the last time I'd see them. Any of them. She pursed her lips and nodded.

“In time,” she whispered.

“Do you know why she left?” She asked me after a deep breath.

It was hard to resist such memorizing eyes. They were so much like hers. I wanted to ask her the same question. Had Reese said anything to her, anything at all about me, in her childhood, through stories, anything at all about the father that didn't know her? I wanted to ask her, this woman, this stranger who looked just like her mother, my love. WHY DID YOU LEAVE ME? I wanted to shout! Instead I shook my head no.

“That must be hard for you,” she offered after a while.

I shrugged. I thought I had gotten over it, over her. It turns out, I hadn't. Yes, it was hard for me. How many nights had I lain awake, wondering what I had done to drive her light out of my life. I had always blamed myself, that somehow I wasn't good enough, that I let her get away, that I could've done something else, something more. But I knew, deep down, that it was her spirit that took her. That restless spirit. She had always been secretive, and had always craved adventure. I had never even realized that I could never be enough. Yes, it was hard for me. She had my baby but left without saying a word. I didn't understand it, it drove me crazy. How could she do that to me?! Yes, it was hard, but I wasn't going to admit it.

“I'd better get going,” I spoke, the words tumbling awkwardly out of my mouth, “I fly out tonight.”

“Sure,” she took a step towards me and hugged me one last time. “Thank for being here,” she took a step back and looked me in the eyes. “My husband was my strength. When he died, I turned to my mother. The thought of doing all this alone, I ...” she glanced around, her voice cracked, the tears threatened to flow. I bit back my own.

“You had the strength to find me,” I hoped the words were enough.

The tears finally spilled as she nodded. Her smile, even dripping with sorrow, was the most beautiful thing I had ever seen.

“Don't forget these,” I handed her the photo album and the photograph of her mother at her age. The resemblance was eerie. I felt the ache in my heart.

“Keep that,” she said taking only the photo album, “if you want it.”

And with that she walked out. I closed my eyes and said a prayer for the family I had never known and yet had somehow just lost. I stood for a moment longer and gazed at the picture of that beautiful woman. She almost seemed to smile just for me. I kissed the two fingers that had saluted our grandsons and touched it gently to the lips in the picture. My darling, my love, my heart ached to be with her again. But the mere fact that I was holding that picture meant she was gone, truly, forever.

The flight home was unbearable. Alone with my thoughts I couldn't help but let my imagination run away making up memories with a family I would never know. Tanaya had said I might get to know them in time, but I didn't know what that meant. How much time? The thought was excruciating. It was a bittersweet torture allowing my thoughts to run free. I pretended the memories I were making were real. Who could tell me they weren't?

My phone rang again the moment I stepped of the returning flight home.

“Truman, where are you? Are you coming for dinner?” I could tell my mother was concerned.

“I'm on my way now, do you want me to pick anything up?” I offered as I glanced at the time.

I couldn't believe I had forgotten about our dinner. I didn't tell her I had left the state. I couldn't. She'd ask too many questions. As I left the airport, I knew I'd go to dinner, and my life would continue on as it did. But I knew, with that ache in my heart, that I would never again be satisfied with it. I knew, that out there, my love lived on in the faces of those boys. I knew that I had a daughter I couldn't share with my mother. I knew I'd have to keep everything a secret. I was never supposed to live that life. But I couldn't understand why my life was destined to be empty.

“Hi mom, dinner smells delicious,” I greeted, finally coming in the door.

“Truman, darling, you look pale, do you need a drink?”

“Yes, mom, that'd be great,” I called into the kitchen, “I had a long day.”

“What did you do?” she asked, bringing me a cold drink, ice cubes clinking in the glass.

I made up some excuse about errands, and line-ups at banks. What I was saying as true, it just didn't happen that day. I was startled to realized that this charade might all be easier than I thought. I could see she was listening sympathetically. Until I saw her gaze change and focus on my left shoulder. I could see her eyes squint, her head tilt, she leaned closer. I kept talking, trying to distract her from whatever she was looking at. Too late, she was coming closer.

“Is that red lipstick on your collar?” she asked, fingering my shirt.

“What? No. What?”

She grabbed my collar and pulled it closer to her face.

“Red lipstick! Are you seeing someone? When are you going to get married? Are you waiting for me to die? That's it, isn't it, you're waiting for me to die. Well why don't I just hurry it along for you. You would probably be happy if I died. Ungrateful son.”

Red lipstick?  I quickly looked at my collar.  Some must've rubbed off when we embraced.  I could still feel her, smell her, my daughter.  My sweet memory was pierced through by the pitch of my mothers voice.  I groaned, I hated this about her. She had been like this all my life. However, it seemed that the funeral I had just attended for a woman my own age made me see everything with different view. After meeting my own grandsons I realized just how important that can be for some people. I listened to my mother going on about wanting a baby to hold, a child to play with, a daughter in law to cook with. I felt the tears creep back into my eyes. Again I noticed that she was getting older, she seemed even more frail. I could see it on her; death from old age. And all she wanted was a family. A family I couldn't give her. I bit back my tears. I knew that no matter how much I wanted to I couldn't tell her the truth. Not at a time like this. She would make it all about her, and I really wanted to keep what little memories I did have of them kept pristine in the ache in my heart.