The Lunacy Fringe

The next day, my dad dropped me off on time, so I ended up in the art class before Quinn. I was in the middle of examining my horrible charcoal drawing when he came in and dropped into the seat next to me.

“Hey, Ruby,” he said, sounding lively and chipper.

“Hi,” I replied, trying my best to hide my nervousness.

“How you doing?”

“Fine.” His dark eyebrows rose in question.

“I, um—I have a few things for you,” he said. Then he turned around and flipped through one of his schoolbooks. “I was angry too, you know? For a long time. I felt the same way when my mom told me you guys were coming back and I’d finally get to meet you. Wanted to hide. Wanted to yell.”

He found what he was looking for, stuffed into the pages of a history book. Then he slid a photograph across the table. It was a black-and-white picture of two teenagers. One, obviously my dad. With his light-colored eyes, vibrant in the sunlight. They were leaning against an old car. His arm was slung around a brunette with curly hair and a smile that looked like mine. She was squinting, and the photo didn’t have any color, but I was willing to bet my life that she had brown eyes.

“Wow,” I said.

“You look a lot like her, you know.”

“Your mom?”

“Our mom. I have more. Hold on.” He handed over another picture. This time the black and white photo was of two toddlers on a porch. I recognized it instantly as the back porch. The one that used to open right out into the orange grove. Also, both kids were chowing down on oranges.

“I know you probably don’t remember much about me,” he said. “But I remember you.”

My eyes got hot with tears, and I tried to wipe them away before he noticed.

“Do you want to go outside and talk about it?” he asked. I nodded and set the pictures down. Then I reached for my book and went to leave without a word. Quinn hurried after me. We met in the middle of the busy hallway.

“Why didn’t you guys try to find me?” I asked. He shrugged a bony shoulder.

“I don’t know. I didn’t really have much to do with it. I was just a kid.”

“Why would they do this to us? Why keep us apart?”

“I know my grandparents had something to do with it. You know they kept seeing each other after we were born. My grandparents wanted Rick out of her life.”

“So they separated us?”

“My grandma did it. Mom was giving me a bath when Rick came by. So my grandma plucked you out of our crib and handed you over.”

“That wouldn’t have been enough. That wouldn’t have made him leave.”

“No, of course not. But they agreed to keep the arrangement. You’d stay with Dad, and I’d stay with Mom. And then years later—I don’t know—something happened. Dad got a job in Detroit. Mom was upset. She told him to leave and never come back. So he did. He told me he regretted it. But when he tried to find us, all the phone numbers were disconnected. Mail kept getting sent back. I’m pretty sure our grandparents did that too.”

“And she couldn’t come looking for me?”

“I don’t know if she tried or not. Like I said, I was just a kid. We both were. I understand, though. I was upset about it too. But then I met him, Dad, and I just wasn’t as angry anymore. He explained it to me. Told me he did try to find me. Regretted being young and stupid and leaving. Wants to have a relationship with me. I’m willing to give it a shot.”

“He’s a good dad. He’s great.” He shrugged again.

“And she’s a good mom.”

“I want to talk to her.”

“Right now?” I took a deep breath. I’d pictured this moment a thousand times. But I didn’t imagine it would go like this. I’d been avoiding it too long. I wanted answers. I wanted to vent. So I just nodded.

“Now.”

“Okay, alright. I have a car. Wanna ditch?” I was still having trouble fighting the urge to cry. So I just nodded and pinched my lips. “Alright, let’s go.” He gripped my elbow and gently pulled me toward the front doors.