Lost and Found Father

“How long?” Kaley asked.

“Since before my mom died, and I was five when it happened.”

“How did she die?”

“In a car crash. I was too young to hear the specifics, and I never asked about it later. Soon after she died, Dad boxed up any reminders of her, and that was pretty much the end of it. She was a wife and mother who no longer existed.”

“That’s sad,” Kaley said.

Victoria thought so, too. It also explained why his childhood home had been devoid of pictures or mementos.

Kaley turned quiet. Thinking, it appeared, about Ryan’s family. Then she asked, “Did your dad ever date anyone after she was gone?”

“There were a few women, but nothing serious. Mostly he kept to himself.”

“My dad hasn’t dated, and if he has, then it hasn’t gone well. He never brings anyone home. I don’t think that’s healthy.” She turned to Victoria. “Do you?”

Victoria frowned. She rarely dated, and the boy she’d once loved was still alive—and seated right across from her, of all things. “People need time to grieve.”

“It’s been seven years.” Kaley was frowning, too. “I want my dad to have someone in his life.”

“I know, but he has to want a relationship. And contrary to popular belief, there’s nothing wrong with being alone. My parents think that I should be married by now. But we all need to do what’s right for us.”

Victoria could feel Ryan watching her. He’d obviously never been involved in a discussion like this. But he hadn’t remained alone, not the way she had. He’d been married and divorced in the time frame that she’d been determined to stay single.

Kaley said to her, “What if someone doesn’t know what’s right for them? What if my dad doesn’t know?”

Victoria replied, “You need to trust him to find his own way. He’s an amazing guy, and he’s done a wonderful job raising you. When the time comes for him to date, he’ll handle it just fine.”

“I hope so.”

They finished eating, and Victoria cleared the table, grateful to keep busy.

“Should I go get the stuff from the attic?” Ryan asked Kaley.

“Definitely.” The teenager sounded anxious to get started on his side of the family tree.

He left the room and returned with a battered box. By now, Victoria was at the sink, rinsing dishes and getting them ready for the dishwasher.

He and Kaley sat down and began rummaging through the contents of the box. Kaley had a spiral notebook and pen beside her, preparing to catalog items of interest.

Were there pictures of Ryan’s ex amid the stacks of stuff they’d dumped on the table? Or documents associated with her, such as his marriage certificate or divorce decree? Or did the box contain only things from his childhood, the hidden-away mementos his dad had stored?

Ryan said to Kaley, “This is my mom. It’s a little faded, but it’s her.”

Curiosity piqued, Victoria forgot about Ryan’s ex and focused on his mother. She dried her hands and wandered over to the table and stood behind Kaley’s chair. “Can I see, too?”

He showed it to both of them.

The woman in the Polaroid appeared to be in her late teens, probably around Kaley’s age, and was dressed in shimmery 1970s garb. Tall and thin, with long brown hair and a natural smile, she represented the free, fun sign of her times.

“Her maiden name was Margaret Dodd,” Ryan said. “But she went by Molly.”

“She was pretty,” Kaley said. “She looks happy, too.”

He studied the image. “She was from the Paiute Nation, but I never met any of her family. I asked my dad once why no one from her side ever came to see me. He said that she’d been raised by an old aunt who’d already passed on.”

“What band was your mom from?”

“I have no idea. The Paiute are divided into three groups, with quite a number of tribes among them. I assume she was registered with one of their federally recognized tribes, because when I signed the adoption papers for you, my dad said that he would provide the documents they needed for the Indian Child Welfare Act. At the time, I didn’t think about what that meant. But later I realized that he’d probably given them my mom’s registration papers and whatever else they required to prove what tribe I was connected to.”

Kaley took Molly’s picture and put it with her notebook. “I’m going to find out more about her.”

Ryan uncovered more snapshots of his mom, some of which he and his father were in. Molly was a bit fuller-figured than her earlier self, but just as pretty. Victoria felt an uncomfortable tug at her heart, seeing Ryan as a wide-eyed toddler, clinging to his dad, who was a much younger, gentler version of the man Victoria remembered.

“What was your dad’s name?” Kaley asked.

“Kevin. Kevin Gregory Nash,” he amended, reciting his father’s full name.

As the research session continued, Victoria was compelled to stay where she was, standing beside the table, allowing herself to become immersed in Ryan’s roots.

Would things have been different if his mother had lived? Would Molly have encouraged Victoria and Ryan to keep Kaley? Would she have been someone Victoria could have confided in?

Questions with dreamy answers.

Victoria wanted to believe that Molly would have been supportive, comforting her in a way that her own parents and Ryan’s dad had been incapable of. She even imagined putting her head on Molly’s shoulder.

“Look what I found,” Kaley said.

Victoria snapped out of her daydream. Apparently Kaley had reached into the box and discovered a high school annual. Victoria inspected the cover and noticed that it was from Ryan’s senior year. By then she’d already moved to California. Naturally, she was curious to see his senior photo, certain that Kaley would search for it.

As predicted, the teenager paged through the yearbook, stopping when she found her prize. “Wow. Check you out, Ryan.”

“Yeah, check out how awful I look.”

No, Victoria thought. He was young and handsome, just as she remembered, with his straight dark hair and exotic features, but she understood what he meant. He seemed lost in the picture, with a smile that didn’t embrace his eyes.

He said, “That wasn’t good a time in my life.”

“Because of what happened with me,” Kaley said.

He nodded.

The girl softly asked, “What did your dad say about you not going to the hospital?”

“He got raging mad. He thought it was terrible. And for once he’d been right to yell at me. By then I was used to it, though. He was always on edge about something, always bitching me out.”

“I’ll bet he was so grumpy all the time because he missed your mom.” Kaley offered her take on the situation. “But he still should have been nicer to you. My dad has always been nice to me.”