Donny eyed me sharply. “Your fault? Maddie, how can you think that?”
And then all that anguish I’d felt in the hospital returned, and with a trembling voice, I confessed to him my deepest shame. “She drinks because she blames me for Dad. She doesn’t want to blame me, but I know she does. And that’s my fault, too. I should’ve told him, Donny. I should’ve figured out what the numbers meant, and I should’ve told him.”
Mrs. Duncan reached out to squeeze my hand while Donny stared at me openmouthed. “Kiddo…” he said, shaking his head like he couldn’t believe what I’d said. “Cheryl does not blame you. And I know that for a fact.”
I shook my head, so ashamed I had to stare at my lap. “She does blame me,” I insisted. “But I know she doesn’t want to.”
Donny reached out and lifted my chin, forcing me to look at him. “Maddie,” he said gently, “I’m going to share something with you that your mom made me promise never to tell you, but in light of what you’ve just said, I think I have to.”
I sniffled. “What?”
Donny took a deep breath, and dove in. “Do you remember that drawing you made of your mom, dad, and you? The one you insisted Scott hang on the fridge in your old apartment?”
Immediately, I knew he was talking about the drawing Ma still kept hidden upstairs. “Yeah.”
“The day you brought that home your mom and dad had me over for dinner. While we were all in the kitchen you brought in a drawing you made of me. You gave it to me, and I saw that you’d written in my numbers, too. After you went to bed the three of us were hanging out, and Scott mentioned the drawings. Your mom thought you were quite the little artist, but Scott was focused on the numbers you’d drawn on everybody’s forehead. We didn’t know why you kept insisting that you saw them on every face you looked at, and Scott was convinced there was some meaning there.
“The three of us tossed out theories about what the sequence might mean, and your dad was the one who suggested that maybe you were some sort of gifted intuitive and the numbers were like birthdays but in reverse. He thought maybe the numbers were a date, and that you were seeing the date the person was going to die.”
Donny paused and his lower lip trembled. He dropped his gaze to the table, as if he were ashamed to continue. Finally, he cleared his throat, and with an unsteady voice he said, “Your mom laughed at the idea. She said that Scott’s theory was ridiculous; no one could know that. She thought you simply loved to count and assigned everyone random numbers because you were creative and smart and thought it was a fun game. She talked your dad right out of the idea. A year later, we knew that Scott was right all along.”
Donny then lifted his gaze back to me. A tear escaped him and he wiped it away quickly. “So, Maddie, both me and your mom know it’s not your fault. She doesn’t blame you, kiddo. She blames herself, and she drinks because of that and the fact that she’s terrified that someday I’ll tell you what happened that night, and you’ll blame her, too.”
I sat in my chair so stunned I could hardly think. I didn’t know what to say or even how to feel. I’d carried the burden of blame for my dad’s death for more than half my life and it’d never occurred to me that he might’ve guessed long before his death what the numbers meant. I turned to look toward the mantel in the living room where his picture was. If he knew, or even if he’d suspected, why had he gone into that building?
Donny seemed to read my mind. “Your dad never mentioned the theory again,” he said. “But I knew him better than anybody. On the day he died it had to have been a thought in the back of his mind, but he was never the kind of guy who would turn his back on his brothers in blue. I think he went into that building knowing there was a good chance he wouldn’t come out alive, and he made the hardest choice there is to make, because deep down, Scott was a guy with the heart of a hero.”
Mrs. Duncan moved her chair to hug me tightly while Donny squeezed my hand. This time, my tears were cleansing. When I was done I felt lighter. And prouder of my dad than I could say.
Donny stayed the night, sleeping in Ma’s room. The next morning he had to get back to the city, but before he left, he was nice enough to call and get me out of school for the day. I still felt shaky and emotional from the day before, and I couldn’t face the accusing stares and comments from the kids and teachers. He promised to call me later in the evening to check on me, and I knew that Mrs. Duncan would be over at some point, too.
I sat around for a couple of hours, restless and anxious while I channel surfed, but I couldn’t seem to get into anything on TV.
I kept thinking about what Donny had said about my dad. He never turned his back on his brothers in blue, and he had the heart of a hero. I sat for a while in his recliner, staring at his photo. He hadn’t ignored the call for help when it came. He’d taken action. He’d made the hardest of choices. And I didn’t think he’d approve of the fact that I was sitting here doing nothing when I could take action, too.
With new resolve, I went upstairs to shower and change, and I even did my hair. Then I went back downstairs, left a note on the back door for Mrs. Duncan in case she came by to check on me, and headed out.