After we deposited the money, I hugged him in the parking lot of the bank.
“I’ll send the property deed as soon I get it,” he told me.
“Thank you,” I said.
“Thank Jason for me. He might not know it, but I think he’s the reason you’re here with me now, and I’m grateful.”
I was surprised that my father was okay with all the dirty secrets being exposed in Jase’s book, but I realized that my father had learned something in his recovery that I still hadn’t totally grasped: the past would only fester and eat away at us if we tried to hold on to it too tightly.
13. Which Path?
Back at the Holiday Inn, as I planned my trip for Nashville, I found myself staring once again at Jase’s website. In four days, he would be at his Nashville signing.
I was leaving tomorrow. I made the decision to bide my time while I was there.
Even though I knew I was slowly waking up to my life, there were still things, questions that I didn’t have answers to.
I dialed Jase and got him on the first ring.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” I said, and then felt my jaw freeze up. There was commotion in the background, like he was in a bar or restaurant.
“How are you?”
“Fine.” Before he could say anything, I quickly added, “I haven’t finished the book yet, but I wanted to talk to you. Are you busy?”
I had been avoiding the book. Somewhere deep in my mind, I was afraid to finish it out of fear that it would act as some kind of predictor for how things would go. Based on where I had left off, I knew the ending couldn’t be anything but sad.
“Just give me a sec. I’m gonna step outside.” I could hear shuffling. “Fuck, it’s freezing out here!”
“Where are you?”
“Philly.”
“Oh,” I said, though I already knew. “It’s not really important, I can talk to you about it later.”
“No, what’s up? Talk to me.”
“Did you have a lot of girlfriends in college?” I blurted out.
“That’s what you want to know . . . right now?”
“I’m curious. I just want to know what your life was like while we were apart.”
“I wouldn’t call them girlfriends, per se. Hey, why haven’t you finished the book?” I could hear his teeth chattering.
I was not to be deterred. “Do you mean that you slept with a lot of girls?”
“What’s ‘a lot’?” I could tell that he was getting a little annoyed by this line of questioning.
“I’m not getting anywhere with these nonanswers,” I said.
“Emiline, I didn’t have any girlfriends. I dated and slept with more women than I’d like to admit. But no, I didn’t really have serious girlfriends.”
“So you never fell in love?”
“No,” he said firmly.
“Why?”
“Because none of them were you.”
Silence. I swallowed. I wanted to scream, I love you, at the top of my lungs.
“Jase . . .”
“I have to go back inside.”
“Okay,” I said reluctantly.
“Night, Em. Hope you got what you were looking for.”
“I did. Night.”
A part of me still wasn’t sure what Jase’s intentions were for us, but now I knew. None of them were me.
After I hung up, I pulled All the Roads Between out of my backpack and ran my hand over the cover. I promised myself that I would finish it, but I needed to see my mom first.
I MADE IT to Nashville late the next day. I found a hotel and then went to a nearby bookstore and bought a leather-bound journal like the one Jase had had when we were kids.
THE NEXT MORNING, I drove the red jelly bean to my mother’s address. As I pulled up, I could see that it was a modest postwar house with an overgrown front yard. In the driveway, there was a mobile dog-grooming van with the words DIRTY DOGS painted in bright red across the side, along with a picture of a mud-covered schnauzer.
I was less nervous to see her than I had been to see my dad because, the truth was, I hardly remembered her. She had been a part of my life for such a short time, her absence looming larger over my life than her presence. I wanted closure, but I knew, even if I got it, it wouldn’t be as cathartic as what I had experienced over a grilled cheese with my dad.
The second I rang the doorbell, I heard a symphony of barks on the other side and the sounds of a pack of tiny lap dogs racing toward me.
She swung open the door as she kicked and shooed the dogs away, her eyes not quite landing on me yet. Her hair was short, her dye job a cheap-looking shade of red from the drugstore. She seemed much smaller than I remembered, but then again, I was just a little kid the last time I had seen her. She was round, pudgy, a little unhealthy-looking, or maybe just worn-out. If her looks were any indication, life hadn’t been easy for her.
“Can I help you?” she asked.
“I forgive you,” I said instantly.
She stared at me hard, and then a look of realization poured over her features. Her eyes looked far from sad, though—they looked scared. “What are you doing here?”