The Tracks by Sally Royer-Derr (little readers TXT) 📕

“But wouldn’t Tommy have wanted to read them?”

“It don’t matter what Tommy wanted! It’s what I wanted. And I didn’t want him to have anything to do with his worthless father,” she yelled. “I gave you the address. Now get out. I have to go to work.”

I nodded and snatched the envelope from her. A loud crash diverted our attention to the side table next to the bed. The glass lamp that had stood on it lay in pieces on the floor.

“What the hell?” Maureen asked herself. “How did that break?”

“Thanks for the address,” I quickly said, moving swiftly toward the front door. More crashes followed. Another lamp. A candy bowl on the kitchen counter. The coffee pot hurled on the floor.

“What’s going on! Are you some kind of witch?” Maureen screamed. “Get out of my house! Now!”

I flew down the steps and raced back to the bus station. I flung myself on the bench outside, clutching the faded yellow envelope, and tried to slow my breathing. Tommy sat beside me. He was angry. I’d never seen him angry.

“How could she do this? He tried to contact me, but she hid it from me all those years,” he steamed. “All those years that I kept asking about my father. She knew exactly where he was.”

I didn’t say anything. My heart raced from the fast exit I’d made. Slowly, my breathing returned to normal.

“He sent me birthday cards. Birthday cards for ten years! She never showed me any of them. Not one.” He pounded his fist into the metal bench. “I would have never known if we hadn’t come here.”

“But we know now.” I handed him the envelope. “Do you want to look at it?”

He took the envelope from me and stared at it for a moment, sitting completely still. And I wondered if he would open it. Tommy leaned back on the bench and sighed. Thankfully, his longish hair hid his eyes from me. I didn’t want to see the pain I knew was in them.

He ripped the envelope. Inside was a standard birthday card. Red, blue, and yellow balloons on the front. Happy Birthday in red lettering. He opened it. Although, I couldn’t see his eyes, I saw the tears trickling down his tanned face. Two on either side.

He gripped the card tightly, staring at it. “He wanted to see me.”

“He did?” I leaned over to read the card.

Happy Birthday, Tommy. I’d love if you’d come to visit me this summer. I would really like to meet you. Love, Dad.

There was a phone number scribbled at the bottom.

“He wanted to meet me,” Tommy said in a low voice. He shook his head. “I just can’t believe this.”

“Well, we got what we came for,” I said. “We have an address and a phone number. And now you know your father didn’t forget about you. He wanted to be a part of your life. That’s something we didn’t think we’d find.”

Chapter Twenty

The bus ride home was crowded and hot despite the air-conditioning pumping through the vehicle. I sat next to a guy with questionable breath and a nasty cough, which continually spurted the smelly cloud in my direction. I stayed silent the entire ride home. Tommy stood beside me. But I didn’t want people to think I was talking to myself. I felt crazy enough already.

I didn’t think he wanted to talk anyway. He slouched against the green vinyl seat between me and a distressed-looking woman with two little boys. The boys were noisy and calling out every time they saw a truck. The woman, I guessed their mother, appeared exhausted. Tommy hadn’t said much since opening the card from his father, but I knew he was still upset. Anyone would be after finding out something like that. His father hadn’t forgotten about him, like he’d thought.

Maureen was exactly as I’d pictured. She’d barely even seemed upset about Tommy’s death. How could a mother be like that? I was happy, though. We had an address, a phone number, and a name. Even though they were from five years ago, we should easily be able to find Joe Tucker.

When we’d started this morning, I was confused. But now things seemed to be falling together. Tommy’s unfinished business was reuniting with his father. And I wanted to do everything in my power to make that happen. The missing parts of his life needed to be put back together before he could move on.

All of this made me think about how lucky I was in life. I had a father who’d loved and cared for me. And I was able to feel that love, in physical ways like hugs and kisses. But other ways, too. By him spending time with me and listening to me. Every Sunday evening, Dad and I would do something special. It may have been going out for ice cream, playing a game together, or taking a bike ride through the neighborhood. Didn’t matter what we did. What mattered was the time we spent together. He’d ask me about school and my friends. Or we’d talk about silly things, like who’d invented the straw and how many ice cream flavors started with the letter C. I had all his attention during those outings, and it made me feel loved.

Mom and I had special things we’d do, too. Shopping at the mall on Saturday afternoons, going out to lunch, and brushing my hair before I went to bed. She used to massage my head first, then brush my hair, leaving it relaxed and my hair soft and silky. On occasion, she still did. Even though I was older now, I still loved when she did it. I was lucky to have memories of my parents. Tommy had nothing but pain and absence in his short life.

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