“How do you know that?” I asked her.
“Well, he mother told me the tiniest one was June.”“June,” I repeated the name more times than I remember.“I’ll call the state in the morning,” Mrs. Hunter offered. “There are plenty of families waiting for babies, Noah.”
I opened my mouth to say yes. I really did.
“Okay,” I whispered instead, still looking at June. “Okay, I’ve got you guys.”
The next 22 years passed in the blink of an eye.I packed horrible school lunches. I messed up their hair so badly that Mrs. Hunter had to comb out the knots on the porch before the school bus arrived. I put in double shifts, then triple shifts when they needed braces and shoes, since they couldn’t stop growing.
I weathered through stomach flus, poor grades, and adolescent heartaches. I lived through the tough times where they all despised me simultaneously. June slammed each door in the house when she was thirteen, Claire refused to talk to me when she was fifteen, and Ava said that I knew nothing when she was seventeen. She was right, because I didn’t know anything. However, I never left.
I also missed many things in my own life, such as a relationship with a woman called Diana, who I was truly in love with. That fell apart because I just couldn’t make the time for her. I remained with the girls only because someone had to.
Occasionally, Daniel would appear without warning, like foul weather. It could be a birthday card from an unknown sender or a phone call out of nowhere. When they were twelve, Daniel made a phone call and said, “I was thinking about trying to be a dad.”I held the phone so tightly that I clenched my hand. “Trying to be a dad? Then buy yourself a ticket. Don’t try to be a dad by phone with my money.” Daniel never appeared and the cards finally stopped coming.
But each night I would lie awake with this fear: what if they’re just waiting? Waiting for him to be here. What if I’m not the real father but just the substitute?
On the morning of their graduation from college, I sat in my truck parked at the college for twenty minutes frozen. I was forty nine, my beard was gray, and my knee hurt because of falling off a ladder two years ago. I carried a cheap camera on my lap and Daniel’s old piece of paper with his note inside my wallet. I was afraid they would suddenly ask me something about him.
I entered the building and sat down on a seat in row seven, right at the very back of the auditorium. There wasn’t much ceremony, but there were a lot of black gowns and lots and lots of cheers.
