McKayla's Miracle Revisited

****************

I must have sat in my car for close to half an hour. My stomach churned. Finally, I opened the door and forced myself to walk across the parking lot. My gait was fast and deliberate. If I slowed, I knew I was going to chicken out.

After doing a little bit of research, I tracked Travis down. Like me, he never left town. His degree was in accounting and after we stopped seeing each other, he passed the CPA exam and went to work for an auditing firm in town. I didn't know he was working there at the time, but after McKayla and I went into business together, we almost (unwittingly) hired his firm to look over our books one year.

"Good morning. Can I help you?" the receptionist asked when I went in.

"Travis Robertson, please," I said.

"Do you have an appointment?"

"No." My hands were shaking.

"What was your name please?"

"Amberle Per— . . . er, Goin." When McKayla and I got "married", we legally had our names changed, but I figured he wouldn't recognise me that way. Of course, how many girls named "Amberle" do you know? Right off, I'm guessing zero.

She dialed her phone, mumbled a few things and then hung up. "He'll be out in just a minute. Would you like to have a seat?"

I sat down in one of the very nice chairs in the outer reception area. My heart raced. Fortunately, it wasn't very long before I heard his booming voice, "Amberle! How are you?"

A part of me wanted him to be overweight, bald, living in a trailer somewhere after being kicked in the head by a mule and having lost all his teeth to some horrible gum-eating bacteria. You know: repulsive. I could then rationalise keeping his daughter away from him because he would not have been what I considered to be a good father. But I knew that Travis would never be that. He was too vain and self-absorbed to let himself go.

So it was no surprise for me to find out that he looked very much like he did when we were in our early 20s. His hair was cut short with only a few streaks of grey. He was in fantastic shape, surely from a regular exercise regimen. His starched shirt, tie and dress pants were immaculate. I stood and seemed to naturally slip into the familiar hug he gave me.

"It's been so long," he said warmly. If there was any apprehension on his part, he was covering it well. I smiled weakly.

After our last night together, he called me a couple of times. This was back before everyone and their sister had a cell phone plan with unlimited minutes and about two lifetimes before text messaging. By that time, McKayla and I were an item, and I knew that there was no going back to being Travis's fuck-buddy. So instead of actually breaking up with him, I simply quit taking his calls. I even quit going to the places I knew he frequented. Yeah, it was a chickenshit move; so sue me. Eventually, he gave up on me, and I found out later through some mutual acquaintances that he had moved on as well.

We weren't serious, so no harm, no foul, right?

"Almost twenty years," I said softly.

"What brings you by?" he asked.

"I was wondering if I could buy you lunch."

How do you drop this on a guy? Do you lead with, "Yeah, I know we haven't talked in a while, but you have a kid who wants to meet you"?

"That would be great," he smiled, then looked past me to the receptionist. "Erin, would you please reschedule my appointment with Mrs. Landingham and tell Jimmy that I won't be on the Henderson call at noon? Come on, Amberle, let me show you around."

He led me back through the maze of his office building. He had a nice setup; after making partner, he had two associates working for him and a couple of support staff. He politely introduced me to everyone. I don't remember any of their names. I'm sure the tour was the "scenic" route through the building to show off all the expensive artwork adorning the walls and how successful he and his employer were.

When we got back to his office, he closed the glass door behind us. I looked around and breathed a sigh of relief when I saw pictures of a family. His wife was a very attractive woman, who looked to be just as high-maintenance as Travis. Their children were also cute as buttons and looked to be in middle school. I sat in the chair across from his desk, but he surprised me by taking the seat next to me.

"So what brings you to Campbell, Jenkins & Burke?" he asked conversationally. I could see the gears turning in his head.

"You," I said simply. I decided that there was truly no good way to do this, so instead of hemming and hawing, I'd just rip the bandage off in one fell swoop, so to speak. "Do you remember the last time we were together?"

He smiled at the pleasant memory. I tried not to fidget. "Yeah, it was your birthday, right?"

"That's right." I took a deep breath, and steeled myself for what I imagined to be the most negative possible reaction. I reached into my purse and pulled out one of Maureen's senior pictures. As soon as he saw it, the blood drained from his face. "We made the most beautiful little girl in the world that night."

His hands trembled as he took the picture from me. It's a good thing we were both sitting down because I think we both would have fallen over otherwise. He didn't speak for a long time. His eyes never left the photo of our daughter.

At least he didn't fly off the handle right away. There were a million things I wanted to say, but instead, I just let Travis process the bombshell I had just dropped on him in his own way.

It took him several moments to even begin stammering. "How did . . . didn't we . . . she's beautiful, Amberle . . . why didn't . . ."

His voice trailed off. I reached back into my purse and pulled out a small book of photos that I had put together for Travis. He took it from me and began flipping through it. His gaze seemed to linger on each page and, for the first time, I felt a twinge of regret at having kept Maureen from him for all these years.

About half way through, he stopped and reached for the phone on his desk. "Erin, would you please clear out my schedule for the rest of the week? Tell Jaime he's going to have to cover for me."

Then he hung up and turned to me. There was sadness in his eyes. And anger, too.

"What is her name?"

"Maureen," I said softly. "Maureen Rene Goin-Perry."

"Maureen," he whispered. Gone was the overconfident bravado. The puffed-out egotistical façade. His tone was that of a man as he takes a newborn child—his newborn child—in his arms for the first time. His eyes glazed over for another long moment.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he said softly, although there was an edge to his voice.

"I don't have a good answer for that," I replied evenly. That much was true. The real answer was: Because my lesbian lover didn't want you coming near her. The practical answer was: Because I didn't want to ruin both our lives by telling you that I was pregnant only to have you do the decent thing and marry me and find out years later that you were harbouring a deep-seeded resentment towards me because you think I got knocked-up just to trap you into a loveless marriage. My personal answer was: Because I didn't want to be tied to you for the next eighteen years.

"You had no right to keep her from me."

"No, I didn't, and for that I am truly sorry," I said.

"So why now?"

I took a deep breath. "She wants to meet you. I told her that I would only introduce you if it was what you wanted. I don't know why, so don't ask."

"Tell me everything about her." He wouldn't look at me. All he did was thumb through the pictures I had given him.

"Travis, I told her that you weren't part of her life because of me," I said, mostly because I had to say it for myself. "I know you would have been if you had known. I'll take the heat from her for that. And from you. That was a decision I made years ago, and you both are going to pay for it."

"The one you're really going to have to worry about is my wife." He managed to look up at me and shoot me a sad, broken-hearted wink. I smiled back meekly. The gears in his head were still turning. "What do you want?"

"Pardon?"

"What do you want?" he repeated. "Is she in school? Do you need money?"

"No, I don't need your money, Travis," I said, probably more dismissively than I meant to.

"How did you raise her on your own?" he asked. I figured this would be the first thing he thought of when I first told him about his daughter. "You were working for . . . Anderson's right? That couldn't have been easy."

I smiled sweetly, with a touch of smugness thrown in. A little part of me was happy to be able to throw this back in his face. "Do you remember my friend McKayla?"

Travis's gaze grew distant for a second as he searched back through twenty years of memories. "Yeah, Allyson's friend, right? . . . The hot lesbian."

"McKayla Perry," I said. To his credit, he only took about three seconds to connect the dots.

His jaw fell open. "You mean . . . you . . . and . . ."

"Yes," I said it in a way that I knew would have made my wife proud.

"But . . . you aren't . . . um . . . gay . . . are you?" he stammered.

I only shrugged. "I guess so . . . don't worry, though, you didn't turn me; McKayla did."

We shared a nervous laugh.

"Then how did you two . . . um, you must do well enough to raise her . . . er, Maureen together."

"We did," I sighed with resignation. "McKayla died several years ago."

"I'm sorry to hear that." Travis may be many things, but he was never a mean asshole. In fact, he's actually a pretty good guy, and I knew he meant those words.

"She left Maureen and me with more than enough money to take care of ourselves." That was true enough. My wife came from a well-to-do family, and she was a very successful financial planner in her own right. After a couple of years, we went incorporated ourselves, went in to business together and made even more money before selling our little enterprise for a tidy little profit. In truth, I could probably fund a small South American junta if I really wanted.

I reached out and gently squeezed his hand. For someone who had just been blindsided like I had done to him, Travis was taking it all very well. "When she was fifteen, Maureen asked if she could meet you. I told her that we would wait until she was eighteen and then I would track you down for her. That was the last time she mentioned it until last Monday."

"Why?"

"Why what?"

"Why did you make her wait until she was eighteen?" The edge crept back into his voice.

"Because I didn't want you in our lives then," I said, as anger flashed in his eyes.

"Were you afraid I would take her? Or that I wouldn't pay child support?" he asked, his voice rising. "Or that I would be pissed off to find out that I had a daughter no one bothered to tell me about?"

"You and I had no future, Travis," I replied, my tone matching his. "We had no business raising a child together."

"How can you say that?" he growled.

"Remember what we were like twenty years ago?" I shouted. "You never once treated me like your girlfriend. I was just a booty call for you."

"I don't recall you wanting anything more serious."

"No, I didn't. All I wanted you for was a good long fuck every once in a while," I snapped, hoping that the walls were soundproof. "And you know what? We were good at that together. And as I recall, we were both pretty happy with that arrangement."

"You had no right to keep me out of my daughter's life!"

"Jesus fucking Christ, Travis! What would you have done? Married me? Dropped your playboy lifestyle to babysit a kid on Friday and Saturday nights? Or would you have pawned her off on your parents?"

"You don't know the first thing about what I am like as a father," he spat, and I could tell I had struck a nerve.

"You're right," I said softly, realising that I had overstepped my bounds. We both took a deep breath. "I don't know that. I'm sorry. But what I do know is that twenty years ago neither of us were ready to be parents. You were always good to me, Travis. I know that we weren't meant to be together, certainly not then. And I know that you'd have done the honourable thing and taken care of me and our baby. But that means we'd have been together for all the wrong reasons."

We looked into one another's eyes for a long moment. I saw the hurt I had caused him. He had every right to be angry. And if he wanted to yell and scream, I was going to take my lumps because I deserved them. But he didn't. I saw him will the tension away and I tried to let go of my own anger. He took my hand in his and our fingers wrapped around one another's.

"You gave me the most wonderful gift ever, and for that I can never thank you enough," I said gently. There were tears in both our eyes. "Maureen is my joy and my light, especially since her mom . . . er, McKayla died. I made choices years ago for both you and for her, and I will not apologise for the things I have done because they were best for me and for our daughter. The only thing we can do now is figure out where to go from here."

"What does she want from me?" he asked softly. "I can't be much of a father to her now."

"I don't know," I said, and that much was true. "You'll have to ask her yourself."

"She's a good kid?"

"The best kid in the whole goddam world."

"When can I meet her?"

****************

That night, I sat on the beach as the sun set. Our house is one set of sand dunes away from the ocean. I often come out here and think back to the days when McKayla and I would hold one another and watch the world pass by. We have this one spot, where the sand was worn away. Often she sat behind me and I lay back in her arms, feeling safe and warm in her embrace.

I have never been as madly in love with anyone as I was with McKayla, which is strange since I really don't consider myself a lesbian. I am sexually attracted to men; I always have been. Until McKayla came along, I had never been with a woman; heck, I had never even kissed a woman until my twenty-third birthday when I drunkenly stuck my tongue down her throat Still, there is a part of me that believes that I could never love anyone as much as I loved McKayla, save our daughter.

She was the perfect complement to me. When I was with her, I felt like I could never want for anything else. Her touch was reassuring. Her kisses electric. When she smiled at me, my heart melted. She was strong and self-assured. Yet she feared relationships. Because of her disease, she feared emotional intimacy and commitment.

When I was twelve, my mother died in a car accident, and my father died when I was seventeen. Although my uncle took care of my brother, sister and I, a part of me longed for the security and safety of a spouse.

We were both at a point in our lives when we needed each other. I didn't care that she had the same set of chromosomes that I did. She didn't care that I would never be a one night stand. She was beautiful, not only physically, but spiritually and emotionally.

And when she died, a part of me was torn away.

If not for my daughter, I think I may have given up, even though the mere thought of that would have horrified McKayla.

So I cling to the things that remind me of her. I kept the house mostly as we had it before she died. Her car was basically mothballed until Maureen decided she wanted to drive it. I still come out to our spot on the beach and talk her as if she were right next to me, longing to hear her voice once again.

"I did it," I said aloud. "I know you didn't want me to, but I went to visit Maureen's dad. He's a good guy, sweetheart. He's going to love her, not like you and I love her, but because she's a good girl. We did okay."

As always, my only answer was the wind.

"When she asked me to call him, I wished you were still here. You would have known what to do." I began to cry softly. "We knew this day was coming, didn't we? We always said it would be her choice, and I'm okay with that. I just . . ."

My voice trailed off as I wiped my eyes.

"Mommy?" Maureen won't call me "Mom". That was the name she used for McKayla. Maybe that's why I have a hard time thinking of her as anything other than a cute-as-a-button five year old little girl. I heard her soft footsteps on the walkway that ran from the back porch, across the yard and dunes and let out on to the beach.

"Are you okay?" she sat down next to me. I wiped the rest of my tears away, but there was no way she didn't know I had been crying.

There was the soft clinking of crystal as she pushed a wine glass into my hand, and she poured out a bottle of our favourite white merlot. Yeah, I know she's technically too young for wine, but I raised her to drink responsibly in moderation, and besides, I would be naïve to think that she wasn't drinking at college.

Neither of us spoke for a long time.

"You didn't want me to meet him." It wasn't really a question. And it was true.

"I knew you would one day, though," I said. "Your mom and I both knew. You're too curious not to."

"Why not?"

It took me a second to come up with my answer. "I don't want you to forget how much your mom loves you. And I feel like if your dad is in your life, somehow your mom is being pushed to the side."

"You know I'll never forget about Mom," Maureen said softly. She scooted over next to me, put her hand in the crook of my arm and lay her head on my shoulder. "I don't want him to be my father . . . He can't be. I have two mommies for my parents and no one else can do the job you did."

I patted her on the arm and took her hand.

"But I've always wondered what he was like," she continued. "I just want to know where I came from. . . . But the more I think about it, the more scared I get. What if he's a jerk or a bad person? I can't un-meet him if we don't get along. And what if his family doesn't like me?"

"Maureen, you listen to me," I said in a firm voice. "He and his wife and kids are going to love you. And if they don't, they can go to hell."

"Would Mom have wanted me to see him?" she asked, and her voice was filled with fear. Even though my wife died over six years ago, the thought of disappointing McKayla still terrifies our daughter. I knew that if I wanted to, all I had to say was, "She would hate it" and Maureen would never bring up the subject of her father again.

But I couldn't do that to her. She deserved to know the man who was her biological father. And he deserved to know the wonderful young woman whom we had conceived in a night of feral lust.

"To tell you the truth, your Mom was always very uncomfortable with the idea of bringing your father into the picture," I said. "She was intimidated by few things, but that was one of them. She always hated that she wasn't really your mother . . ."

"But she was!" Maureen's hands started to tremble.

"She most certainly was!" I set our wine glasses down in the sand and took my daughter in my arms. "She loved you more than anyone else in this world, Maureen. Don't you ever, ever forget that! She raised you as if she were your own mother, and she raised you better than I could have by myself . . . But she always felt that she didn't give you life like Travis and I did, and that bothered her."

"I don't want to hurt her," my daughter began to choke up.

"You're not, angel," I stroked her hair gently. "We used to talk about what we were going to do when you started asking about your dad. And we always said that it would be your choice, and whatever you wanted to do, we were going to support you. Your mom thought you'd start asking in high school."

The two of us sat there for a while longer, listening to the waves crashing against the shore. The wind blew through our hair.

I pulled Maureen into a tight, motherly embrace.

"I want to do it, Mommy," she whispered.