The Letter My Father Left With Someone I Had Never Met

I did not open it.

It had Lena's name on it, and I had already seen enough people decide things for her.

“We need to talk to your mama,” I told June.

“Can we go now?”

“First we need to find out where she is.”

Miss Alma took us into the kitchen office. June sat where she could see both the hall door and me. Alma called the hospital switchboard, then handed June the phone when someone answered.

“Mama?”

Her whole face changed.

I turned away for a moment. There were things a child ought to have without a stranger watching.

“I saved your chair,” June said. “I didn't spend the house money.”

Then she held out the phone.

“She wants you.”

“Mr. Mercer?” The woman's voice was tired. “Your father said you'd look like him.”

“Depends which picture.”

She laughed once, then asked if June had eaten.

“Yes. She's with me and Alma.”

“Thank goodness. Della said Alma was keeping her in the family room. My phone service stopped yesterday. I asked the nurses to call the hall.”

I looked at the message pad by the desk. Three lines had hospital numbers beside them.

“What happened Monday?” I asked.

“I got sick at work. They're still sorting out what caused it. June came with me. Della was on my emergency contact sheet because we live upstairs.”

“Does she still have your permission to collect June?”

There was a pause.

“Why?”

I told her about the supper tickets. I used plain words. I left nothing for June to carry home and explain herself.

Lena went quiet.

“Please bring her,” she said. “I'll ask the nurse how to arrange it.”

“And your letter?”

“Bring that too.”

Della stood in the office doorway when I hung up.

“You can't drive off with a child you just met.”

For once, she had said something useful.

“Lena's speaking with the nurse. Alma will come. We'll make sure she knows who's bringing June.”

“I already called a family services worker.”

My stomach dropped. June began folding and unfolding the paper roof.

“Good,” I said, though I didn't feel good. “Then she can hear from Lena herself.”

The worker arrived twenty minutes later. Her name was Patrice Cole. She carried a plain folder and wore shoes made for long days.

She spoke to June at the little desk, then called the hospital herself.

Della stayed by the doorway.

“I was told the mother had left,” Patrice said when she put down the phone.

“She's left the child in my care,” Della replied.

“That's different from what you said on the call.”

Patrice asked for a quiet room. She talked with Lena, Alma, and Della separately. When she came back, she said June could visit her mother with Alma and me while she finished checking the care arrangements.

Nobody announced a rescue. We found June's sweater and made sure she used the bathroom before the drive.

At the hospital, Lena sat upright in bed with two braids over her shoulders. June climbed into the chair beside her and laid her cheek on Lena's hand.

“You didn't forget?” June asked.

“Never.”

“Not even when the phone stopped?”

“Not for one minute.”

I set the envelope on the blanket.

Lena opened it and passed me the page inside.

“I asked Della to send you a copy,” she said. “She told me you wanted nothing from him. I couldn't throw it away.”

Ray,

Lena cleans here twice a week. She helped me write this because my hand shakes. She didn't help with the part about her.

I smiled despite myself. That sounded like Dad.

I've asked the board to set aside $18,000 for parents who need a little time. Lena ought to be the first one helped. She takes care of everyone and asks last.

There was another paragraph.

Your sister said you didn't want my letters. If that's wrong, I owe you a call. I'm putting a copy of this with Lena because she says families sometimes need a second door.

I read that twice.

“He wrote to me?”

“Every month,” Lena said. “I took some to the office myself.”

Della had told me Dad refused my letters. She had sent my Christmas check back unopened.

I sat down hard.

Lena reached for a second folded sheet inside the envelope.

“Before you ask Della about that,” she said, “you should see the receipt she told me never existed.”