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d a r r e n g r ot h
“Did you live with him too?”
“No. It took me a long time—almost a year—to
find him. He worked in the Alberta oil fields and on the
ice-fishing boats that go to Alaska. I managed to meet up
with him in a town called Red Deer. It was brief, awkward.
He barely remembered Mum. At the end, he shook my
hand, thanked me for tracking him down. He said he
would try to keep in touch, but I knew it was a lie. I haven’t
heard from him since.” She shrugs. “He wasn’t cut out to
be a parent. That sounds familiar, doesn’t it?”
I don’t know how to answer that, so I scrunch my face
and make some popping sounds. Then, after thirty seconds,
I rock back and forth. Leonie asks if I’m okay. My eyes
spring open and the next question pours out of my mouth
like lava from the vent of a volcano. “How long after
meeting your biological father did you write to Just Jeans?”
“Two weeks.”
I nod three times. Leonie gets a look on her face that
I can’t properly read.
“Did you see that before I told you?” she asks.
“See?”
“Did you know that fact before I told you?”
“I knew you probably would’ve written soon after.
It’s a logical conclusion.” I shift the seismometer to my
lap. “Did you ever think about writing a letter before
that time?”
