if Tildy is any indication, she’s obviously interested in men.
Generally, it takes a man to make a child, and I can’t see that
she would have done in-vitro when she was that young. She’s
only twenty-four and Tildy is six, so that means Adley would
have had her at eighteen. It makes sense that the father might
not be in the picture.
I don’t know why I’m pacing around my house, trying
to figure out Adley’s life when mine is such a wreck. I’ve been
useless since I got home from breakfast yesterday. It’s Sunday
night, and instead of getting ready for my class tomorrow, I’m
flitting from one thing to the next, doing absolutely nothing at
all. I’ve tried lesson plans, dishes, sweeping, mopping, laundry
—it’s all in various stages of undone because I can’t focus. I
can’t make myself stick to one thing, which is very unlike me.
I’m normally very dedicated to a task. When I start something,
I just about always finish it.
I know what I have to do. I’m not going to be able to
focus or concentrate until I do it. I grab my phone and flop
down on the couch. I open Adley’s last email and hit the reply
button. A fresh section of white comes up on the screen, but
my hand freezes. I don’t type anything.
Adley’s number is at the bottom of the email with all
her other contact information. An email just wouldn’t be right.
Not with my terrible writing skills. I’d probably chicken out
and not send it. At least if I call and she answers, I’ll be forced
to tell her why I’m calling.
It takes me a good few minutes to work up the courage
to call once I punch the number in. When I do, it rings twice,
then Adley’s voice, cheerful as ever, comes on the line.
Like I couldn’t possibly be being a nuisance. Like