Chapter 3 - The Parents Across Town
I called Jordan’s mother on Tuesday.
Her number was on the sympathy card inside the funeral program. Before dialing, I sat in Rachel’s parked car for ten minutes, trying to decide how to introduce myself.
Hello, I’m the wife your daughter’s fiancé married after describing her as a friend.
There was no graceful version.
Linda Whitfield answered on the fourth ring.
When I said my name, she went quiet.
Then she asked, “Are you all right?”
The question surprised me.
“I’m not sure.”
“I wondered whether you’d call someday.”
We met at a small café outside Troy.
Linda arrived with her husband, Walt. She had silver hair cut to her chin and a habit of twisting her wedding ring while listening.
Walt stood when I approached.
Neither looked angry to see me.
That almost made it harder.
“I found some letters,” I began.
Linda nodded slowly.
“He never told you they were engaged.”
“No.”
She looked at Walt.
He stared into his coffee.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
I took out my phone and showed them a photograph of JJ holding a cardboard airplane.
Linda smiled, but tears gathered in her eyes.
“He’s beautiful.”
“Brandon told me naming him Jordan would comfort you.”
Walt set his cup down.
“We never asked him to do that.”
Linda reached across the table, then stopped short of touching my hand.
“When Diane sent the Christmas card, I assumed you knew everything. I wrote back thanking you both for the thought. I also said I hoped your little boy would be allowed to grow into himself.”
“I never saw a letter.”
Her expression tightened.
“I’m sorry.”
I believed her.
She wasn’t apologizing for loving her daughter. She was apologizing because someone had used that love to build a story around me.
“Were they happy?” I asked.
Walt looked toward the window.
“They were young. They loved each other. They had problems.”
Linda gave him a small, tired smile.
“Like most people.”
I thought about Diane’s reverent silences whenever Jordan’s name arose. I had imagined someone beyond criticism, preserved perfectly by death.
Linda seemed to recognize the thought.
“My daughter was wonderful,” she said. “She was also stubborn, messy, and late to almost everything. She would have hated being turned into a saint.”
For the first time that week, I laughed.
Then I cried.
Not politely.
Linda passed me a napkin and waited.
When I could speak, I asked why they had never reached out.
“We did once,” Walt said. “After the wedding announcement. Brandon said you weren’t comfortable discussing Jordan.”
I stared at him.
“I didn’t know there was anything to discuss.”
Linda closed her eyes.
“He told each of us a different version.”
The café door opened. Someone ordered soup. A spoon clinked against a saucer at the next table.
The world continued while another piece of mine shifted.
Before we left, Walt asked whether Brandon was getting help.
“I don’t know.”
“He needed it years ago.”
Linda looked at me carefully.
“You aren’t responsible for finishing his grief for him.”
“I think I’ve been trying without knowing that’s what I was doing.”
“Then you get to stop.”
Outside, she hugged me only after asking.
I drove back to Kettering with the window cracked despite the cold.
At a red light, my phone buzzed.
A message from Frank.
I have something that belongs to you. Can we talk without Diane?
We met that evening in Rachel’s driveway.
Frank climbed out of his truck carrying a grocery bag of tomatoes, although it was too early in the season for his garden.
“Store-bought,” he said awkwardly. “Habit.”
Inside the bag, beneath the tomatoes, was a sealed envelope addressed to Brandon and Hannah Keller.
Linda Whitfield’s handwriting.
“You had this?” I asked.
“Found it in Diane’s desk.”
“When?”
“Yesterday.”
He removed his cap.
“I knew Brandon had been engaged. I thought you knew too until Sunday.”
I studied him.
“Why didn’t you ask?”
“Because I’m good at not asking things that might start a fight.”
His voice shook.
“That isn’t much of an excuse.”
“No.”
He nodded.
Inside the envelope was Linda’s letter.
At the bottom, beneath her warm wishes for our baby, was a sentence I read twice.
Please tell Hannah she never has to compete with a memory. Jordan would want Brandon to live honestly.
May you like
Diane had kept it from me.
Now I wanted to know what else she had decided I didn’t deserve to see.
