hapter Twelve
I wasn’t always a well-adjusted certified process server. In high school, I’d been voted most likely to appear on Jerry Springer. The trailer park Celeste and I inhabited then was more the stereotypical white trash sort, complete with rusted-out car parts that littered the cracked asphalt and each and every shabby abode packed to the gills with drunks and drug addicts. Mom was a younger, slimmer version of her drama queen self and most of the time I was the one putting her to bed.
Ah, memories.
The summer after graduation I had one goal—to find my bio dad. Like any kid who grew up never knowing her father, I envisioned some sort of superhero. I even had a list of characteristics in my head to help me keep a hazy mental picture of what he was like—strong, loyal, handsome, patient and responsible. Somewhere deep inside me, I understood that if my father really had been all those things, he would still be with me and my mom, but that annoying little truth had no place in my fantasy world. I told myself he didn’t know about me, that if he did he’d swoop in and take me away to his castle in England or a ski resort in the Swiss Alps, or beachfront mansion in Barbados. I wasn’t fussy about the particulars.
As usual, Celeste was no help. I don’t know if she truly didn’t remember him or if she intentionally tried to keep me in the dark. No father had been listed on my birth certificate and my last name was Drummond, just like hers. When I asked about him, she’d say something like, “Oh, it was such a long time ago.” Or, “I really didn’t know him very well.”
“What was his name?”
“Jesse? Or maybe Jeremy? Or was it Jamie?” She’d shrug and go back to painting her press-on nails.
“Where did the two of you meet? High school?”
She shook her head. I’d known my mother had dropped out of high school to concentrate on partying, but again, the details were unclear. She surprised me though. “Round about that time, though I don’t remember ever seeing him at school. We met on the beach, I think.”
“Which beach?” I grilled her like a steak.
“I can’t remember.” She got that glassy look in her eyes and I knew Q&A time was over.
Finally, though, I caught a break, in the form of her high school yearbook. I’d never seen it before, probably because she’d used it to balance the legs of her off the truck special nightstand.
Because she was thirty-four, I knew she’d been sixteen when she got pregnant with me and dropped out of school, though I’d never know if that had been the chronological order of events. Celeste wasn’t big on reliving the past, more interested in where the next event would be held.
I found her picture first, Celeste Drummond. Despite her hardcore partying, she hadn’t changed much, at least in looks. The black and white photos were a passport to another time, where the hair was longer and smoother, the jeans were flared beyond belief and glasses were small, rounded and though I was guessing, probably colored.
I flipped through, fascinated. Though she’d been a member of the sophomore class, she had well over one hundred signatures. Obviously, Mommy Dearest was the life of the party, even back then. One candid caught my eye and I stared at the names, unable to believe my luck. Right under the photo of my mom talking to a bare-chested man.
Celeste Drummond and QB 1 Bradly James at Homestead Bayfront Park.
Could it be? My mom, a lowly but pretty sophomore and the senior quarterback? The timing and place was right. Homestead Bayfront Park was a locals beach and judging from the body language of the candid, they were engaged in a heavy flirtation. Sure, the James part was in his last name, but considering the source could I really rule it out?
At that time, we didn’t own a computer, so I’d taken the bus to the public library to do some research on suspect dad. Bradley James had been given a full-ride football scholarship to Notre Dame and was expected to return home to Miami and bring the Dolphins back to the NFL championships. It’d never happened, though. He’d been in a car accident during his junior year at college, messed up his rotator cuff and lost his scholarship. The Dolphins had ended up with Dan Marino instead. Poor dad.
I bit my lip, thinking it over. Celeste and Bradley had a summer fling, and then he went off to college, never knowing about me. Could I really blame him for putting some distance between himself and Celeste when I wanted to do the exact same thing every second of every day?
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