Something to Believe In: Chapter 12
If y’all aren’t familiar with it, here’s a thing about Meow Wolf...
www.rollingstone.com/culture/culture-features/meow-wolf-expansion-psych-art-728202/amp/
And Acequia Madre is an insanely beautiful historic street near downtown SF. It’s also some extremely expensive real estate, but we’re playing by Hallmark rules, so Claire can afford it 😜
Claire tossed and turned all night, completely incapable of finding a comfortable position in bed. The warm oblivion the whisky had lent her earlier in the evening had long since dissipated, and she found herself staring at the ceiling, feeling as though time was now moving backwards.
“For Christ’s sake,” she muttered to herself, flinging back the duvet and sitting up. Running a hand through the wild mess of her hair, she heaved a sigh. Trying to sleep was pointless; she might as well do something productive.
Clicking on the lamp on her bedside table, she pulled a notepad and pen out of the drawer. The cause for her insomnia was obvious - her impending conversation with her daughter. Writing always helped to clear Claire’s head, and she prayed this night would be no exception. Absentmindedly chewing on the end of the pen, she pondered.
What would be the best - the healthiest and least confusing - way to tell Bree about Jamie? As many advice columns as existed about parenting, she doubted introducing a kindergartener to a long lost, and never discussed, father would be one of them. All she knew was that this was too important to take lightly, and Bree’s comfort would be most important.
“Let Bree guide conversation,” Claire wrote. That would be a good start. “Let her ask questions + conversation unfold organically.”
It seemed a safe bet. Bree’s curious nature would surely lead the chat down a path it’d gone hundreds of times before - this time, though, Claire wouldn’t shy away from the answers. She would filter, of course, editorialize, as would benefit her young daughter, but the plain facts of Jamie’s existence and desire to be a part of Bree’s life - his affection for her without having even met her - those she would make clear.
“Option to meet? When + how?” She wrote next. Having Jamie over would work, she supposed - it might make Bree less stressed (if she even would be) should she meet him in a familiar setting. Somewhere neutral - a park, maybe - might not be the worst, either. Another thing she’d play by ear.
Claire tapped the pen on the notebook. There were too many variables to account for, but at least she felt reasonable confident in her (albeit quite rough) outline for the time being.
It would be fine. Turning the lamp back off, she laid back down and willed herself to take deep breaths until finally, she fell into a dreamless sleep.
Had she slept more than ten minutes? She must have, because as Claire cracked her eyes open, bright sunlight streamed in through the window.
Sitting up further, she saw Bree on her hands and knees on the other side of the bed, grinning at her.
“Well good morning to you, too,” she said with a smile, tousling Bree’s curly locks.
“Can we go go Meow Wolf today?” Bree asked. She had recently developed a bit of an obsession with the psychedelic artist collective-slash-family attraction, and while the venue personally generally gave Claire a headache, she lived for the joy it gave Bree.
“We can, and we’ll even get food from the food trucks,” Claire promised.
Bree bounced in excitement.
“But first...” Claire swallowed hard. “I thought we might talk about something, you and I.”
“About what?” Bree asked, her bouncing slowing.
Claire smiled, trying to put her daughter at rest. “About daddies. You ask about them sometimes. What do you want to know?”
The little girl looked up at her with such a pure, sweet expression that Claire could hardly stand it. “Why don’t I have one?” There was no longing, no sadness, only curiosity in her tone.
“Well,” Claire started. “You do, but you haven’t met him.”
Because I’m a selfish, jaded idiot, Claire thought to herself. “Because... he lives very far away.”
“In a country called Scotland...” Deep breath, Beauchamp, Claire thought to herself. “But he’s here in Santa Fe right now for his job.”
“Oh.” The little girl took the information in stride, it seemed, and Claire was relieved.
“His name is Jamie,” Claire continued. “Would you like to meet him?”
“Is he nice?” Bree asked.
“Very,” Claire said. “He’s a very nice man.”
“Why does he live so far away?” Bree asked after a moment, sounding just a little bit hurt.
Claire’s heart seized in her chest. This train of thought - Bree feeling in any way abandoned - was what she was most afraid of.
“Because that’s where he’s from,” Claire said, gently reaching a hand out to cup her daughter’s cheek. “And he didn’t know about this amazing, brilliant, brave five year old here in Santa Fe, otherwise he would have come to see you much sooner.”
Bree seemed to accept this reasoning, thankfully. “Okay. Where is he now?”
“He’s at his hotel,” Claire said. Not wanting to push the issue, she gently repeated, “he would like to meet you, if you want to meet him.”
Bree smiled excitedly. “Can he come with us to Meow Wolf?”
Claire smiled back at her. “We can certainly ask.”
Having just returned from a morning run (Christ, this altitude was no joke), Jamie checked his phone for the thousandth time, hoping to hear from Claire. It was foolish, perhaps, as it was not but nine in the morning, and she was likely still asleep.
To his surprise, though, he had received a text from her. His heart pounding, he swiped at the notification until the message opened. “She wants to meet you - are you free this morning?”
“Yes,” he typed back with trembling fingers. “When?”
“Whenever you’re free,” came the response. “We’re just going to Meow Wolf today - no pressure, but you can join us if you want.”
“What’s a Meow Wolf?” He mused to himself, brow furrowed slightly. But no matter - he was meeting his daughter today.
“Sure, that sounds good,” he sent back.
“Meet at my place first?” Claire sent, along with an address that would, thankfully, link to his GPS app. The streets in Santa Fe continued to infuriate him; this would help.
“See you soon,” he replied, and went to make himself presentable for, possibly, the most important meeting of his life.
He showered quickly, lost in thought about his daughter. Claire wouldn’t have invited him to come meet her so quickly if Bree hasn’t seemed okay with it, he knew, but he still couldn’t help but worry about the wee lass. As much as he wanted to be a part of her life, he worries about his abruptly appearing and being too much, too soon - and what if he had to go back to Scotland? Or rather, what about when he had to go back to Scotland? Certain recent developments had certainly motivated him in regards to wanting to start a distillery on US soil, but even so, he would have business in both places. Would his coming and going cause problems for her?
She... they... could go with you, a voice in the back of his mind said, and he entertained it for just a moment before pushing it away. He couldn’t allow himself to go down that path now. He’d deal with his travels when they came, and for the time being, he was in Santa Fe, and that was what mattered.
Freshly showered, he dressed, and headed downstairs to get his rental car. The coordinates in his GPS, he set off.
He found Claire’s house wasn’t far away - more or less southeast of downtown. Within a few minutes, his life would be changed forever. Drumming anxiously on the steering wheel, he cursed in Gaelic as a car with a Texas license plate swerved out in front of him. It would be his luck to wreck his car on the way there... but thankfully, he did not, and before he knew it, pulled into the driveway of a simple, but beautiful home. All the houses on the street were beautiful; most shared the same old, adobe style so unlike what he was used to. It had barely occurred to him that it was Claire’s house he was going to, and now he found himself filled with growing curiosity. It was oddly intimate, in a way, and he wondered what the house would say about her, and the woman she was now.
He stepped out of the car, releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. This was it.
He strode - with more confidence than he actually possessed - up to the door and knocked. Waiting, he looked up and down the street. It was easy to imagine, if he ignored the cars, that he was in the Santa Fe of centuries past, so old fashioned was everything around him.
“Hi,” Claire said, opening the door. She gave him a nervous smile, which he returned in kind. “Come on in.”
He stepped inside the house, unsure of what to expect. In a lot of ways, it was standard Santa Fe - light and airy, with exposed ceiling beams and large windows, but there was also something so completely Claire about the clean elegance of the decor that he smiled.
“Can I get you anything? Coffee? Tea?” Claire asked.
“Um, sure, coffee,” he said.
She nodded. “If you want to come into the kitchen... she’s upstairs in her room right now.”
Jamie followed Claire into the kitchen and leaned against the counter.
“Your house is lovely, Claire,” he said, both as a compliment and a way of making conversation.
“Thanks,” she said, smiling over her shoulder as she poured a mug for him. “It’s a nice street.”
“How do ye pronounce it?” Jamie asked. “I ken my GPS mangled it horribly.” Acequia Madre - it looked beautiful in writing, but even Jamie was a wee bit clueless as to how to actually say it.
Claire laughed. “Yes, I would imagine your GPS has a lot of trouble with the Spanish names out here. It’s ‘uh-SAY-key-uh MAHD-rey’, more or less,” she said. “It means ‘mother ditch’.”
“Mother what?” Jamie joked. It was lame, and he felt stupid as soon as he said it, but Claire indulged him with another laugh. It felt easy between them, and he relaxed a bit.
“Mother ditch,” she repeated, emphasizing the second word. “Named for the irrigation ditch that runs along the street. They’re quite important in the desert climate still,” she said.
“Ah,” he replied, taking the mug she handed him. “Well thank ye.”
Claire started to respond, but the thudding of little feet on the stairs stopped her. She looked at Jamie, as if to ask if he was okay. He nodded, and she smiled reassuringly. “Bree,” she called. “Can you come into the kitchen?”
“Okay!” Came a tiny, high voice from the other side of the wall, and Jamie honest to god thought he might faint.
The sensation only intensified when he saw her.
Every important moment in Jamie’s life paled compared to that moment. Taking in the appearance of his daughter - the one he didn’t know existed... the one he didn’t know he so desperately needed - in that moment... he felt as though something he had never known was missing from his life clicked into place.
“Hi,” he said softly, unsure of whether to approach or give her space. “I’m Jamie. I’m your Da.”
Time stopped as he waited for a response, a reaction from his daughter. Let her like me, he prayed. Let her know I mean her no harm, ever.
And then, the little girl walked towards him - Christ, she was tiny. He could scarcely breathe. He crouched down to be closer to her height.
“Hi,” she said. “I’m Brianna.” And she threw her arms around his neck in the most meaningful hug of his life. He hugged her back, willing the tears not to fall from his eyes. Making eye contact with Claire, though, who was clearly in the same boat, was almost enough to push him over the edge. Though he didn’t want to, he pulled back from his daughter and held her at arms length.
“And you’re a tall one, aren’t ye, mo nighean?” He asked.
The little girl raised up on her toes, seemingly trying to match his (crouching) height. “I am!” She said proudly.
“You’ll be taller than your mam one day, no doubt,” he said, throwing a smile in Claire’s direction.
“Don’t give her any ideas,” Claire said, laughing through the tears that were still threatening to fall. “She’s growing too fast as it is.”
“Do you want to play a game?” Bree asked, and without waiting for a response, took his hand and started walking.
“Go for it,” Claire mouthed to him, and watched as Bree dragged her father into the living room as though she’d done it her whole life.
Claire leaned back against the counter and, overcome with emotion, silently wept.
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