XXV

It had been five days since I was released from the hospital. Although I was still healing from three knife wounds, one of them near fatal, I needed to see my daughter again. My dilemma was not only seeing my ex-wife in the process, but my dying ex-wife.

“Do you want me to go in with you, Seven?” Brock asked with an arched eyebrow.

My cousin had been kind enough to drive me three hours north to the Twin City metropolitan area where my ex-wife’s hospice was. I was kind enough to let him drive my Camaro. Although he complemented the way it drove, he pointed out emphatically that Mustangs were superior.

“No, I got this,” I said as I opened the door and put my foot onto the parking lot as my heart raced. Then I mumbled to myself, “I think.”

As I approached my ex-wife’s room, I marveled at how nervous I felt. It was even scarier than battling the insane knife wielding man who attacked me almost two weeks ago. Probably because I had way more time to think about my current situation. As I cautiously poked my head into her room, my nerves were instantly calmed by the vision of an angel. My daughter.

She sat cross legged in a chair. Her finger pointing at what appeared to be a scripture in the open Bible on her lap. Her eyes were closed as her pretty face was aimed at the ceiling. Light shining down on her from the window behind her enhanced her holy appearance. She seemed to radiate peace in this place of looming death.

She had cut her hair since I had seen her several days previous. Gone were the shoulder length locks and in their place was a short boyish mop top. Since she wore no makeup or jewelry, the new doo made her look somewhat androgynous. However, as she appeared the other day, her attire was a denim skirt, black tights and this time a green sweater instead of blue. Tan cowgirl boots sat neatly next to her chair.

As I did the other day, I marveled at the signs of womanhood. Not only had she grown in stature, I noticed small bumps pushing against her sweater. Then I noticed a dime size hole in the foot of her tights where I could see the white pink of her big toe trying to push through. She was still, and always would be, the little girl I pushed on her swing set.

I took another step into the room and the sight of my sleeping ex wife entered my peripheral vision. I turned to look at her and a chill ran up my spine. Her thick auburn hair was gone and mousy wisps were in their place. Her face looked bloated and much older than her thirty three years. I looked back at my daughter who was staring at me with a solemn expression.

I was in awe of her remarkable her big eyes. They were a captivating emerald, encircled with a slight rim of metallic grey. The way they looked at me made me feel like they could penetrate my soul. It was a fully grown woman that gazed at me, but then a girlish smile appeared on her face. She sat the Bible on an end table, and then ran on tip toe over to me and gave me a warm hug.

“You made it. Daddy,” she whispered. She squeezed me tighter and I felt a stinging pain in my chest, originating from my most serious wound. I squeaked, which was like an audible wince. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, honey,” I replied with a quiet chuckle. “You cut your hair.”

“So did you,” she giggled. “Even more than mine.”

“Seven, is that you?” A familiar but weak voice inquired. I turned and saw my ex-wife, Brittney’s intense dark eyes trained on me.

“It’s me,” I replied mildly. “Hi, Brit.”

“It’s good to see you.”

My mind instantly thought, is it? And was it good to see her? She seemed genuine.

“It’s… I mean I’m sorry, uh…”

“That I’m dying,” she said with a tired smirk.

I shrugged. “Yeah.”

She laughed weakly and then coughed a couple times.

“Sevenia, could I have a moment alone with your father?” Brittney asked.

I frowned and looked at our daughter. Did Brit call her by her middle name out of some type of morphine induced delirium?

“My friends started calling me Sevenia a year or two ago,” my daughter told me with a shrug.

“I see,” I replied meekly. “Why didn’t you tell me when you visited me?”

“I don’t know,” she said with another shrug. “I thought about it, but it felt weird.”

“No, I’m flattered,” I said squeezing her hand.

“I didn’t like it at first, but my friend Anna thought it was pretty. Once she started calling me Sevenia, everyone did. Now I like it, especially, well, nevermind. I’ll leave, and let you and mother talk.”

I felt my skin crawl when I watched my daughter exit the room, leaving me alone with my ex-wife. It felt beyond awkward.

“I’m guessing she didn’t tell you about Anna on her visit with you in Iowa,” Brit said.

“Uh, no she didn’t,” I replied with a frown. “Who is Anna?”

“Anna was her BFF.”

“Was? Did they have a falling out?”

Brit’s eyes filled with tears. She took a deep breath and blew it out slowly. She closed her eyes and tears eased their way down her cheeks. “Anna died six weeks ago. Right here as a matter of fact. I don’t mean this room. It was across the hall and two rooms up. Leukemia. That’s probably the main reason Sevenia prefers to go by her middle name now instead of Mia. Her own name is too close to the disease that took the life of her closest friend far, far too soon.”

“I see,” was all I could manage to say as my entire being felt numb. I felt a sudden surge of guilt for calling my daughter by her name when she came to visit me. Out of glee at being reunited with her I almost called her by a ditty I used when she was little. Mia, Mia, on a mona pia. Thank God I didn’t! “I don’t recall a friend of hers by the name of Anna.”

“You probably wouldn’t,” Brit said. “They met two and a half years ago at a family reunion.”

“I see,” I replied again, even though I didn’t see. But I was about to. Boy howdy was I about to.

“You remember my cousin Salena?” Brit asked with a smirk. Salena was my first love. My girlfriend and sort of fiancée before Brit and I became an item.

“No, who’s she?” I replied sarcastically, yet light heartedly. Then I felt a lump in the pit of my stomach when I realized where she was going with this.

“Anna was Salena’s oldest daughter.”

I just nodded dumbly, not wanting to say I see again.

“Does that bother you?” She asked.

“No,” I replied shaking my head. “I mean, sure, it’s weird. But I was over Salena after you and I got together.”

Was I? Do you ever fully get over heartache? Even the heartache of young first love? I did mostly forget about it. And I do know the pain over Brit’s deceit and betrayal was far more painful than my first girlfriend dumping me for someone else.

I truly had hoped Salena would be happy after we split. Didn’t I? I most definitely felt bad for her now, losing a child. But to be honest, I was previously neither yay nor nay on her overall happiness. I actually would have been secretly delighted if I had heard she divorced. But my heart was in the process of radical change. My near death experience was only speeding up the transformation. Even with what Brit was about to tell me next, it made me feel terrible for a woman I knew almost half my life ago.

“Salena’s husband died nine months ago,” she told me. “It’s been a rough year for her.”

“Sounds like it,” I said humbly. “How did he die?”

“Heart attack.”

“How old was he, seventy?”

“Two, I think.”

“How many kids did they have?”

“Three. Like I said, Anna was the oldest. Then they had two boys after her.”

“As I remember, you and Salena despised each other. So how did that work with your daughters becoming best friends?”

“Salena doesn’t despise anyone,” Brit replied with a tired sigh. “I was always enough witch for both of us. After Sevenia and Anna hit it off, Salena and I actually became rather close ourselves.”

“I see.”

“As a matter of fact, Salena recently helped me make peace with my sinful past. She’s the one that suggested I invite you here to talk to you in person.”

I meant to simply nod, but my mind whirled. “I see.”

“That said, there’s a couple things I need to talk to you about before I lose the energy,” she told me. “First of all, I sincerely apologize for lying to Sevenia about the reason we divorced. It might be the coldest thing I’ve ever done, and as you already know, I’ve done some pretty cold things.”

My jaw tensed and I held back snide comments. I simply nodded and refrained from saying I see as she gazed at me earnestly.

“Do you forgive me?” She pleaded.

I thought of Jesus, and after all he had been through declaring, “Father forgive them, for they know not what they do.”

“Yes, I forgive you Brit.”

Her eyes teared up and she squeaked, “Thank you.”

She feebly tried reaching for a tissue and I grabbed it for her. She dabbed at her eyes and then looked at me. “Have you returned to the Lord?”

“I have.”

“I thought so,” she smiled. “I didn’t think the man from the Seven Sallie Showdown would even show up here, let alone forgive me.”

I smiled sadly. “Mi, I mean Sevenia, flat out told me she didn’t like my podcast. Or at least my persona on it.”

“There’s some things I need to tell you about our daughter,” she said and then winced. She squirmed and groaned.

“Brit are you all right? I can come back later or even tomorrow.”

“No, I’m okay. I just get uncomfortable sometimes. Well, actually quite a bit.”

“I see.”

“I have one more confession to properly restitute or repent or whatever,” she said and then sighed deeply. “During our marriage, I was intimate with several different men. With one of them…”

“Brit, we’re divorced,” I interrupted. “It’s all water under the bridge. I forgive you for everything. No matter what it is. If you truly want to make things right, please accept that and don’t make me listen to the details. Okay? I truly forgive you across the board.”

“Okay,” she said with a sad smile. “Thank you.”

“Do you forgive me?”

She looked slightly startled. “For what?”

“I made my share of mistakes during our marriage.”

“Of course I do, and thanks for that. I didn’t deserve it.” She said, closing her eyes and breathing heavily. I feared she was wearing herself out. I wished a nurse would come and tell me I needed to leave. On the other hand, I did want to know what she had to say about our daughter.

“Do you feel like telling me what you were going to say about Mi… Sevenia?”

“Yes,” Brit said with a sudden burst of energy. “She’s a special girl.”

“I already know that, Brit.”

“I know. But you’ve probably noticed she’s not like other teenage girls.”

“I have. No make up or jewelry. Does she always where long skirts?”

“Usually. For the last six months to a year anyway. But it’s more than that. Did she tell you about her and Anna being bullied?”

“No.”

“I didn’t think so. It’s been nothing physical, but verbal and social media. You know, so called jest.”

I felt the last comment was a direct rebuke of my podcast. “Listen, the only time I ever have attacked someone personally is when an individual has betrayed public trust or violated another’s rights.”

“I know, honey,” she said and then closed her eyes and shook her head. “I mean Seven. Anyway, Sevenia and Anna have been labeled as, well, lesbians. Our daughter never even told me she was being harassed. I found out through Salena. When I asked Sevenia about it, she replied that the love between her and Anna surpassed the love of boys. At first I thought this was an admission that it was true. With further probing, I realized she was quoting what was said about David and Jonathan in the Bible. She also told me that as of right now, she is asexual and is only interested in being the bride of Christ.”

Brit stopped talking and gazed at me. As my brain spun trying to process what she was telling me, my mouth once again spoke without my full consent. “I see.”

“Seven, our daughter is not only smart, sweet, strong and loving, but wise beyond her years. But I’m concerned about her losing me so close to Anna.”

Brit suddenly burst into sobs. At first I looked around in panic. For what I don’t know. Then I simply went to one knee and took hold of her hand and waited.

“Thank you,” she squeaked. “She’s such a special child of God. I pray her spirit won’t be broken.”

“I believe she’ll pull through,” I assured her. “I mean it’ll be tough, but like you said, she’s wise beyond her years. I need to tell you something that hopefully brings you reassurance.”

I looked at my ex wife and puzzled over how to say what I had to say. And I was someone who had been paid a lot of money to talk. It was also odd seeing Brit’s lively, eager eyes in such a tired, haggard face. “What Seven? Tell me.”

“This is gonna sound strange,” I began cautiously. “Ever since I went to Iowa over a month ago, my cousin Brock and his pastor have been indicting that I’ve needed to repent and get my act together. They insinuate that I have a special work to do. Brock has told me things about when I felt called before, that he could not have known unless God somehow informed him in some way. To make a long story short, his pastor came to see me when I was in the hospital. So, he tells me he had this dream of an angelic encounter and that I’m to be reunited with my daughter. I didn’t believe him because, as you know, Mi… Sevenia has wanted nothing to do with me the last couple of years. Then minutes after he tells me this, in walks Sevenia. I’m mean talk about strange.”

“I’m back,” Sevenia said with a sweet smile as her face peered into the room. Her lovely energetic eyes looked at me with utter caution. It was then I noticed she held hands with someone and practically pulled them into the room. “Mother, you have a visitor.”

Attached to my daughter’s arm was my former, sort of fiancée, Salena.