Then, The Light Came On

Haley held the envelope in her hand as she parked her car next to the curb, bumping it with her wheels. She hadn’t let go of it the entire drive.

It’d taken her two years to finally track him down. One to actually find him, and another to gather the courage to do anything about it.

“One deep breath,” she told herself, turning the car off. “One deep breath and you open this door, and you walk up to the mailbox and drop this envelope in, and you’re done with it.”

It took more than one. It was more like three or four. But finally, she opened the door. Her legs shivered, but it was easier to blame that on the cold. So she did.

The driveway was long, with two cars parked side by side. Expensive cars.

She’d seen the house before she made the drive, and its price matched that of the cars. Her fists clenched on their own. As she walked, her steps became more confident, or maybe more angry.

Haley peered around the cars, just to make sure this was the right address. It undeniably was. But after all of this effort, she had no intention of not being right.

Two floors, big windows, and plants that somehow didn’t die during the winter. What a life he’d made for himself.

When was the last time she’d talked to him? Fifth grade?

Her mind was cluttered with memories of him. Each one, a file cabinet she’d kept locked, began to slide open.

Haley moved between the cars and was met by the garage door. Her feet stopped, and she couldn’t convince them to move. A quick left to the corner of the garage, then a quick right would lead her to the path to the front door, where the mailbox was.

The cold breaths in front of her came out faster. It looked like she was smoking three cigarettes at once. Her heartbeat quickened. A slight ring settled in her ears, singing a carol that she didn’t care to listen to.

“Okay,” she whispered. She slowed her breath and lowered her shoulders, rolled her neck around, and did a half hop. “You can do this. You got this, Haley.”

The cold outside was attacking her fingers, and the tips of them felt numb holding the envelope.

A quick left, she traced the wall all the way to the corner before making the quick right. Her eyes were closed, and she stood for a moment before steeling herself and opening them. It wasn’t a long walk to the door, fifteen feet or so. But to her, it stretched, an endless hallway almost.

There were no lights on in the house, no light on the porch. Just a few feet forward, up three stairs, and she’d be there. Right in front of the door. Right next to the mailbox. She’d drop it in and head back to her car, feeling refreshed, or maybe crying, or maybe feeling nothing at all but wasted time.

The cold sidewalk under her feet was covered in sand and salt. It crunched as she walked.

A cabinet opened.

It had been sixth grade, not fifth. Mom was sick. Cancer. Of course, there isn’t a cancer that can really be called good, but Mom had the bad kind. That’s what he’d told her, through teary eyes. It was the only time she’d seen him cry.

She took another step forward. The shivers in her legs paid her another visit.

“What do you mean, bad?”

“I mean, Mom might not be around for much longer, sweetheart,” he’d said, eyes off of Haley and now staring through the windshield, blank, distant. Both of his hands were on the steering wheel, gripping hard. When he finally moved them, they’d left sweat marks on the leather cover.

“Like, she’ll be at the doctor for a while?”

She took another step, staring at the sidewalk.

“Yeah,” he wiped his nose. “Yeah, something like that.”

He’d taken her out for fast food to break the news. Mom was already in the hospital, hooked up to more machines than a twelve-year-old could even comprehend existed.

Haley took a bite of her chicken nugget and slapped her legs.

“She’ll be okay. Mama’s always okay.”

Tears were on his cheeks when he looked at her. “Yeah,” he forced his frown into a smile. “I’m sure she will be. And you’ll be okay, too.”

They got out of the car together, and he led her toward the sliding doors of the hospital. Once they reached the inside, he walked up to the front desk lady and asked if she could guide Haley to room 417.

Haley turned. “Where you going?”

“Just forgot something in the car,” he said, his back to her. “I’ll be right back, honey.”

And that was the last time she ever saw him.

Haley hadn’t realized she was at the bottom of the stairs, but her foot had. She stubbed her toe on the first stair, ripping her from the nightmare she’d just relived and sending a brief pain all the way up to her knee.

When the pain settled, she noticed her face had grown colder. It took a moment to realize that tears were flowing from her eyes, and the wind was treating them like snacks.

The front door had a glass door in front of it. And even though it was dark, she could see her reflection standing in front of her. But she didn’t see the adult she was. It was that same twelve-year-old from the memory. She blinked and the child disappeared.

What would that little girl think of the woman she’d become? Proud, probably, she thought.

She walked up the next two stairs and stood on a platform that had a mini bench the size for a toddler and more living, potted plants.

The mailbox was drilled into the wall on the left side of the door. Haley looked at the envelope one final time. On the flat side, she’d written in red marker, To Dad, From the daughter you forgot.

At the time it felt like the right thing to write, but now she was regretting it. It seemed more spiteful than righteous.

As she reached for the mailbox, a cough came from the other side of the door. A deep, heavy cough. A man’s cough. It was distant, muffled, and it sounded like it’d come from upstairs.

Her body locked like a child caught stealing candy, and she waited for the noise to stop. It was such a long coughing fit that Haley almost giggled.

Once the noise disappeared, she finally opened the metal lid of the box.

The moment she did, she was blinded. The light bulb above the door came on, and heavy footsteps came from inside the house, moving downstairs.

Another freeze. A sharp breath bit the back of her throat. The skin on her neck grew bumps, and she looked to the right side of the door. There was something else drilled into the wall. A doorbell. One with a camera.

She was caught. The envelope was still in her hand, held over the mailbox as she tried to force her numb fingers to let it go. Something told her to stop, to leave. Nerves? Maybe. Fear of seeing him? More likely.

The mailbox hung open, and she turned around as the footsteps grew louder, closer to the door.

Haley jogged back to her car, forgetting the sidewalk and moving through the snow-covered yard.

The front door creaked open behind her, louder than the muffled crunches beneath her feet.

“Hello?” That distant familiar voice said.

She ignored it. Kept moving.

The door closed and her shadow disappeared from in front of her as she reached the passenger side of her car.

The porch light had been turned off.

The warmth of her car hit her legs as she walked around to the driver’s side. The hot oil inside of the engine crackled and popped. Her feet slid as she ripped the door open. She scrambled for the inside handle for balance. Her keys hit the ignition before she was fully in her seat, and the car was moving before she closed the door.

Breathing heavily, she drove, and as she made it out of his neighborhood, she finally let go of the envelope, tossing it into the empty passenger seat.