Page 55 of Letting Go at 40

I hold my breath, staying still, afraid a movement will make him stop talking.

He narrows his eyes. “I can’t even remember the situation. Was it another disagreement with my dad? Only a lonely night? I was still lost in my thirties.”

Mason rolls his head on the back of his chair and gazes at me. “Everyone was married. You and Ben had three kids. Logan had Lorna, and even though things were rocky with Chloe, he was married. Zack was with Jeanine, and even if she wasn’t a prize, he had the twins. It was just me. Last man standing.”

He turns to face the horizon once more. “I wasn’t looking for marriage or kids, but it didn’t mean I wanted to be the lone guy out there.” Softly he chuckles. “And fucking Ben. He still included me in everything, never wanting me to feel left out.” Mason turns to me again. “But even when I was included, I was always on the edge of you guys.”

“Mason.” His name is a whisper of guilt. I contributed to that isolation. We were always so standoffish. I didn’t understand his relationship with Ben, and I still felt that resentment I was certain Mason had for me. I judged his waywardness with women. His party-set mind and carefree lifestyle. Maybe at times I was even jealous as I had Ben and three kids keeping me in place.

“Now, I’m forty-two years old with a kid I hardly know and a ball-and-chain I can’t shake loose because she holds all the cards.”

Samantha.

“We’ve been back to mediation, but it hasn’t changed her.” Mason looks back at the lowering sun. The streaks of fading yellow and orange bounce over his tan face. “Before Ben died, I told him how I was worried she was hurting Lynlee.”

“Mason.” I sit straighter and reach for his forearm, needing to touch him. Comfort him.

His gaze falls to where I hold him.

“What happened?” I ask.

With his gaze where my hand clutches on his warm skin, he speaks. “I’ve noticed burn marks. Samantha tells me her curling iron fell on Lynlee’s shoulder. Or a cigarette ash hit her inner arm.”

“What did you do?”

“I’m hardly alone with Lynlee, and if I question her in front of Samantha, she only looks at her mother for confirmation. It’s like she’s afraid to answer me. Afraid of me.” Mason swipes a hand through his hair. “I have no idea what Samantha tells Lynlee about me, and I don’t have hard evidence she’s hurt my daughter.”

He chokes. “I don’t know what to fucking do. We promised no lawyers because she couldn’t afford it and I just agreed with her.” Mason looks up at me. “I gave Lynlee a cell phone, though. Told her to keep the phone a secret. There is only one number programmed into it. I told her to call me if anything happens.”

Lynlee is five. Giving a child a cellphone at such a young age might not be an option for everyone, but in this case, I understood Mason’s need for his daughter to communicate with him. Even at a young age, it’s amazing the technology kids can learn and use.

“Mason, that’s awful.” Not the cellphone but the not knowing. The waiting for that one call you don’t want to receive that says she’s hurt or something worse. “As a teacher, I’m a mandated reporter. Suspicions of child abuse are no joke. There’s a fine line. You can’t coax kids into telling you anything. You have to report what you suspect, though. Your pediatrician probably told you there are clear distinctions between childhood bruises from an active kid and abuse.”

Mason stares at me. “I’ve never been to a doctor visit. I just pay the medical bills when they come.”

He turns away, shame filling his face as he tips back his head, gazing up at the sky, blinking a few times. “I’m a shit father.”

“Don’t say that about yourself.”

He scoffs bitterly. “You sound like Ben.”

“What did Ben say when you told him all this?”

“He told me to get my girl.”

“And why didn’t you?” There’s accusation in my voice that has no place.

Mason levels his eyes on me.

“No.” I shake my head. “You didn’t go after Samantha because you were here?” I don’t like the excuse. Ben would have been pissed at Mason for this feeble reason.

“I just couldn’t handle one more thing.”

On the tip of my tongue is a lecture about how we don’t handle children. We love them, protect them, but Mason didn’t have a guide for fatherhood. His father is a piece of shit from what Ben told me, and Mason’s role models for parenting were his friends. He didn’t allow them to mentor him, though.

Ben wouldn’t have let this pass if he’d had the strength to intervene. He would have gone to Samantha himself and demanded Lynlee, although that might not have been legal.

“So, now what?” I ask. Mason needs to act now. No more excuses.