A/N: Thank you, Jack Doug, for your reviews that inspired me to post another Amy story on this board. This one falls after the end of "To Be Myself." So if you haven't read that one, you might want to wait to read this one until you have, because later parts of this story will reveal the outcome of TBM. I took the title of this story from Jack's heartwrenching line to Jen in the finale"You belong to me." Thought it appropriate for the subject in this story.
Please let me know what you think.
Amy Lindley sat on her bed staring down at the crumpled piece of paper in her hands as if she expected the answers to the mysteries of the universe to materialize within its creases. Her heart couldn't seem to settle on an emotion, so she was rocked by a dizzying mixture of sadness, anger, uneasiness, guilt, and, above all, indecision. She had read the words five times before they registered in her brain. Unfolding the paper one more time, she went for a sixth.
The handwriting on the page was loopy and flashy, a little on the careless side, but still somehow feminine. Feminine and strong. A lot like Amy's own. She took a deep breath, and this time began to read aloud to herself, her voice coming out tight and a bit shaky.
"My dearest Amy, I've been sitting here in this godforsaken hospital bed, holding this stupid plastic pen that has tooth marks all over it and trying to decide how to start. I just talked to Jack, your daddy, and told him that I intended to do this, and he was none too pleased. But I was adamant. I told him to give you this letter when you're mature enough to understand, not before or after. If you're anything like me (and already, I can tell that you are), that will be sooner than he expects, and certainly sooner than he wants to comply. You see, he's giving you this letter under protest—extreme protest. But hey, a mom has her say, and I feel that I owe this to you."
Amy paused and squeezed her eyes shut momentarily. She could picture her mother's face, a face she had grown up dreaming about, a face that was etched permanently into her brain from pictures and—she liked to believe no matter how unlikely—from her own earliest babyhood memories. With a clear image of Jen in mind, she opened her eyes and went on.
"I'm not going to sugarcoat this for you, baby, because I'm sure you'd see through that in a heartbeat, same as I would. And you'd probably resent the hell out of it, same as I would. You're strong. I know that just from the year we've spent together, and I know that you've only gotten stronger in the time we've been apart. So I won't insult your intelligence or your strength by making this sound better than it is. Here goes. I hope like hell it's the right thing for me to do.
"Your dad—no, scratch that, your FATHER—has never laid eyes on you, at least as of the day I'm writing this letter. I tell you this hoping against the probability that your first impulse is to run out and remedy that, because I think doing so could result in your getting badly hurt, which is as far from my intent as humanly possible. But I do believe that you should have the option of knowing something about him, and that you should be armed with everything I know about him—even if it's just on the off-chance that you have some need that can't be fulfilled by all the people I left you with who love you more than life.
"Amy, your biological father's name is David Marshall. We met in New York and had a brief but infinitely valuable relationship, if only because he gave me the greatest gift I've ever received. He was an artist with, unfortunately for me, the heart of a cutthroat corporate lawyer. I fell in love with his art, his paintings and photographs, and with the man they made him out to be. But his art and his heart were perpetually separated by his sensibilities. I don't know if that makes sense to you, so I'll just say that what it meant as far as I was concerned was that he wasn't really capable of giving back the love I poured into him. And so, when you came into the picture, he wasn't capable of being the kind of father you deserved, and that was one reality I couldn't bear. I wanted to give you the best of everything, sweetheart, and he just wasn't it. Not even close. If you want to know what was it, just take a good look at the man you know as your dad, the man who raised you. Now him, HE's the best I could give you. He's what you deserve."
Amy paused in her sixth reading of her mother's words to wipe a tear out of the corner of her eye before it had a chance to fall. The dizzying combination of emotions was still hammering away at her heart, and she paused to compose herself before she could continue. Finally she read on, her voice a little steadier this time.
"I never want you to think that anything that happened between your biological father and me was your fault. Conceiving you, being bestowed with the unbelievable honor of being your mom, was the best thing that ever happened to me. And it helped me to see something I'm not sure I would have realized on my own because I was too love-starved to open my eyes and really see him—he wasn't worthy of you, and he would never be able to appreciate the honor the way I did, right from the beginning. The way Jack did, the moment I told him, not twenty-four hours ago, that I want him to take over when I have to leave.
"I hope you're not sorry I'm telling you this. Jack seems to think it's asking for trouble, that you'd be better off not knowing. But even though you're a baby right now, you're my girl, and I know you. And I think—I hope—that you're relieved to have some questions answered that he probably never had the heart to answer for you. The last time I talked to David was when I was about three months pregnant with you. He was concerned. He wanted to make sure that I had everything I needed, but there was nothing left for us, and we were both fine with that. You were my eye-opener, Amy. I was happier opening my eyes to the truth and the prospect of having a baby to give my life direction than I ever had been in blind love with someone who was not what his artistic expressions portrayed him to be.
"If you don't believe anything else I tell you, believe that. I was and am happy that I saw his true colors before I subjected you to a life that wasn't worthy of you.
"Now I'm going to give you all the information I have on him because I don't want you to grow up thinking that we intentionally kept half of your identity from you. You were robbed of having a mom, Amy, there's no way around that. I won't keep the rest a secret just because I'm afraid for your heart. And what you do with it is your decision and yours alone. I made Jack promise he wouldn't try to stand in your way, if you want to try to track David down. He won't. I've threatened to come back and haunt him if he does, and he insists that he's endured enough harassment from me in life to warrant terror of being besieged by it after I'm gone, too. Daddy's a funny guy, Aim. I'm sure you know that.
"Please just do me one favor, if you decide to use this information to track David down (which, you need to know, might not result in what you want). Guard your heart. Don't let finding him or not finding him, getting the reception you want or not getting it, change anything about who you are, how you feel about yourself, and your confidence in the people who love you. I've learned a lot in a relatively short time on this earth, and one thing I've learned is that love is not fazed one way or the other by DNA. It couldn't care less who fathered you versus who changed your diapers; whose blood type you share versus who taught you how to ride a bike. I hope you understand that, and that you hold on to it and always remember where you came from.
"I've got to wrap this up; I've been writing for an hour now, and there are four overeager people in this room who are now breathing down my neck in anticipation of one of our notorious reminiscing sessions. I'm sure you'll be subjected to plenty of those during your lifetime. Now, for the collective sake of your daddy, aunt Joey, and uncles Pacey and Dawson, I'm going to end this letter and send you all my love and kisses. Be strong, Amy, as I know you will be. Do what you have to do, as long as you're true to yourself. You are my heart. Always and forever—Mom"…
Amy was losing her battle against the tears. They were flowing freely now, and she didn't even bother to wipe them away. At the bottom of the page were scribbled in that carelessly looping hand two sets of information. David Marshall's was one of them; she had his last known phone number and address as well as his social security number and date of birth. There were also the last known specs for Robert and Caroline Marshall, David's parents. Amy's grandparents. She stared at this last for a period of long moments, the words bleared through a film of tears.
She felt hollow, betrayed. Dad hadn't given this to her. Here she was, sixteen years old, and evidently he still didn't think she was mature enough to handle it. She felt a surge of indignity at that, at his keeping something this monumental away from her, stowed away in the bottom drawer of his file cabinet as if it were of no more importance than old tax records and insurance papers and bank statements. As if it were inconsequential, these words from a mother she didn't remember, this piece of paper that represented an actual connection to real, live people who had her blood in their veins. She had stumbled upon it while rummaging around in the cabinet for her birth certificate, which she needed in order to take her driver's test. Dougie had promised to take her to the DMV tomorrow, and she'd been looking forward to the prospect of the freedom a license promised. She was in no way prepared for finding something like this.
She heard voices downstairs. Daddy and Dougie must be back from dinner. Swiping at her eyes and nose, she took a deep breath, clasped the crumpled letter to her chest, and walked down the stairs like a zombie. She found them in the kitchen, laughing about something Uncle Pacey had said when they ate with him and Aunt Joey at the Icehouse. They turned to her with smiles on their faces.
"Hey, babe," Jack began, then got a good look at her strained and pale face and red-rimmed eyes. "Amy, what—"
With a shaking hand, she held the letter out toward him. Doug looked perplexed, but Jack stared at it with dawning recognition as the remainder of his good-natured smile faded completely. His hand drifted up to reach for the paper, then froze in midair as he looked back at his daughter's face.
"Oh, Amy," he said in a choked tone. "Oh, God."
