From your keyboard to God's ears....
Perhaps one of you infamous 18-wheelers could do the job...
I've never partaken of either, gave up Mickey D's years ago, but the Kentucky Fried Colonel has blackmail worthy pics of me, someone I resemble very closely...
At least he didn't forever change a Rembrandt or two with Sharpies...
And the following was just so spot on...Jack, get your head out of your backside and make the call...
“So, as part of that promise,” she said carefully, “I did something. I made a few calls. Sent a few emails. And… I found your grandmother.”
Jack blinked, caught mid-breath. “My… Nana?”
“She’s in Seattle,” Mom said. “She’s been wanting to be a part of your life for a long time, but your parents wouldn’t allow it.”
His whole body jerked as if the words had physically hit him. “She’s alive?” he whispered.
“Yes,” Mom said gently, eyes steady on his. “And she’s thrilled at the idea of hearing from you.”
I watched Jack freeze, every muscle wound tight like he didn’t know whether to run or collapse. His lips parted, but no sound came out. For a second, he looked so young – like the boy he must have been when all those lies were planted inside him.
“I thought… I thought she didn’t want me,” he said finally, his voice breaking on the words. “That’s what they always said. That she didn’t want anything to do with me.”