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“Tricia, I want Dad to know … but I don’t. You saw him today. He’s broken, an old man riddled with grief after losing his partner of over fifty years. Our mom may have been many things, but she was his wife, the woman he loved for most of his long life,” Marnie admitted, concerned.
“I know. Don’t you think I haven’t been tortured by that? When Erin got in touch, James spoke to her… before I even knew she was truly mine. I’ve been in therapy for well over a year now, and right after our cookout here I confronted Mom about what she had done,” I replied, frustrated.
“Don’t tell me, she told you she did you a favor?” Marnie ground out. I nodded. “Fuck, the self-righteous bitch. She always thought she knew best, always figuring out how best not to upset her own life. I know what this was about—her and her precious reputation.”
“Ah, well, looks like you had the measure of her as well. Since Erin’s been in touch, I’d been calling Mom weekly asking her to tell Dad. From my perspective, I don’t want Dad to pass without knowing he was a grandfather. He’d want to know that,” I confessed.
“But the timing…” she pressed again.
“I know, I wouldn’t dare do it now,” I said, flatly.
“Maybe we should let the dust settle on this and let him have time to grieve, then we can talk about him knowing again,” my sister suggested, pleading with her eyes for me to understand.
“Of course, Marnie, I’m not that callous. Dad is the last person I want to hurt and if Erin hadn’t gotten in touch, I may have never wanted him to know. But she’s here, back in my life, and I won’t deny her a second time.”
“Franco’s going to have to be told too,” Marnie, mused. “Would you mind if I did that? You know … because of his history? I’d rather he heard this from me than anyone else, since he’s looking for his own birth parents right now.”
“Sure, I had envisioned Mom and I sitting all of you down and me discussing it in a calm and rational way, but inside I don’t feel calm when I think back on what happened, and I don’t feel rational about how I behaved or what happened after.”
“The first thing I want you to think about is this. It happened. It was a fucking appalling consequence of a stupid mistake. Mom bullied you into taking a decision, without counsel of any kind, and no therapy to deal with your loss afterward. I guess a lot of moms in the same position would have come up with an adoption as a solution, and there’s nothing wrong in that if the mom takes that decision. Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me, whatever happens next you can count on my support.”
Both my sister and I stood and hugged one another again, her protective grip felt tight. “I love you, Tricia. I just need a little time to get my head around all of this … that and being an aunt.”
Leaning back to look at me, she cracked me a warm affectionate smile, and for the first time since I’d told Billie on the boat about my daughter, I felt that everything was going to be all right.
Chapter Eight
James slid into my bed and snuggled up close behind me even though my childhood bed was far too small for him. I hated that she’d kept that bed and shipped it to their house in New Jersey. However, the warmth I felt when James settled me next to his chest, felt exactly what I had needed. Pressing a small kiss on my shoulder, he dragged his lips along my skin and placed his mouth next to my ear.
“Penny for them? I know you’re not asleep.” I turned around in his arms to face him, our legs sliding over one another until we were tangled in a comfortable position.
“I told Marnie about Erin.” James stiffened.
“You did? Tricia, she buried her mom today. You buried your mom,” he replied, sounding disappointed.
“I know, but it just … came up.”
“Came up?”
“Yeah, in natural conversation. She said something like what are we going to do for drama now Mom has gone and then there was a comment about being pregnant or something… I don’t remember exactly, but the moment was absolutely wrong and right at the same time.” I shrugged, as he stared at me, and the moonlight made his large expressive eyes shine. They looked full of compassion.
“And?”
“She wishes Mom wasn’t dead …”
“Naturally,” James replied sympathetically.
“No, because she said had she been alive she’d have killed her, herself.” It felt inappropriate since we’d buried her that day, but we both chuckled anyway. James smoothed my hair and brushed my lips with his.
“About your dad, baby—”
“I know. I’m not telling him right now. I wouldn’t do that to him.” I sighed. “This time it isn’t about me. If I went ahead and told him to get my secret off my chest, I’d be no better than my mother. This is his time to grieve, something I never got when my baby was taken away. I never want anyone’s grief to be ignored or minimalized the way mine was.”
“You’re a wonderful woman, you know this? It’s been a harrowing day for all of you.” He fell quiet for a moment and I heard him inhale me in. “I agree, you need to give your dad his time and you can decide when you think the timing is right. When it is, if you still feel the same about telling him, I’ll be here for you.” Turning my back to his front again, he nestled in behind me, slid one hand under my neck, and the other over my breast. “This is my favorite nonsexual position of all time,” he muttered, planting a small kiss on my shoulder again before settling still.
“Mine too, maybe we need to get one of these little full-size beds for the penthouse,” I replied. Our large custom bed in the penthouse had felt massive in comparison. James chuckled because spooning was about all we could manage since the bed frame had stopped him from straightening his legs.
“I meant our bodies’ positions, not the cramped bed,” he corrected. Taking a deep breath close to my back, I felt him breathe me in again and it wasn’t long before his breathing evened out and grew deeper, and I knew he’d fallen asleep.
