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“You spent a lot of time with him and you broke up with Brad.”
I nodded. “I never told Brad, nor Donnie, I was having Donnie’s baby. I never told Mom either.” I felt ashamed. “Dad, I didn’t sleep around …”
“Of course, you didn’t,” he agreed, like he knew me well.
“I’m so sorry. When I saw that photograph, I couldn’t imagine that you didn’t know. This makes that visit even more sinister. She took us both there knowing what she did, and left us both ignorant to the true facts surrounding that visit.”
My dad shook his head, looking a truly broken man and guilt washed over me again. He had recently lost his wife and a mistake I’d made at sixteen had robbed my father of living his last final years in peace.
“Over the years your mother did many unkind things. They had made me wonder at times whether she had any empathy at all. Everything from crass unsympathetic comments to downright deliberate acts designed to hurt the feelings of others appeared to have given her satisfaction, but I never once imagined it could have extended to something as heinous as that visit. I have a grandchild? A granddaughter who must be … that little girl was about six, right … she must be—?”
“Thirty-one,” I responded. One word that told him how much time he had lost with someone so precious.
In my eyes my father had always been larger than life, a strong, protective, hard-working man, but he dissolved sobbing with his face in his hands. My heart shattered that after all those years I’d hidden my pain, I could only watch as he showed us his.
“When can I meet her?” he asked several minutes later, once the news had sunk in. Marnie rubbed his back as he stared over at me. “There are some letters …” he started and dissolved into a fresh bout of tears.
“I told her,” Marnie replied. “And she’s seen them,” she confessed.
“You knew too?” he asked my sister, a hurt look in his eyes that everyone knew but him.
“Only a month, Tricia told me about Erin after Mom’s funeral.”
“Erin? That’s her name?” he mused for a moment then shook his head. “Now it makes sense. I thought the later pictures in those letters were of you, but then again I knew they weren’t. It was the eye color that threw me off,” Dad said, thinking out loud.
“Yes, her eyes are hazel. You’ll meet her after the will reading … I’ll arrange something.”
“Erin,” he repeated, trying out the name again. “Pretty name,” he remarked as he continued to try and absorb what I’d told him.
I studied him closely with a heavy, aching heart. Suddenly he looked all of his almost eighty years of age, worn and confused, and no matter what anyone said, it was on me he looked that way.
Shortly after our conversation, Marnie persuaded him to rest. He’d had a terrible shock and was exhausted from it. We stayed at the house for a few hours until he finally woke. We talked again and Dad was stronger that time, asking all the questions that had formed in his head.
“In one of those pictures they sent, your daughter looked exactly the same … except for the eyes. That picture … it’s how I remember you at that age. I’d have to admit, I was speechless when I saw the resemblance. I can’t wait to meet her.”
“She’ll be thrilled you want to,” I replied, my heart pounded at the thought of that. “And I can’t wait to see the two of you together, Dad. She’s going to love you as much as I do.” Dad reached out and took my hand, squeezed it tight, and shook his head.
“I’m sorry,” he choked, and I leaned over and hugged him. It had felt cathartic. “I hate that you went through all of that. It was a very wicked thing your mother did, and I’m glad she’s not here because if she had …” he paused and shrugged helplessly. “There’s no telling what I would have done. Now that I know this, it’s going to help me not to miss her in the way that breaks a man’s heart.”
Marnie gave me a sad smile, stepped forward, and rubbed Dad’s back where he sat. I was satisfied my dad had nothing to do with my mom’s horrible cruel visit that had obviously been for her own benefit.
Before we left that day, James told my father we had gotten engaged, and I was surprised my father had already been asked his permission on the visit to my parents’ house the first time they met. He told Dad and Marnie he had been waiting for the perfect moment to ask me, until he couldn’t wait anymore and created one for himself.
My father told me he’d given his blessing the first time he’d met James because he knew he’d take care of me, and he thanked him for standing by me in the face of everything he’d learned since being with me. Seeing the two men shake hands, united in their support, made my heart swell with love.
Chapter Twenty-Three
When we’d heard about a will reading for my mom, we wondered how necessary it was. As far as we were aware there hadn’t been much to resolve. My father had bought their home and land in New Jersey and transferred it immediately into my sister’s and my name, on the inheritance advice he’d received from his financial advisor. Therefore, we had thought the only thing that had to be addressed was the joint bank account she’d held with our dad.
It had felt farcical dragging us all to her lawyer’s office in New Jersey to be told the money in their account reverted to Dad and the few pieces of jewelery she owned would likely be shared between Marnie and me.
When we arrived at the young lawyer’s office, she behaved with a sombre sense befitting the occasion and had appeared highly efficient as she guided us into a small conference room.
After seating us, she had her clerical assistant bring us coffee. Once this had been offered, she smoothed her slimline skirt down and sat in front of us with a grave expression on her face. Clasping her hands in front of us, she gave us a tight smile.
“Thank you for coming today. Before we get down to legal and financial matters, perhaps we could do a brief round of introductions. My name is Holly Dame and I’ve been Elizabeth’s lawyer for a little over six years now. I took over from Mr. Trent, who retired back then, and Elizabeth took that opportunity to update her will. I was informed of her death by the funeral home Elizabeth had instructed, and whose added instruction was to contact me on her death. I’m guessing you are …” Unclasping her hands, she lifted a pair of spectacles that hung around her neck and looked through them, reading from the papers in her folder. “Lester Patrick Mattison?” My father nodded.
“I’m Tricia, and this is my sister, Marnie and her husband, Franco,” I replied, concluding the introductions and preventing them from becoming protracted.
