The Silent Sister(13)

I was looking over the menu when she arrived. She blew into the room with so much energy the air swirled around our table as she took her seat. “Sorry, sorry,” she said, unwrapping her silverware from the napkin. “A million fires to put out this morning.”

Sitting across the table from her, I could see that she looked closer to her age than I’d originally thought. Her jawline was blurry, her neck a little crepey, but she was still a youthful, vibrant-looking woman.

The waitress was at our table in an instant. “Your regular?” she asked Jeannie.

“Yes, but maybe we need a minute?” Jeannie raised her eyebrows in my direction.

“Fish tacos,” I said to the waitress. “And my water’s enough.”

Jeannie smiled at me as we waited for the waitress to leave our table, and once we had the room to ourselves again, she leaned over to touch my hands.

“I’m so happy I finally have the chance to really get to know you!” she said. “You’ve grown into a lovely young woman, Riley. Your father told me as much.”

“Thank you,” I said, wondering if my father had actually used the word lovely. He told me often I was pretty. All through my growing-up years, he’d fed my self-esteem, even though I knew I’d disappointed him with my lack of musical talent. I didn’t know what Danny’s issues were with him, but to me, he’d been a good dad.

“You remind me of your mother,” she said, tilting her head to study me.

“Do I?” So much for my adoption worries.

“Absolutely. I believe her memorial service was the last time I saw you? Seven long years ago. You were eighteen, right?”

“Right,” I said. “You came all the way from Asheville. I’d actually forgotten that you moved here.”

“Shortly after your mother’s death,” she said.

“And I guess you stayed in touch with my father after she died?”

“Oh, of course.” She shook her head. “He was such a fine man, Riley. Your mother was lucky to have him.” She took a sip from her water glass. Set it down. “And so was I,” she added, her blue eyes watching for my reaction.

I didn’t mask my surprise very well. “You … what do you mean?” She could mean only one thing, but I couldn’t believe it.

She didn’t answer. Just sat there staring at me, a small smile on her lips as she waited for me to state the obvious.

“So, were you … you were more than friends?” I squirmed. I was in utter disbelief over the idea of a romance between my father and anyone.

She gave a little nod. “I hope you don’t find that upsetting,” she said. “I like to think it would have pleased your mother. It was terrible for both your father and me when she passed away, and grief can really draw two people together. I miss both of them so much.”

“Wow.” I smoothed a wrinkle on the tablecloth, unable to look at her. “Why didn’t he ever tell me?” I wanted to ask her how long it had been going on. How long after my mother’s death had they started … seeing each other? “He never said a word about seeing someone,” I said.

“Did you ever ask him?”

“No. I mean, I never thought to.” I felt guilty, as though I should have known to ask him if he was dating. It never occurred to me.

“Well,” she said, “your father knew how close you were to your mother and was probably worried about upsetting you.”

I hadn’t been all that close to my mother, actually. I loved her and I knew she loved me, but she’d never been the type to share her deepest thoughts with her daughter.

“She’s been gone years,” I said. “I’m sad he felt like he had to keep a … relationship from me.”

The waitress arrived with our lunches. She set a bowl of lobster bisque and a glass of iced tea in front of Jeannie and the fish tacos in front of me. They looked delicious, but my appetite had taken a serious hit in the last few minutes.

“He had such a hard life,” Jeannie said once the waitress walked away. “Losing your sister and then your brother’s injuries, and then Deb—your mother—passing away on top of it all. So hard.”

“I know.”

“People your age … they don’t think to ask their parents about themselves,” she said, lifting a spoonful of soup toward her mouth. “It’s all about ‘me, me, me.’”

She must have seen my stunned look at her insult because she rushed on, her free hand on mine. “I don’t mean that as nastily as it sounds,” she said. “It’s just your stage of life. It’s normal. I was the same way in my twenties. My parents were nonpeople to me. I never realized they had full lives of their own. I didn’t mean to lay a guilt trip on you.”

“He was never a ‘nonperson’ to me,” I said, withdrawing my hand from beneath hers. “I loved him.”

“Of course. I’m sorry.”

She was right in a way, though, I thought as I took a bite of a taco. I’d adored my father, but I’d relegated him to a little box in my mind labeled “reclusive, old, eccentric,” hadn’t I?

“And he loved you.” Jeannie dabbed her lips with her napkin. “He was very proud of you.”

“I wish he’d told me more about himself,” I said.