The Reluctant Heiress: A Novella(44)

Until now.

As I stare at the wood grain of the study’s door, the two halves of me do battle. Why can’t I just let this go, let the past stay in the past? It’s none of my business. But isn’t it my business? Don’t I deserve to know the truth? What does it matter now, anyway?

I yelp as the door opens. My father blinks at me in surprise, then smiles. “I knew someone was out here,” he says, waving me inside, “but I figured it was Sebastian with some well-rehearsed defense of your relationship.” He resumes his seat in one of two armchairs before the sleek flat screen. Pointing toward the other chair, he continues, “He’d be wasting his time, of course. I already approve, as I said at dinner.”

I sit across from him and stare at my knees. My mind is a pinwheel of flashing contradictions.

“Okay,” he sighs, “out with it. You’ve been stewing since Nona’s birthday. I assume it’s about Abagail?”

He sounds tired. Resigned. It blows the lid off my lingering resentment. Anger courses through me, bringing singular clarity to my thoughts. Lifting my gaze, I don’t bother hiding my pain.

“Why?” I ask tightly.

He looks at the dark television screen. “I’ve been waiting quite a few years for this conversation, ever since I realized you were outside my office that night.” At my obvious startlement, he smiles slightly. “Remember those mints your mom loved? Your pockets must have been full of them because I found three on the floor just outside the door. That, and I’m smart for an old guy.”

Though I’m surprised by this revelation, it doesn’t change anything. Doesn’t dim my need to know—to understand.

“Then explain it to me,” I demand. “I’ve spent my adult life since that moment believing true love is a fucking lie. If there’s a way to make your cheating on Mom while she was dying anything other than a massive, unforgivable betrayal, then tell me now.”

He doesn’t look at me. “I can’t, Candace. Not to the extent that would appease you.”

“Try.”

His eyelashes flutter closed. He’s silent for close to a minute, then sighs. “Your mom and Abigail had been best friends since college. And before you ask—no, nothing ever happened between Abigail and me over the years. I never once looked at her as anything but a friend. In the ways that matter, that never changed. Yes, I betrayed Delilah with my body, but despite what you heard that night, I never betrayed her with my heart.”

“Goddamnit, Dad!” I explode. “Tell me why!”

“Delilah wanted us to.”

The whole universe stops.





29





“What?” I choke out.

At long last, he looks at me, the grief in his eyes so deep and wide it’s like staring into the origin of heartache. It makes my own eyes well. I blink, my vision clearing in time to watch a tear roll down my father’s face.

“To this day, your mother is the most generous, selfless person I’ve ever met. She planted the seed, separately, in both Abigail and me. Then she watered it and watched it grow. It made her happy to see us learning to care for each other. I think it gave her hope that we’d be okay when she was gone. There’s no way I can explain it, justify it… but that’s the God’s honest truth.”

I wipe my eyes roughly. “I don’t believe you,” I whisper, shaking my head. “No way. She loved you too much.”

His smile, so broken and sad, shows me clearly the unhealed crack in his heart. “Perhaps that was the problem. We loved each other too much. Initially, I did it because she wanted me to. I was insane with grief, waiting for the bomb that would end my world.”

He rubs his eyes; when they lift, they’re red and… old. I’ve never seen him look so old. “For the briefest time, Abigail helped soften my pain. But she was a Band-Aid, not a cure. Giving in to the request was the biggest mistake of my life, and the betrayal destroyed me. There were times after Delilah passed that the only reason I kept living was for you kids.”

I fall back in the chair, my hands over my face. A sob tries to wiggle up my throat but I force it down. “This is unreal. I can’t even process this.”

“Let me ask you something, Candace—given what I’ve just told you, does it seem out of character for your mother?”

I see her so clearly in my mind’s eye. Long, unbound hair, tinkling bracelets, and paint-smeared t-shirts. She’d been a hippie in her youth, exceedingly liberal on all fronts. My refined, businessman father and his free-spirited, artistic wife had been Opposites Attract personified.

But regardless of their differences, there’s no doubt in my mind—when I pause and look past the confusion and pain of her final years—that what they had was wholly remarkable. Their love for each other and for their children permeated my young life. It was the main reason the perceived betrayal was so devastating for me.

Can I imagine my mom finding joy in seeing her husband with another woman?

Yes—goddamnit all—I can.

I finally answer my father’s question. “No, it doesn’t seem out of character. I… I believe you.” My voice is thick with emotion. “Does anyone else know?”

“Only you and Nona, who had the misfortune in those early months of reminding me daily why I should stay alive.”