Forgotten in Death(108)

He straightened, reached for his wife’s hand as she perched on the arm of his chair.

“I was terrified and saw my life going up in smoke. We talked about choices, but in her heart, from her upbringing and beliefs, she didn’t have a choice. So, we’re going to have a baby.”

He pressed his wife’s hand to his cheek.

“What did your family say?” Eve asked him.

“Nothing. They didn’t know. I never told them about Johara. My business and fuck them.”

“Bolt.”

“That’s how I felt about everything back then. They wanted me back in New York, working sites or a desk. Carrying on the Singer legacy.”

He dragged his hands through his hair. “I wanted none of that. I wanted music, the stage. And Johara.

“We were going to get married. She said she needed to go back to London first. She needed to talk to her parents. She needed their blessing. I needed their blessing, after she’d spoken to them. I can tell you I didn’t want that. I fought that. We fought.”

He blew out a breath. “We made up long enough to exchange vows—not legal, which I didn’t want anyway. Who needs a contract? That’s all bullshit.”

He breathed out, then scrubbed his hands over his face. “Young and stupid, and selfish. I was so goddamn selfish. But we had a little ceremony, just the two of us. I didn’t realize she’d done that to soften leaving. She left me a note and said she had to do the right thing for her family, for the baby, for our future.”

“When was that?”

“Ah…” He set the brandy aside, pressed his fingers to his eyes. “In April. April of 2024. She was, um, about four months along. Just starting to show. And I don’t know, maybe she panicked a little. We weren’t going to be able to keep it just our thing much longer.”

“What did you do?”

“I was so mad. I tried calling her, but she didn’t answer. I thought about going after her, but, Christ, I didn’t have the money. And I didn’t know where her parents lived. I waited. I worked, took gigs, wrote really bad songs. I didn’t hear from her until June, more than a month. I was out of my mind, pissed off with it, and I get a letter. An actual letter.”

He took another moment, leaning in when his wife stroked his hair.

“She told me she was sorry and she loved me, but our love was selfish. She’d disgraced her family and I’d cut myself off from mine. How could we give a child a good, loving life? She had to do what was best and right for the baby, so she was going to a quiet place where her parents wouldn’t be disgraced, dishonored. And she was giving the baby to a loving family so the child we made so recklessly would have a good, safe, and happy life. She asked me to forgive her, asked me to reconcile with my family as she had with hers. Not to give up my music, to be true to myself but find a way to respect and honor my parents.”

He looked back at Eve. “What did I do? Nothing. She broke my heart, but more, she closed the pieces of it off. I got drunk—a lot. Missed gigs, lost work, wallowed, and raged. I pulled it back together after a while, telling myself the hell with her. I got work and I wrote, but I couldn’t get it back. By the next summer, I was dead broke. Seriously broke, mostly busking for loose change. When I pawned my guitar, I knew it was over, so I stuck out my thumb and I rode it home.”

“You never told your family about Johara?”

“No. I’d had the pride kicked out of me, my heart broken, but that was mine. That part of my life was mine. I fell in line, went to work for the company, learned the ropes. I guess it’s in the blood, because I had a knack for it. But I stayed sad and mad—really clung to that sad and mad—under the show. Until I met Lilith.”

“Sad eyes.” She leaned over to kiss the top of his head. “You had such sad eyes back then.”

“You knew about Johara,” Eve said.

“Bolt told me everything before he asked me to marry him. She was wrong to leave the way she did, but…”

“Do you still have the letter she wrote?” Eve asked.

“I kept it a long time. Years. To remind me love was a lie, dreams were illusions. That’s how I felt until Lilith. I showed her the letter when I told her about Johara, the baby, then I balled it up and threw it away.”

“I … I have it. I’m sorry, Bolt, I pulled it out of the trash and kept it. I thought maybe one day, when the child grew up, they might want to know you, find you. And I know the letter hurt you, but it was loving toward the child you’d made. She was so young and trying to do what she believed was best. So I kept it.”

“You kept it.” He pulled her down into his lap, pressed his face to her shoulder. “I loved her, I loved the baby we’d started, but Lilith, you’re the world.”

“Could I have it?” Eve asked. “Make a copy of it?”

Lilith stroked Bolt’s hair. “Will it help?”

“It may.”

“I’ll get it. I’m so sorry.” She lifted Bolton’s face, touched her lips to his. “We’re going to get through this, but I’m so sorry.”

Still holding him, Lilith looked at Eve. “It wasn’t his mother. I know her. I met Bolt because I worked for her foundation. She would never have been a part of this. If she’d known, if she’d found out after it happened, she would have gone to the police.”