These Tangled Vines(90)

“Please don’t say that, Dad. I never wanted you to die.” I stared down at our joined hands and tried to see through my anger to what he had just confessed. I thought about his fears and insecurities and began to feel the first small traces of forgiveness, like one or two isolated raindrops that made you look to the sky before a downpour.

“I was selfish,” he admitted. “I know it, and I wish now that I could go back. If I could, I would tell you to go to Italy and learn where you came from. I would tell you to follow your heart. I swear, that’s all I want for you. I want you to be happy, even apart from me, because I couldn’t bear it if you stopped loving me.”

I bent forward and kissed the back of his hand. “I’ll never stop loving you, Dad. You were a good father to me.”

“Except for this.”

I nodded. “Except for this.”

Total forgiveness was not going to be easy. This much I knew. It was going to take some effort, but it was better than the alternative, which would leave me hating my father and resenting him. I couldn’t live like that. I didn’t want to feel anger in my thoughts for the rest of my life. I wanted to wake up in the morning and feel blissful at the sight of the sunrise. I wanted to feel grateful for the kind father who raised me, who had made me feel loved.

We sat in silence for a moment. After a while, I sat back and pondered everything I now knew about both of my fathers.

“I have a question,” I said, wiping away the last of my tears. “How did you know about the promise Anton made to Mom? How did you know that he would keep the secret, even from me? Did she tell you that?”

“No,” he replied, “we never spoke about Anton after the accident. It was as if it never happened. She never mentioned him or talked about Tuscany again.”

“Then I don’t get it. How did you know?”

He paused, as if considering whether he should answer the question. “Years ago, when you were still a baby, I asked one of the night nurses to go through your mother’s desk and see if there were any letters from Tuscany. She found a half-written letter to Anton, and she showed it to me.”

I wanted desperately to understand. “You didn’t try to talk to Mom about it?”

“No,” he replied. “I was afraid that if she opened up to me, it would be like opening a floodgate. She would tell me the truth—that she loved him and wanted to be with him—and I would have no choice but to let her go.”

All at once, I realized the consequences of the secrets we had kept from each other. My parents had never really known each other on a soul-deep level, not since my father’s accident. They had lived in a constant state of denial and had hidden everything from each other.

Where did that leave me now that everything was out in the open?

I stood up and paced around the room.

“What will you do?” Dad asked, watching me intently, nervously. He pressed the button on the bed to raise himself to a more upright sitting position.

“I’m not sure,” I replied. “I just found out I inherited a fortune, and I have a half brother and sister and other family members living in London. My head is still spinning.”

Dottie appeared in the doorway just then. She held a Mickey Mouse mug and was bobbing a tea bag up and down on the end of a string. “So spill the beans, Fiona. I want to hear everything. Did you see the queen at Piccadilly Circus? Or William and Kate at Harrods?”

I gave Dad a look, then responded to Dottie’s question. “No, because I didn’t go to London. I went to Italy.”

“Italy.” She looked bewildered. “But I thought the conference was in London.”

I strode toward her. “It’s a long story. Why don’t you come in and sit down with us? We’ll tell you everything. Won’t we, Dad.”

He nodded as she entered the room.



I was up early the following morning and found Dad in front of the computer in the den, surfing the internet. Dottie was off, and Jerry was in the kitchen.

“Good morning,” I said, still in my pajamas and slippers. I took a seat on the sofa under the window.

“Good morning,” Dad replied, turning his motorized chair around to face me. “I was just doing some research.”

“About what?”

“Wineries in Tuscany. Maurizio Wines in particular.”

I understood the magnitude of what he was telling me, because I knew how he had always given images of Italy a wide berth. They did not evoke pleasant memories for him.

“And?”

“And I think you have just become a very rich woman.”

I tipped my head back and looked up at the ceiling. “Yes, I have, and I still can’t believe it. Now that I’m back here, it doesn’t even seem real. It feels like a dream.”

Dad wheeled himself closer. “But it’s not a dream. You are the daughter of a very successful businessman.”

“That may be true,” I replied, meeting his gaze. “But I am also the daughter of a strong and brave survivor who beat all the odds that were stacked against him.”

“I survived because I was selfish,” Dad replied.

“In some ways, but not all. You weren’t acting selfishly when you looked at me like I was the best thing that ever happened to you. You made me feel special and loved. That’s what I want to remember, Dad. It’s what I need to focus on.”