Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 100275 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 501(@200wpm)___ 401(@250wpm)___ 334(@300wpm)
I glance around the room, wringing my hands. It’s a modest home with outdated walls covered in wood paneling and light-blue floral wallpaper. Water stains on the popcorn ceiling. Dusty rose carpet.
“Can I hug you?”
My gaze flicks back to him and his hopeful expression. It’s endearing and one more thing that knocks me off kilter.
I chuckle and nod, fighting a wave of emotion.
He hugs me. “We were at Samantha’s funeral,” he says before releasing me. His voice breaks when he says her name.
“Why didn’t you introduce yourselves?”
Waylon returns a sad smile. “We weren’t supposed to exist in your life any longer.”
“Oh my goodness.”
I turn toward the woman’s fluttery voice.
Her trembling hand covers her mouth, eyes a blue-gray, face blotched with age spots and creased with wrinkles, white hair matted on the side like she’s been napping. “How?” she asks as if it takes all the oxygen in the room to say that one word.
Before I can answer, she throws her bony arms around me. “You’re such a beautiful young woman.”
“You must be Aubrey.” Keeping my arms around her, I lift my hand to wipe away a stray tear.
“Please, sit down.” Waylon gestures to the living room. “We don’t mean to overwhelm you. It’s just—”
Aubrey releases me and pulls a wadded tissue from her pocket to blot her teary eyes.
I shake my head before sitting on the sofa while they sit in rocking chairs on the opposite side of a faded wood coffee table. “Don’t apologize. I can’t believe I’m here either.” I nervously rub my hands over my jeans. “I’m still processing recent revelations. I thought Samantha was my mom.”
They nod slowly with sympathetic smiles.
“And I thought my father worked at NASA and died when I was really young.”
Again, they nod.
This is harder than I thought it would be. Am I angry that, even now, they’re not sharing everything with me? Or do I admire them for keeping some vow to protect me at all costs? “I haven’t decided if it’s fate or life just being life. But I’m a travel psych nurse, and I took an assignment at a hospital in San Bernardino.” I pause for their reactions.
The change in their expressions tells me everything—they know where their son’s staying.
“I stumbled upon the truth. He—my father—knew me before I knew him.” After another pause, I open my mouth to say more, to tell them exactly how I figured it out. But those details don’t matter. They aren’t necessary anymore. Only one thing matters to me now. “Can I ask why you’ve never visited him?”
Aubrey frowns, again blotting the corners of her eyes while looking at Waylon.
He leans forward, hands folded between his spread legs. “We did, shortly after the trial.” Reaching for Aubrey’s hand, he squeezes it. “He was unrecognizable. When we looked into his eyes, there was nothing there. That’s when we realized we didn’t only lose Annie and the baby that day; we lost our son too. Reporters were harassing us. Our car was vandalized. Bricks were thrown into three windows of our house, and our front tree was set on fire. So we moved. We didn’t change our names like Samantha and you, but we also weren’t protecting an innocent child.”
Swallowing hard, I clear my throat. “You said you lost Annie and the baby. What baby?”
They eye each other for a beat. “Annie was six months pregnant.” Aubrey sniffles.
After the past two weeks, I’m not sure I have any tears left to cry, but my body tries anyhow.
“How is he?” Aubrey asks.
I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes. “He has good days and bad days. I don’t know if he’ll ever live on his own again, but he’s kind, charming, and smart on the good days. He reads so many books when he’s not too heavily medicated.” As the words leave my mouth, I think of Fitz and his voracious consumption of books. “He likes to garden too. I don’t remember him. I barely remember the man I thought was my father. But Dwight is a gentle soul who experienced something unimaginable. Before the connection between us was made, I was drawn to him. And if I don’t get an extension on my time at his facility, it will be hard to leave.”
“Will you visit him when you’re no longer there? Do you think of him as your father?” Waylon asks.
“Do you still think of him as your son?”
Tension pulls at his eyes. “We haven’t seen him in over twenty years.”
“I know. But do you still think of him as your son?”
Again, a look is exchanged. Then they nod.
I smile. “I think of him as my father, even if I still don’t know how I feel about it. And he knows I’m his daughter. He knew it way before I did.”
Aubrey wipes more tears. “Would he recognize us?”