A Delicate Truth

by McKnight, Zoe

  It is Friday afternoon at 1:45 PM and I’m sitting in the parking lot of the Max & Grant Steakhouse in Pennsylvania. It’s the same restaurant where Dylan and I shared our first meal. After which, it became a special place for us, not only because of its sentimental value, but because it was secluded, away from the fray, someplace we could go without worry of being seen. Today I’m seeing it in a new light; it looks bleak and run down.

  Seems appropriate that it’s raining so hard. I welcome the sound of the heavy drops on my windshield; it’s breaking the loud silence within my car. To say that I’m scared is an understatement. I haven’t heard a peep out of Dylan since I was pregnant, not since he’d threatened to tell Vaughn that Morgan was his. I lived in fear for months and it wasn’t until after she was born that I was finally able to exhale, figuring that if I hadn’t heard from him by then, I would not.

  I can’t imagine why he would wait this long to surface. In hopes of gaining what? Money? Could Dylan ever be reduced to blackmail? From what I’ve seen, mostly in movies, blackmailers seldom take a lump sum and disappear. They’ll keep coming back as long as there’s more where it came from and unfortunately for me, there is. I could probably siphon off a little something from our accounts, but not for long. Vaughn watches our balances closely. He doesn’t trust anyone completely, sadly, not even me.

  God, what have I gotten myself into? And what if it’s not money that he wants? But maybe it won’t have to get that far. My plan is denial. There’s no way he can know for sure. Without a DNA test there’s no way of knowing, and I would lay down and die before I allowed anyone to swab my daughter.

  He taps loudly on my window. I jump. How did I not see him approaching? Damn Blair, pull it together.

  I roll the window down. It’s the first time I’ve seen him in almost two years. He looks the same, only older, but not due to any wrinkles or gray hairs. It’s his eyes. There’s something in his eyes that looks aged. They’re dull, void of the gleam they’d always had. Am I to blame for this?

  “Hey,” he says, his voice is equally as flat as his expression. “Let’s go inside.”

  I shake my head. “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You expect me to stand here in the rain and talk to you?”

  I will not step foot inside that restaurant. Just the sight of it is making me ill. At the same time, I don’t know anywhere else we can speak in private. I could let him in my car. I can’t imagine the conversation will be long, but the thought of him sitting in the same seat where Vaughn has been, disturbs me.

  “We can talk in your car,” I say.

  I see his frustration, but I don’t care. This was his idea. He’s lucky I’m even here.

  “Okay, c’mon.”

  I follow him to his car. He’s still driving the same Ford Explorer he had when we were together. Although its best years are clearly behind it, it’s pristine inside.

  “So?” I say.

  He looks me up and down and tells me I look good, as if he’s somehow surprised.

  “I am good. And you?”

  “Can’t complain. Other than the fact that I have a daughter who I’ve never seen.”

  Here we go. Blair, remain calm. You can do this. I take a deep breath. “Dylan, let me just start by saying, I know you have reason to believe she’s yours, but she’s not.”

  “No?”

  “No. I got pregnant shortly after Vaughn and I decided to work things out.”

  “Yeah? So when is her birthday?”

  “It doesn’t matter when her birthday is. I know when and by who I was pregnant, okay?”

  “Do you?”

  “Yes! I do. What do you take me for? Some teenager who doesn’t know who her child’s father is?”

  “That’s funny.”

  “Yeah, why?”

  He leans over and reaches into the backseat. He grabs his satchel and retrieves a magazine. The W magazine. That fucking magazine! I had prayed that by some remote chance he hadn’t seen it.

  “This is why.”

  My heart is in my throat. “And what’s that have to do with anything?”

  He tosses it in my lap. “Look at it. Page forty-eight.”

  I fling it back at him. “I don’t need to look at it, I’m in it.”

  “You’re in it all right. You, your husband and your little girl—our little girl.”

  “She’s not yours, Dylan.”

  “Strange, ‘cause the resemblance is uncanny—”

  “I don’t care what you think, I know what it is and she’s not yours. I didn’t appreciate your threats when I was pregnant and I don’t appreciate them now.”

  “Who’s threatening you?”

  “What do you want from me?”

  “To be a part of my daughter’s life.”

  “What daughter, Dylan? I told you already, she’s not yours!”

  “C’mon Blair, let’s get past the bullshit. We both know the truth. If she wasn’t mine, you wouldn’t even be here right now. How is it that I call you up out of the blue, ask to see you and days later you show up. You’re here because you know I’m her father and you’re afraid that if you didn’t show I’d tell Vaughn everything. And then your perfect little world will fall apart.” He leans in close to me, his nose inches from mine. “You forget that I know you. I know you so well and I know when you’re lying.”

  Tears well up in the corners of my eyes. I turn away. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Doing this? Doing what, Blair? I just want to see my daughter. Is that so wrong?”

  “She’s not yours,” I cry.

  He grips my arm. “Stop the shit, Blair! Just stop it. I could’ve fucked you over two years ago if I wanted. And I didn’t. You remember that.”

  “I’m sorry … I’m so sorry for everything that happened. I told you that, but doing this is not going to change anything. Please … please, just leave well enough alone.”

  He grips his steering wheel at two and ten and exhales. “All I want is to see my daughter. I’m not trying to hurt you.”

  “But, why? Why now? She doesn’t even know you. You’re just going to cause a lot of pain.”

  “Pain? Pain for who?”

  “For everyone. For me, for Vaughn, for Morgan.”

  “You don’t think she has a right to know who her real father is?”

  “Vaughn is the only father she knows. Dylan, please. Please, I’m begging you, don’t do this.”

  He laughs. “That’s funny, ‘cause when I said those same exact words to you, you blew me off, told me your mind was made up. Well, guess what? So is mine. I want to see my daughter. End of story. Make it happen.”

  “What are you saying?” I wipe my tears on my sleeve. “You want me to tell Vaughn everything and then what? You just take over as her father? How is that supposed to work? Don’t you see what you’re asking of me?”

  “For now, I just want to see her,” he says. “We’ll figure out the rest as we go along.”

  “As we go along? What does that mean?”

  “You make some arrangement for me to see her next week.”

  “And just who am I supposed to say you are? She’s just a baby—”

  “I want to see her. And not in some magazine, in person.”

  “I don’t know how to even—”

  “You’re a big girl, you’ll figure it out.” He turns the key in the ignition.

  “Dylan, please just think about what you’re asking me to do.”

  “Oh, I’ve done nothing but think for the last two years. I’m done thinking.” He shifts the gear into drive. “I’ve got to go. I’ll call you next week so we can schedule a day and time. Now you make sure and get home safely in this rain.”

  I look at him, giving him the most pitiful and sympathetic face I can muster. He meets my eyes with a cold glare.

  ELEVEN

  Almost a week to the day, I’m at the Bronx Zoo in the Butterfly Garden with Morgan. Thank goodness she’s asleep in her stroller. I�
�ve already picked away the polish on three of my fingernails, my palms are damp and I can feel the sweat dripping down my sides. I look at my watch. It’s exactly a quarter to eleven. I made sure to get here early, so I would see him before he saw me. It’s a Monday morning, so we’re the only two people here. I’m hoping the overcast skies and threat of showers keep people at bay. I can’t take the chance of being seen here with him. The zoo had been my idea; it needed to be a place which was child-friendly, and public enough that I could get lost in the crowd, yet private enough to suit his purpose.

  I watch him enter the garden. He smiles and approaches tentatively. Oh, now he wants to be apprehensive.

  “Hi,” he says, his eyes glued to Morgan, “so this is her?”

  I nod.

  “She’s beautiful.”

  “Yeah, she is,” I say.

  “How long has she been sleeping? I mean, will she wake soon?”

  “I don’t know, she didn’t say when she’d be up.”

  He looks at me with annoyance, then kneels before her and studies her face, as if he’s trying to see how accurate the photos were, asking himself, if she really does look like him? Unfortunately, she does. She has his nose and his chestnut brown eyes. She looks the most like him when she laughs, when the corners of her mouth curl up and her nose wrinkles. There is no denying, to anyone who knows him, that she is his child.

  “Wow. Look at that face. I can’t believe it. I have a daughter.”

  I cringe.

  Thankfully she’s in a deep sleep and doesn’t stir at all. I made a point of waking her up especially early this morning, then tired her out in the pool, knowing that by now she would be spent.

  “So…” He sits beside me on the bench. “Now what?”

  “Now you’ve seen her. That’s what you wanted, right?”

  “I want to see her when she’s awake, I want to hear her voice—”

  “Well she could be asleep for a long time, her naps usually last for hours, and I can’t stay here all day.”

  “Well, hopefully next time—”

  Is he fucking crazy?

  “Next time? There won’t be a next time. You asked to see her, you have, and now it’s done.”

  He’s incredulous. “Did you really think I’d be satisfied with a ten minute visit? She’s my flesh and blood, Blair.”

  “Listen,” I say. “You know the deal here. I am married, and she has a father. You need to accept that, because this here is a one shot deal. I’m not pulling my baby into some twisted web of lies. Vaughn is her father, end of story. You saw her and now it’s over.” I whip down the stroller shade, grab my purse and stand.

  He snatches my wrist. “Sit back down. This is way far from over. You want to talk about lies? You, the same woman who was sleeping with me for over a year while you were married. The same woman who told her husband that the baby she was carrying was his. You have a lot of balls talking about lies. Your whole fucking life is a lie.”

  “Get off of me.” I flick my wrist. “Don’t you stand here and judge me. You’re the same one who preyed on this married woman. You didn’t care about Vaughn or my marriage when you were sleeping with me, so don’t get all self-righteous now like you’re somehow the victim. You knew the deal. And now you give a damn? Now, after all this time, you want to see your daughter? If you really cared, I would’ve heard from you way back then. But no, you wait until she’s in a magazine spread to remember that she’s yours. What the hell do you want, Dylan? You want money?” I reach inside my bag and pull out my wallet. “Well, then state your price and let’s get on with this.”

  “Money? You think that’s what this is about? Damn, you haven’t changed. Everything is about money with you. You’re something else.” He looks at me with repulsion. “No, I don’t want any of Vaughn’s money. But you do, which is why you’re going to continue to let me see her, because if you don’t, I’m going to tell him everything. Everything, Blair. Way back to day one. So, you chew on that Mrs. Hill and let me know what you decide.”

  A horn blares behind me. The driver shoots me a dirty look as he passes on my left. I must have been sitting at this light forever. I squint through swollen lids and drive until I see that familiar pink and orange sign just straight ahead. I make a sharp right turn into the Dunkin Donuts parking lot and steer my SUV in between two parked cars. I fish around my glove compartment for napkins. No sooner than I can dab at my eyes and wipe my face, fresh new tears come rolling down my cheeks.

  Who was that man? Certainly not the Dylan I once knew. The sensitive, easy-going soul I’d fallen in love with. He looked at me as if he hates me. I knew I’d hurt him when I told him my plans to work things out with Vaughn, but I figured he’d be sad, heart-broken even and eventually, as all people do, get over it. Could he have been sitting and waiting all this time for the perfect moment to pounce on me? Were the pictures in the magazine just the trigger? Maybe seeing how happy we all looked pushed him over the edge and now he’s vowed to settle the score.

  Think Blair, think. My first instinct is to acquiesce and give him what he wants, anything to keep him from telling Vaughn. But one, two, even three visits won’t satisfy him. He’ll only want to see her more and then what? She’s young now, too young to understand, but day by day she’s becoming more aware of her surroundings and faces and names. Soon she’ll wonder who he is and why he’s around. No, if I give in I’m only digging my own grave. But, if I put my foot down . . . everything I’ve worked so hard for will fall apart.

  Dr. Lane once told me that fear is fed by the unknown and that if you were to envision the worst-case scenario, you’ll realize it’s often not as bad as it seems. So, I try to address my fears head-on, to see if she’s right. I let it all play out in my mind. What I want to believe is that Vaughn will understand, that he’d forgive me and we’d figure out how to fix this. But the jaded, glass-is-half-empty side of me sees something altogether different. I see Vaughn filing divorce papers, I hear my attorney telling me that my prenup entitles me to nothing. I picture myself coming home to find all of my fine things gone and to learn that I’ve been locked out with only the clothes on my back. And then where would I go? To my mother’s house? The same house Vaughn bought. Or to Norah’s? So she could laugh in my face before telling my niece that she’ll have to drop out of the ivy-league university Vaughn is paying for. Meanwhile, he’d be back at home removing all remnants of me. He’d sign the divorce papers and start anew. Probably even remarry before the ink was dry. Insert new wife here. And that new wife would reap the benefits of all my sacrifice and hard work. The new and improved Vaughn would be faithful to her. They wouldn’t need years of therapy and expensive gifts to cement a happy marriage.

  Just the thought of it makes me shudder. So much for Dr. Lane’s theory. I only feel worse. I’m imagining all kinds of horrible repercussions, and the worst of them all has to do with my daughter. What would become of her? Once it’s proven that she’s Dylan’s, would Vaughn disown her? Could he love her enough to keep her in his life?

  I was terrified of rumors and of the seeds Norah planted in Vaughn’s head, but neither of those compare to the horror of this moment.

  TWELVE

  “Where is Vaughn? He didn’t come?” my mother asks. “You did invite him, didn’t you?”

  I didn’t. I’d completely forgotten it was my mother’s birthday until last night. If Ashley hadn’t texted me, I would have been without a clue. My mind is in shambles. I’m unable to focus on anything for more than a moment. Yesterday I poured orange juice into my coffee, last night I left the car running in the garage and this morning I put two different shoes on Morgan’s feet. If Maritza didn’t point out that my baby was wearing two left shoes I’d have been none the wiser.

  “He couldn’t make it. Had a meeting, but he says ‘happy birthday,’” I say, then kiss her on her cheek and hand her a pink envelope. In it is the card I bought at CVS ten minutes ago along with the four-figure check I just scribbled in the drivewa
y.

  “Thanks, my love,” she says and places the card, unopened, in a basket on top of her kitchen table. “Tell him I said, ‘thank you.’”

  She kneels and opens her arms wide, Morgan’s invitation to hug her grandma.

  I peek through the window curtain.

  “Who else did you invite?” The table in her backyard is set for seven or eight people. A blessing and a curse. The more folks in attendance, the less contact I’ll have with my sister. But at the same time, I’m not in the mood for my mother’s friends.

  She sets Morgan on the countertop, opens the refrigerator and pulls out two ice pops then holds them up before her. “Which one, Baby?”

  Morgan points an enthusiastic finger at the purple one, which my mom unwraps and hands to her.

  “You’re going to ruin her appetite.”

  “Oh, whatever, it’s just ice.”

  “So?”

  “So, what?”

  “Who else is coming?”

  “Well, Norah and Ashley… Loretta and her girls—” The doorbell rings. “That’s them. Can you get that? I have to get the rest of these appetizers ready.”

  I take a deep breath before I open the door. Lord, please grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change…

  My stilted smile warms when I’m greeted by my niece.

  “Ash!” I hug her tightly. “Look at you, gorgeous lady!”

  She blushes and lowers her head. “Oh, Aunt Blair.”

  I hold her hands, step back and drink her in. She looks so much like Norah did at her age, only Ashley has the fresh-faced exuberance of a typical twenty-one year old, unlike that solemn scowl Norah had developed by her twenty-first birthday.

  “Love the hair!” I say.

  “Thanks! Mom doesn’t like it.”

  “I never said that, I just think it’s a bit bright.” Sure enough, there’s my sister standing behind Ashley in the doorway, with an armful of grocery bags.

  “That’s the point, Mom. They’re called highlights.” Having heard their voices, Morgan comes racing out of the kitchen towards us. Ashley scoops up her little cousin, leaving me alone with Norah.