A Father for Philip
Page 19
“‘Dad.
“‘P.S. The photos of him that got lost are in the attic in a black painted wooden box in the shadows under the eaves where you wouldn’t easily see them. I guess my grandson deserves to at least know what is father looked like, but I didn’t want you mooning over them.’”
Eleanor let the paper fall to the floor, and turned to walk slowly out of the house, as if sleeping. David went after her, and when Philip would have followed, he heard Kathy say, “No, dear. Let your parents have a few minutes alone.”
Eleanor knelt beside her bed, her face buried in the covers, her mind a total blank. David stood beside her, his hand on her hair, not speaking, when her shoulders began heaving in deep sobs that tore from her, he picked her up and held, her sitting in the big chair, letting the storm run its course.
“He stole all those years from us.”
“You see why I couldn’t tell you?”
“I see why you thought you couldn’t. But you must have despised him, too, when you found out we were alive, as much as I do at this moment. Or did you think I was part of the deception, too?”
“For a very short time, yes. Until Philip told me that Grant said you were in love with a ghost. Then I knew it had been George and him alone. I don’t hate him anymore, darling, and I don’t want you too, either. Hate is bad for the soul, and he said he’d fight.”
“He said he’d win, too. He almost did, David! He almost did!”
“Almost wasn’t close enough. He didn’t win and if I had remembered his saying that, if I had taken it seriously enough to give it credence, I would have checked. I should have. I’ll never forgive myself for not doing it.”
“No… You had a letter from him… I had no proof, no reason to believe that you were dead. I should’ve kept on making inquiries, especially after he died. But I’m glad about one thing, David. You weren’t just as lonely as I was all those years. I’m glad, even loving what you thought was just my memory, you found some happiness. Can you tell me what happened to them? To Manuela and Juanita?”
His smile, slow and sweet, curved his mouth. “Remember I told you about Juan Mercado, the man who survived the fall down the cliff, then died after our raft broke up? That he, too, had a pregnant wife? That was… is Manuela. The child is Juanita… His child, Eleanor, not mine. His wife, not mine… Never mine. When I got out of the jungle I went to see her, of course, to tell her how brave Juan had been, how hard he’d tried to get back to her. They were very poor, darling, and I had no one. I became Juanita’s godfather and I helped them financially until Manuela remarried. I kept the picture because I do love my little goddaughter and I am fond of her mother. I never loved her, Eleanor. How could I, when there was you?”
She pulled back from him. “Yet you would have let me go on believing you had loved her, at least lived with her, rather than tell me what Dad had done?”
“You had forgiven me for what you thought was my infidelity, so I didn’t have to tell you anything else. I would rather have had you thinking that than have you as you are now, struggling to keep alive the good memories of your father. I know how much the two of you meant to each other and I wanted to spare you that.”
“Would you have told me… To keep me from marrying Grant?”
He laughed. “I would never have had to. From the time I first met him, I knew you would never marry him.”
“Then why did you look so terribly stricken when I told you I was getting a divorce?”
“Because I knew then I would have to tell you about your father, and I didn’t know if you’d believe me without proof. I destroyed the letter. Who wants something like that lying around?”
“I would’ve believed you, David,” she said, looking up into his eyes, her own full of love. “I will always believe you.”
For a long time there was silence in their house until the shuffling of small sneakered feet in the doorway disturbed the two in the chair. They did not, however, look up until they heard an overload, piping voice saying with disgust, “Aw, come on, Casey! Let’s go play! All those two want to do is kiss!”
David and Eleanor both laughed. “Get used to it, son!” David called. “It’s going to be happening a lot.”
Philip came back and gave his parents a long, level look. “But you still love me, huh?”
Eleanor snatched him into an embrace. “I love you, all right! I absolutely adore you.” She dotted his face with kisses until he giggled helplessly, then passed him over to his father.
David took the squirming little boy onto his lap, cuddled him close and said, “I love you just as much as your mom does. I always have. I always will.” He kissed Philip’s cheeks, ruffled his hair, and squeezed him tight. “And now, I’m waiting. I haven’t heard it yet from you.”
For a moment, Philip looked mildly puzzled, then beamed. “I love you, Dad! I love you more than… more than…”
He seemed at a loss for a comparison. David helped out. “More than gooey burgers and fries?”
“Yeah, that. I love you as much as I love Mommy.” His lips pursed for a second. “Mom,” he firmly corrected himself, then calling his dog, ran outside.
David drew Eleanor close again. “Do you want another one small enough to call you Mommy?”
“Yes, please,” she said. “I think I want at least three more.”
“What? All at once, like Kathy and Bill? I better get busy building cradles.”
Eleanor kissed him. “One at a time, my love. One at a time.”
He grinned and glanced at the open bedroom door. “That lock still work?”
It did.
The End
Dear Reader,
I hope you’ve enjoyed this story and will take the time to drop a note to judyggill@gmail.com to let me know. (Even if you didn’t like it, I’ll be happy to hear from you). I strive to respond to every email I get and answer as many questions as I can. I’d appreciate it if you would take a few minutes of your time to write a brief review to post on Amazon and help others decide if they want to try my work.
For a list of other Judy Griffith Gill titles available in electronic format, please visit
This story has been rewritten and adapted by the author. The earlier version, entitled “The Other Side of the Hill”, was originally published in the U.K. by Robert Hale, Ltd.
Judy Griffith Gill has been writing for most of her adult life. She and her husband divide their time between their home on the Caribbean shore of Costa Rica, and the small cabin-cruiser they keep as a live-aboard in British Columbia. When in BC, they spend a great deal of time anchored in or traveling between quiet coves and inlets. They have two beautiful, grown daughters, two handsome sons-in-law, and three grandchildren.