“True.” Kyle grinned. “I’m happy for you guys. I mean, if you have to get married and go all domestic on me, you couldn’t have picked a better woman.”
Zane pulled out his phone. “I want something like this.”
“It’s a beauty. Text me that photo,” Kyle said. “I have a guy. He can find one for us.”
“You have a guy?”
“I have a guy for everything,” Kyle said. “That’s how I roll.”
“How long will it take?”
“A week or so.”
That long? He wanted to make this official as soon as possible, but if it meant they found the perfect ring, then so be it.
Kyle narrowed his eyes, watching him. “Why did you ask me instead of Brody or Lance?”
“Because you know what it’s like to have to ask someone for a loan.”
“Amen to that, brother.”
By two that afternoon, the lunch crowd had been satiated and had headed back to the beach or work. Zane was behind the bar, washing glasses when he heard the bell that indicated a customer. He looked up to see a man in a dark suit making his way to the bar.
“I’m looking for Zane Shaw,” he said.
“You’re looking at him.”
“I’m Marshal Ford. Your dad’s attorney.”
They shook hands. “Nice to meet you. I didn’t realize he had an attorney. Have a seat. You want something to drink?”
“No. I won’t be long.” He sat down on the stool Kyle had vacated earlier. “I put together a will for Hugh back when he was first diagnosed. He wanted to make sure there was no issue with turning over the business to you in case he deteriorated quickly.”
“I don’t understand. He gave me access to all his bank accounts when I took over the business and his care,” Zane said. There was no money to leave him.
“Yes, this is just a formality. I have some paperwork for you to sign that makes you the official owner of the building and business. Also, there was an envelope and package he wanted you to have in the event of his death.” He pulled a letter and a small package out of his briefcase and set them on the bar.
Zane didn’t have time to speculate on the contents of either before Mr. Ford had him signing various documents. The attorney explained each as they went along. There was nothing surprising. His dad had made sure everything was easy for him, like he always had. When they were finished, Mr. Ford shook his hand once again. “I’m sorry for your loss. Your father was one of my favorite clients.”
“I appreciate that. Thank you, sir.”
After Mr. Ford left, he slid his finger under the sealed flap of the letter and pulled out a lined piece of paper, yellowed with age.
Dear Zane,
I got the diagnosis today that I have Alzheimer’s. I’ve started forgetting things. Small at first—like what was the special I usually served on Tuesdays. That kind of thing. Lately, however, I’ve gotten confused about how to total a check or use our computer ordering system. My fears were affirmed today.
The doctors told me it’s advancing rapidly. I figured I better write this letter now, in case we don’t have time to talk later.
Over the years, I thought there might come a time when you became curious about your mother. You never asked about her, so I never brought her up, figuring it was better to leave it alone. Thinking back on the type of father I was, I wish I’d been better at talking about feelings. Drawing you into conversation was never my strong suit. I always admired that about Doc and Jackson—how they talked about everything. I’m not a man envious of much, but I suppose that’s an exception.
I’ll get straight to the point here. No reason to beat around the bush. When I knew your mother, she went as Patricia Richardson. It wasn’t until after we were involved that I learned who she really was. Her real name is Patricia Hudson. The Hudson family are old money rich, like the Gettys or the Rockefellers.
The summer I met Patty she had run away from her family to experience life without her father controlling her every more. She was a rich girl on a wild adventure, I guess you’d say. We met when she came into the bar for a beer one afternoon. Looking back, I can see that I was part of her rebellion. She was only nineteen and I was almost thirty. She wanted to have a fling with an older man, and I just happened to fit the bill. We never intended to get pregnant. When we did, I asked her to marry me, but she wouldn’t even think about it. She wanted to get rid of you. I’m sorry to tell you that, but it’s true. I begged her to have you. I promised to raise you without her and never contact her again. She figured the family would cut her out of the will if they knew about you. It sounds strange, given the fact it was the late eighties, but that’s the kind of people they were. She stayed just long enough to have you. Doc Waller delivered you, and she left shortly thereafter.
I’m telling you now because I know at some point you’re going to want to know where you came from. I don’t think she’ll want to hear from you, given the way everything played out, but I don’t know that for sure. I know she could find you if she wanted to, given that we’ve kept the bar all these years. She’s never come looking for you. I’m sorry, son. I wish I could say she was a quality person, but that wouldn’t be the truth.
As I got older, I came to realize I knew less and less about most things. However, I know this. You were the best thing that ever happened to me. You gave my life purpose and meaning. I couldn’t have asked for a better boy or be prouder of the man you’ve become. I know you have bigger dreams than owning a rundown bar in a sleepy town, but I appreciate how you never made me feel like a small man because I wasn’t educated or because I loved running this place on my own terms.
I’m not able to leave you anything but this old bar. I’m sorry for that. Every hour I put into this place was for you. I wanted to leave you the building, so you’d have something to sell. With this disease eating away my brain, I’m not sure there will be anything left after you pay for my care. I was too proud to tell you about your mother’s family, I guess. But now, as I face my own death, I realize you’re owed something from those people. You’re a Hudson. You deserve at least a portion of their fortune.
I kept her parents’ home phone number all these years. When I called recently, I explained to a housekeeper that I was an old friend of Patty’s. She told me she lives in San Diego with her husband. I convinced her to give me her email address. I haven’t contacted her, but I thought you might want to. You have my blessing. [email protected]
Then, there’s another thing. I hope you’re sitting down.
You have a sister. The baby girl Mae gave birth to was mine. Mae and I were in love and planned to marry the minute she divorced Roger Keene, but it was not to be. The bastard killed her. I know it was never proven, but it’s true. We all thought the baby had been killed by Keene, but through a series of circumstances I discovered that wasn’t true. I found Sophie Grace and have been able to see her grow up, albeit from a distance. Recently, I got to see her graduate from high school. She’s beautiful, kind, and smart. I hope someday you two can be a part of each other’s lives.
Her adoptive parents are Micky and Rhona Woods. They live in San Francisco at this address: 124 Wild Roses Lane. Maybe by the time you read this, Sophie Grace will be old enough that you could contact her without causing much trouble. I warn you, though, don’t ever let Roger Keene know who or where she is. He’s not to be trusted. Hopefully the old drunk will be dead by the time you read this, but just in case, I thought I better warn you.
In case you and Sophie ever find each other, I’ve included a package for her. It’s a letter explaining everything that happened as well as some recollections I thought might be meaningful to her if she ever wanted to know anything about me. She might not, of course. But if she does express interest in knowing me, I beg you to give it to her. Not being part of her life was the hardest thing I ever did. It was the only way to keep her safe. As a father, this becomes your first concern, even over your own wishes and desires. Someday, when you’re
a father, you’ll know this. I wish I could see that day. How I wish I could. That and so many other moments. My faith tells me I’ll witness them from above. That belief is the only thing that keeps me from despair.
I suppose this is a lot to take in via a letter. God only knows what you’ve had to do to take care of me by the time you read this letter. I hope you didn’t waste too much time visiting me once the disease took away my memories.
Don’t grieve for me. I’ll be free of pain by the time you read this. I’ll be with Mae and Maggie, waltzing across the golden floors of Heaven.
I love you, my boy. Your devoted father,
Dad
Zane read the letter one more time before putting it back in the envelope. Then, he asked one of the servers to take over behind the bar and went upstairs to find his sister.
When he entered the apartment, he found Sophie sitting in a pool of sunlight by the window. She brushed her wet hair with a soft bristle brush. Her eyes were red and puffy, but she greeted him with her usual bright smile. “How was the lunch crowd?”
He joined her at the window. “Busy.”
“Good.”
“How are you doing?” He caught a whiff of Sophie’s freshly washed hair. With her scrubbed face and no make-up, she looked hardly older than Jubie.
“I’m sad.” Her mother had told him once that to keep feelings tucked away did no one any good. Sophie felt everything. He didn’t think he knew a mentally healthier human being. Rhona and Micky Woods were the ideal parents. Still, Roger Keene had robbed them all in too many ways to count.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here last night.”
“I wanted you to be with Honor,” she said. “And I was fine.”
The letter burned in his pocket. How did he present this to her? First, he would tell her about Jubie and Lavonne, then give her the letter.
“It was good that I went back to her house. We had a little situation over there.” As succinctly as he could, he filled her in on the events of last night.
When he finished his story, she said something surprising. “Lavonne never forgot her because she was good to him when she didn’t have to be. An abused little girl tried to protect a little boy who couldn’t protect himself. It’s easy to be benevolent when your life has been filled with love and abundance. To give kindness to others when no one’s been kind to you—to protect someone else when you’re hurting and scared—this is the measure of a great person.”
He stared at this young adult in front of him, amazed at her wisdom, then pushed his fingers into his closed eyelids, overwhelmed by the truth in her words. Sophie was right. Honor’s fine character had brought her this new burden, this further complication. Now she must find it in herself to love someone else’s child when no one had loved her.
Yet, without your own suffering, it was nearly impossible to understand others’ pain.
“I’m going to marry her,” he said. “We’re going to do this together.”
“I’m happy for you,” Sophie said as tears filled her eyes. “And proud.”
“There’s something else,” he said. “Dad’s attorney came by. He brought some paperwork to sign—some final details about the building and business.” He pulled Sophie’s letter from his pocket. “He also brought letters from Dad. One for me and one for you. In mine, he tells me about you. Everything we guessed is true. He asked me to give this to you if I ever found you.”
Her golden skin had drained of color as he spoke. He handed her the small package. “I’m going to leave you alone to read it. I’ll be in my room. Let me know if you want to talk afterward.”
“Thanks,” she whispered.
He walked across the living room to the hallway to the sound of her opening the package.
In his room, he packed some clothes for an extended stay at Honor’s. An idea had been percolating in his mind about the apartment. He would offer it to Sophie and draw up papers to give her equal share in the business and building. It was right, even though it would mean he had even less to his name than he’d had before. But his dad would want it this way. Plus, there were plans for the brewery. Solid plans. Someday he would have wealth to offer Honor. For now, though, he would own a business with his sister. She could move into the apartment, instead of just staying in the guest room. He would make a family with Honor in the house on top of the hill.
He had just finished packing when there was a knock on his bedroom door. “Come on in,” he said.
Sophie entered. He’d never seen someone cry and smile and the same time. Until now. “It’s all in here. All the times he saw me—wrote them all down in this journal. Dates and times and everything.”
“You’re kidding.”
She flipped to one of the pages. “Listen to this. ‘It’s Mae’s birthday today and I had this overwhelming urge to go see you. So, after I left some flowers on her grave, I drove into the city and parked in front of your school. My plan was just to see you come out of your kindergarten class and not bring attention to myself. I wore sunglasses and a hat and stayed in my truck, but your mother spotted me and sensed something was wrong. She came over to the truck to see if I was all right. You were there, holding her hand and looking up at me with those pretty eyes. When you smiled at me, it just about broke my heart. You’re such a beautiful little girl. You look like Zane when he was your age, only he wouldn’t have been so neat and tidy. By the time school ended for the day, he was usually covered in mud and smelled pretty bad! Anyway, I had the chance to speak to you and hear your voice. That meant more than I could ever say. You told me how happy you are with your mom and dad. I know I made the right decision, but it hurts not to be part of your life. I’ll hold the image of you running out of the playground into your mother’s arms the rest of my life.’ It’s the same story my mom remembers.”
The first time Zane had met Rhona, she’d remembered the story of the sad man in the truck. “I never saw him write a letter in his life,” Zane said. “I’m amazed.”
“There’s tons of entries. He documented each time he saw me. He left a part of himself for me.”
“I’m glad for you.”
“Do you want to read them?” she asked.
“Maybe someday. Right now, I can’t.” He swallowed a sob. “They’re for you anyway.” I got to have him all those years and you didn’t. It was her time now to enjoy a little alone time with their dad.
“If you change your mind, just let me know.”
He told her he was packed up and would head back to work.
“I want to work tonight,” Sophie said. “I need to stay busy.”
“You sure?”
“I’m sure,” she said.
“You really are your father’s daughter.” Zane pulled her into a hug. “I’m sorry you didn’t get to know him. It’s not fair.”
“No, it’s not. But I have this. It’s more than I ever hoped for.”
Zane sat across from Honor in her home office as she read the letter from his dad. It was late afternoon and the sun washed the room in a warm glow. This was the first time he’d spent much time in her office. Like the rest of the house, it was tidy and sparsely decorated with a small desk, loveseat, and coffee table. Various shades of blue mimicked the sea and sky that were visible from the western facing windows behind the desk. He sprawled on the loveseat with his feet on the rectangular ottoman, exhausted after telling her about Sophie’s package and his own letter.
Honor read with her head bent over the letter and her back to the windows. Her shiny hair sparkled in the sunlight. Downstairs Lavonne and Jubie were playing Old Maid. Jubie’s shouts of delight occasionally penetrated the silence.
It hit him then. Lavonne didn’t need a job with Kyle. He could work for them, taking care of Jubie while they worked during the day. Lavonne was familiar to Jubie. She would feel safe with him. Less trauma with less change.
Honor set aside the letter. “Do you think he was right about the Hudsons owing you something?”
Heat rushed
to his face. “Hell no. They’re not my family. I’d rather die than take money from them.”
“Are you going to email her?” Honor asked.
Zane shrugged, pretending he hadn’t thought of it four thousand times in the last hour. “She didn’t want me, so she sure as hell won’t want to hear from me now.”
“Contacting her would be for you, not her.” Honor placed the letter on her desk and smoothed it flat with her hands like a precious piece of silk.
“What do I want from her? She left. End of story.”
“It might give you a sense of closure to meet her. You could ask her some questions. Things you’ve always wanted to know.”
“Would you want to meet your dad if you knew where he was?” Zane asked.
She plucked at the skin above her lip with her fingers. “I don’t think so.”
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want to deal with it. If he’s even still alive, he’s most certainly a dirt bag who would try and get money from me. I’m pretty sure he’s not alive anyway.” Pushing with her feet, she swiveled two inches back and forth in her desk chair. “I had a father. His name was Hugh Shaw.” She burst into tears.
Alarmed, he rose from the couch and pulled her into his arms. He scooped her up and sat on the couch with her on his lap. She collapsed against him and sobbed silently into his chest. Her shoulders shook. His t-shirt dampened with her tears. Finally, she stopped with a sad little hiccup.
“I wish he’d left me a letter,” she said, barely audible.
Of course, she did. How could he be so insensitive? “He didn’t need to, baby. You guys had a bond with or without a letter. It’s plain as day in those photographs.”
“I never got to tell him he was like a father to me.”
“He knew. Yesterday, when he was lucid, it was obvious he knew how you felt about him. I know how he felt about you too. He wanted us to be together. What does that tell you?”
“I guess so.” She let out a long, shuddering sigh.
“He said not to grieve him. That he’s free. We have to hold onto that.”
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