A Family Affair: The Cabin: A Novella (Truth in Lies Book 12)

by Mary Campisi

  Nate stroked her cheek, his voice rough. “Nope.”

  “Exactly.” She leaned on tiptoe, placed a soft kiss on his lips. “There’s nothing but dust and sadness in this place. I don’t know why I thought it might be different.”

  “Now you know.” He took her hand, led her down the hall toward the bedroom. “Let’s check out the rest of the place and then we can get started on Pete’s list. Maybe we can find a little restaurant in the next town on our way home.” He slung an arm around her shoulders and smiled down at her. “Okay?”

  She nodded, walked with him into the bedroom, her gaze settling on the chenille spread. It brought back too many reminders of the lies that had lived below the surface of her family’s existence, pretending normal, stretching into other areas, making them doubt and lose trust. Christine turned away, moved toward the chest of drawers, pulled one open. Nothing but a lint brush and a comb. The second drawer revealed two folded undershirts and a pair of white athletic socks. She picked up the socks, traced the ribbing, wondered if he’d started wearing these when he added flannel to his wardrobe.

  “Christine?”

  There was so much she’d never know about her father.

  “Christine!”

  She swung around, noticed the mattress against the wall, the chenille spread and cream sheets bunched on top of it, the pillows tossed on a chair in the corner. The bed had been stripped of everything but the box spring. “Nate? What are you doing?”

  The dread in those dark eyes turned darker, his voice deeper. “I thought I’d make it easier for Pete to paint. It’s so damn small in here I was worried he wouldn’t have room for a stepstool, let alone a ladder. I figured I’d move the bed to the other side of the room and flip the mattress while I was at it. My mother was always big on mattress rotation.” He held out a hand, tossed several white envelopes onto the box spring. “But I’ll bet she never found anything like these.”

  2

  There were six envelopes. Yellowed, the front of each scrawled with names Nate recognized; Gloria, Harry, Christine, Lily, Miriam, and Nate. He’d bet the new addition on his house that Charles Blacksworth had written the letters, and he’d bet there was some damnable incriminating evidence inside.

  Or a confession. One just as bad as the other.

  Why did people feel the need to unburden themselves by confessing to all sorts of secrets and missteps so those left behind had to deal with the fallout? He scanned the envelope addressed to him. What could Charles Blacksworth possibly have to say to him? Had he asked for forgiveness, or had he taken a more philosophical approach and tossed out terms like karma, finding one’s path, and divine intervention? And Christine? How did a father justify keeping a second family? He did not even want to think about what might be in the letter to Lily or his mother.

  “My father wrote these.” Christine’s voice held a note of awe and reverence, as if the man had drifted from the sky and planted the envelopes under the mattress. She reached for the one addressed to her, fingered the lettering. “I wonder how long they’ve been here.”

  That sounded an awful lot like hope sprinkled with the need to believe the guy might have been about to do the right thing. Yeah, a lot of people were about to do the right thing, but never actually did. It was hard to figure out a man like Charles Blacksworth because people like him were run by fear, duty, and the inability to make a choice.

  And they were most often influenced by others, say, a wife like Gloria Blacksworth. Nate couldn’t control what was in those letters, but he sure as hell could control what happened to them. “There’s only one way to find out.” His wife’s gaze sparked with understanding—and fear. Once the words inside the envelopes escaped, they’d settle in her brain, infiltrate memories, and create doubts that would never go away. “It’s up to you, Christine. You can read them, or you can burn the damn things.”

  She eyed the letters as though they might lunge at her. “These could have been one of the last things he touched.” Sadness smothered her next words, squeezed his heart. “Maybe he planned to return here and mail them. Who knows?” More sadness, this time mixed with despair. “We have to find out when he wrote them.” Tears rimmed her eyes. “It could have been shortly after Lily was born. Maybe he was torn between returning to his life in Chicago and staying in Magdalena, and these letters tell that story.” She sniffed twice, swiped at her cheeks. “Or maybe he wrote them right before he died. What if he came here to clear his head and write what was in his heart?”

  Nate kept his expression bland, his breathing even. What she really meant on the last one was what if the guy suddenly developed a conscience and wanted to do the right thing by everyone. He blew out a quiet breath, forced a nod. “Yeah, who knows?” He’d have to see the damn words before he gave the guy credit for making a tough choice because it was the right thing to do.

  “Will you read them to me? It’ll be easier to handle if you’re reading them.”

  “Sure.” He scooped up the letters and made his way to the other side of the bed. “Come here, babe.” Nate pulled her into his arms, held her against him. “No matter what’s in these envelopes, we’ll get through it together.” He stroked her hair, murmured, “I’ll always be here for you.”

  “I know,” she mumbled against his chest. “Thank you.”

  “Come on.” He pulled away, took her hand. “Let’s go sit in the living room.” He’d known Christine would have to deal with memories of the cabin, but he’d never thought there’d be a land mine waiting for them in the form of six letters. Damn Charles Blacksworth for once again messing with their lives.

  When they were settled on the couch, Christine rested her head on his chest, blew out a tiny breath, and said, “Okay. I’m ready.”

  He pulled her closer, kissed the top of her head. Why couldn’t Charles and Gloria have been like normal parents, loved their daughter, put her needs ahead of their wants? Why did those two have to be so screwed up? It wasn’t the money that made them that way, but something deeper, more fractured, and Nate would do anything to protect his wife from more grief at the hands of those two. He eased the first letter from the envelope. It was addressed to Gloria. “Here we go.”

  Dear Gloria:

  I have thought of sending this letter so many times, but I could never quite bring myself to do it. Why was that? Fear? Worry? Weakness? I’ve spent most of my life shouldering the responsibilities of running a company and providing for my family, and while the weight has been heavy at times, I’ve never regretted it. Nor have I regretted marrying you. We share a daughter who has given me more joy than I ever thought possible. I hope one day she will find her own path to happiness. We have not been the best role models for Christine and I wonder if our issues have kept her from finding someone who values her, someone she can love. Connor Pendleton is not that man. Love and marriage must be about more than joining families to build empires. Pendleton is more interested in our daughter’s portfolio than her thoughts. We must take partial responsibility for that. I’m referring to the deficiencies in our own relationship. Surely, you know they exist. Don’t you?

  When my sister died, I realized how precious life is, and how very unpredictable. I would never hurt you—not intentionally—and I will always care about you, but I can’t go on pretending happiness and contentment in our marriage and neither should you. We may share a home and a name, but “we” died years ago. I see 2 choices: continue as we have been, living as strangers, or divorce and begin a new life. I choose life. I hope you will, too. When I return to Chicago, we’ll meet with Thurman Jacobs and discuss what needs to be done. I’d like us to tell Christine together.

  Gloria, please know I will take care of you and make sure you want for nothing. You must wonder why I’ve chosen to tell you of my decision to end our marriage in a letter instead of face to face. I wonder this myself and yet I know it is the only way I can release the words I’ve carried in my soul for too many years.

  We are still young enough for a
second chance at happiness. Let’s take it.

  I’ll see you in a few days and then we’ll talk.

  Always,

  Charles

  Nate folded the letter, returned it to its envelope. There’d been some powerful words in that letter, but there’d been no date, and for all anyone knew, they were only words. Had the man had any intention of putting action behind them? Hard to tell and unless the other letters gave a clue, they’d never know. “Should I read another one?”

  “I want to hear them all, Nate. Don’t stop until you’ve finished the last one.”

  “What’s the rush?” Reading the letter to Gloria made him squeamish. He’d never been big on too much emotion, good or bad, and reading about a dead man’s intentions was pretty much on the high end of emotional overload—and not in a good way. “Wouldn’t you rather read one or two a day? Kind of ease into your father’s news so you can think about what he has to say?”

  “No.”

  He waited for her to elaborate, and when she didn’t, he picked up the next envelope. This one was addressed to her. Nate set it aside and picked up the letter to Harry. Of all the tasks they’d planned to do at the cabin, reading her dead father’s undelivered letters wasn’t even on the list of possibilities.

  Harry:

  I’m writing this letter because I need your help and I’m not sure I can get the words out any other way. I’ve been living a lie—a big one—and I can’t do it any longer. I don’t want to do it any longer.

  I’m in love with another woman. Her name is Miriam and I met her shortly after Ellie died when I started coming to the cabin every month. Ellie’s death made me realize a lot of things, especially my own mortality and the fleetingness of life. Miriam and I have been together fourteen years and we share a child named Lily. Yes, I really did just write that. Lily is pure and innocent and when I’m in Magdalena, I’m alive. Really alive. It’s my life in Chicago that has become the lie, but it’s been a lie since long before I met Miriam.

  What I’m about to write is a deep, painful secret I’ve kept hidden for years. I’m telling you now because I need your help with Christine. This secret destroyed my marriage even though it took years to acknowledge it. Gloria had an affair before Christine was born. I can see the shock on your face, probably as great as mine was. Shortly after I learned of the affair, she found out she was pregnant. I moved out of the bedroom, distanced myself, and planned to divorce her if the child didn’t look like me. But there’s no denying Christine is a Blacksworth from the hair to the eyes. For that, I am grateful.

  I loved Gloria but I was so immersed in work and reaching the goals Dad set for me that I didn’t take time to be a good husband. I didn’t know how to be one. Something shriveled inside me when I found out about the affair and once Christine was born, my hope and love went into her. Gloria will not take this easily but I AM leaving. I plan to move to Magdalena and will visit Chicago four days a month to conduct business. I’m stepping down as CEO of the company and would like you to consider a larger role. You have a lot of talent but you get in your own way.

  Maybe one day you can visit Magdalena. I think you’d like it. The people are a good, honest bunch. I’d like you to meet Miriam and my daughter, Lily, and I would love for Christine to meet them one day, too, but how would that ever happen? It will have to remain an unfulfilled wish.

  You’ve never been one to judge—thank you for that. I’m going to need all the help and support I can get and I know I can count on you. I’ll be home in a few days and we’ll discuss this in greater detail.

  Charlie

  My sweet Lily:

  Do you know how much Daddy loves you??

  I love you…

  more than three scoops of cherry chip ice cream.

  more than Mom’s banana nut bread.

  more than snow angels on a starry night.

  more than ten flannel shirts!

  more than my fuzzy slippers and you know how I love those!

  more than our walks in the woods.

  more than sitting by the Christmas tree drinking hot chocolate with tiny marshmallows.

  Bundle all of these together and I love you MORE!!

  You make my heart smile every time I look at you. You’re growing up, Lily girl, and next month we’ll drive to the stables and check out the horses. Your birthday will be here before we know it and what happens when you turn 14? You’re going to ride a horse!!

  I’ll have to get extra film for my camera so I can take a lot of pictures. Do you think 10 rolls will be enough? When we’re together again, we’ll count the days until your birthday and your very first horse ride!!

  I’m sending you a big hug—bigger than the whole state of New York.

  Love,

  Dad

  Nate placed a kiss on the top of her head, and whispered, “Are you sure you want me to keep going?”

  “Yes, let’s just get through this.”

  Dear Miriam:

  I am writing this letter to you from the cabin. I needed clarity and if I were surrounded by you and Lily, I might never put pen to these words and they very much need to be written. You, of anyone, know the struggles I’ve battled for the past fourteen years. I should have acted on what lived in my heart years ago, but I couldn’t. Fear and duty kept me prisoner. And let us not forget the weakness that owned my soul and rendered me incapable of making the difficult choice.

  We never spoke of it, because what good would it have done other than to remind us of my life in Chicago—a life without you and Lily? Do you know how much I missed you both when I was there? How I longed for Lily’s smile? Counted the days until we could spend a quiet evening together? Last month, Lily called me a king. “You are the king of our world,” she said. “You will never let anyone hurt us. Mr. King.” She’d smiled, so bright and pure, beaming with honesty and an admiration I did not deserve.

  Lily’s words have given me the courage to write this letter. Our daughter will never be accepted into mainstream society as relevant or essential, but she possesses more wisdom than anyone I’ve ever met. You and I have spent the past fourteen years making a life out of four days a month. Imagine if that number were reversed—if I spent four days a month in Chicago and the rest in Magdalena with you and Lily? Could you tolerate me? I have dreamed this when I’ve permitted myself to do so, and what are dreams if we have no hope of turning them into reality? I want a life with you, Miriam, a real life, not a patchwork of days and “X’s” on a calendar and promises of “next time.” Nate won’t be happy about it. In fact, I expect he’ll try to interfere, but I’m hopeful he’ll change his mind about me when he realizes I’m here to stay. I don’t blame him for disliking me. He’s an honorable man who loves his family. Maybe one day he’ll find the right woman and start a family of his own.

  I’ve written a letter to Gloria informing her of my plans. By the time I arrive in Chicago, she’ll have the news and knowing Gloria, the battle will have begun. What can she hope to win? More money? The house? She can have those. What she’s lost and what she’ll never have again is my heart. That belongs to you. I must go gently with Christine, and maybe one day she’ll understand and perhaps even accept my decision.

  Divorce is never easy on a child and it’s more difficult when other parties instill venom and lies in the telling with disregard for the child, concerning themselves only with retribution, no matter the cost. My brother will help me with Christine and watch over her when I am in Magdalena. Harry is a good man with a kind heart who loves Christine as though she were his own.

  Next month we’ll have much to discuss! It will take some time to get everything in place, but I hope to have the new “schedule” set by Lily’s birthday. Won’t that be a great present? Not as much fun as a horse ride, but I think she’ll be happy.

  Finally, we will move forward with the next chapter of our lives, and we’ll do it together. I can’t believe I’m actually writing this. I love you, Miriam, with every part of me, and I look forwar
d to spending the rest of my life with you.

  Love Always,

  Charlie

  Nate:

  This is not an easy letter to write. I’ve watched your hatred toward me grow each year, and I can’t say I wouldn’t feel the same if I were in your position. Giving your mother and Lily four days a month isn’t enough, is it? I could argue that memories have been built on far less, but we both know that’s a coward’s answer, just as we both know I’m a coward. They deserve far more than I’ve given them, and it has been my inability to make the difficult choice that has hurt everyone.

  You have no reason to believe what I’m about to write, nor am I asking you to, for what good are words without actions? But I vow on my love for my daughters, Christine and Lily, that I will make this right. I can’t undo the past fourteen years or the animosity you feel toward me, but I can and do choose to spend the rest of my life with my family—here, in Magdalena.

  I don’t know if you will ever be able to forgive me, or if I even have the right to ask, but know this—I will be living in Magdalena by Lily’s birthday and I will watch her ride her very first horse. Do you think we can coexist? Is that possible? Maybe years from now, when you have a wife and children, you will be able to open your heart and look at things differently.

  Until then,

  Charles

  Nate folded the letter and set it aside. “Your father was right about looking at things differently once I had a wife and children. If he could only see us now…”

  “I think he’d be very proud to call you a son-in-law.”

  He wasn’t sure about that, but it certainly would have been interesting. “Okay, this last letter is for you.”

  Dear Christine:

  Life is short. A breath of air and then it’s gone. When we lost Aunt Ellie to cancer, my whole world shifted. I had believed time was limitless and the people I loved wouldn’t die until they’d lived full lives. I thought the same for myself. But when Aunt Ellie died, it was a wakeup call. We didn’t have unlimited time, certainly not forever. All we really had was now.