Chương 13
Richard looked older.
Claire resented noticing.
A server brought coffee. Richard ordered for himself, then stopped.
He glanced at Claire.
“What would you like?”
She almost laughed.
He had ordered for her for years.
“Tea.”
“What kind?”
“Earl Grey.”
Richard nodded to the server.
Claire waited until they were alone.
“You said there are things Mom doesn’t know.”
Richard folded his hands.
“Yes.”
“What?”
He looked toward the lobby entrance.
“When William came to the house, I told him Margaret didn’t want to see him.”
“I know.”
“What she doesn’t know is that he asked me to give her something.”
Claire’s stomach tightened.
“What?”
“A note.”
“Where is it?”
“I destroyed it.”
Claire stared.
Richard held her gaze.
“Why?”
“Because I was twenty-four and in love with a woman who had just given birth to another man’s child.”
The words were ugly.
They were also more honest than his usual language.
“What did the note say?”
“I don’t remember every word.”
“What do you remember?”
“That he said he would leave if that was truly what she wanted, but he needed to hear it from her.”
Claire’s pulse accelerated.
“And you destroyed it.”
“Yes.”
“You told him she had chosen you.”
“Yes.”
“You let Mom believe he left without trying.”
Richard looked down.
“Yes.”
Claire sat back.
The server arrived with tea.
Neither spoke until she left.
Claire poured milk into the cup because her hands needed a task.
“Why tell me this now?”
Richard looked at her.
“Because your mother is allowing herself to believe I made every decision.”
“Did she say that?”
“No.”
“Then maybe you’re allowing yourself to believe she believes that.”
His mouth tightened.
Claire continued.
“You hate that she’s leaving.”
“Yes.”
“You think if you prove she was responsible too, she’ll come back.”
Richard looked offended.
Then the offense faded.
“Maybe.”
Claire took a sip.
“Did you love me?”
He blinked.
The question appeared to hurt him more than the accusations.
“Yes.”
“As your daughter?”
“Yes.”
“Then why did you treat me like a problem?”
“I didn’t.”
Claire looked at him.
Richard corrected himself.
“Not always.”
“Try again.”
He looked down at his coffee.
“You reminded me of him.”
Claire’s chest went cold.
Richard continued.
“Not physically. Sometimes in the way you resisted me. You would look at me as though authority itself required evidence.”
Claire almost smiled.
“That sounds physical enough.”
“You were difficult.”
“I was a child.”
“Yes.”
He closed his eyes briefly.
“Yes.”
Claire waited.
“I favored Vanessa.”
“Obviously.”
“I told myself it was because she was easier.”
“She was easier because she agreed with you.”
“Yes.”
“And because she was yours.”
Richard looked at her.
“Yes.”
The admission entered Claire slowly.
It did not feel like vindication.
It felt like finding the invoice for an injury after the wound had already healed badly.
“You knew you were doing it?”
“Not every time.”
“But sometimes.”
“Yes.”
Claire looked across the lobby at a man struggling to close a suitcase.
“Did Mom notice?”
“She argued with me about it.”
“When?”
“Often.”
Claire turned back.
“She never said anything to me.”
“I know.”
“Why?”
“She thought acknowledging it would make you more aware of it.”
Claire laughed sharply.
“I was aware.”
“I know that now.”
“No, you knew then.”
Richard did not answer.
Claire leaned forward.
“Why did you keep her letter?”
He looked surprised.
“Margaret told you.”
“Yes.”
“She gave it to me on our wedding day.”
“To destroy.”
“Yes.”
“You didn’t.”
“No.”
“Why?”
Richard looked toward the windows.
For once, he seemed unsure how to make himself sound better.
“I told myself I kept it because it was part of her history.”
“And the real reason?”
He rubbed his thumb against one knuckle.
“I was afraid she would someday decide she had made the wrong choice.”
Claire stared.
“So you kept proof that she had chosen not to contact him.”
“Yes.”
“As leverage.”
His eyes narrowed.
“I never threatened her with it.”
“You didn’t have to.”
Richard was silent.
Claire saw him understand.
He had kept the letter as insurance against a fear. The existence of it had shaped the marriage even without being spoken aloud.
“That’s awful,” she said.
“Yes.”
No argument.
Claire’s anger stumbled.
She wanted him to defend himself so she could hate the defense.
Instead he looked tired.
“Do you regret raising me?”
Richard’s face changed instantly.
“No.”
“Not even now?”
“No.”
“Did you ever wish William had known?”
Richard took a long time.
“Once.”
Claire waited.
“When you were seventeen.”
“Why seventeen?”
“You had applied to a summer restoration program in Boston.”
Claire remembered.
Richard had refused to let her go.
He called it impractical.
She had screamed at him in the study.
“What happened?”
“You said I wasn’t your real father.”
Claire’s throat tightened.
She remembered saying it.
She had not known it was literally true.
“I thought you were just being cruel.”
“You threw a glass.”
“It missed you.”
“That did not improve the evening.”
Claire almost smiled.
Richard did too.
Then his face fell.
“That night I wondered whether I had stolen something I had no right to own.”
Claire looked at him.
“And the next morning?”
“I decided teenagers are monsters.”
She laughed.
The laugh surprised both of them.
Richard looked down.
“I should have told you.”
“Yes.”
“I should have told William.”
“Yes.”
“I should have given Margaret the note.”
“Yes.”
Richard nodded.
Claire waited for him to ask forgiveness.
He did not.
That made the meeting harder.
Near the end, he said, “I don’t know what I am to you now.”
Claire’s fingers tightened around the teacup.
“Neither do I.”
“I am still legally your father.”
“I’m thirty-six. That is not very useful.”
“No.”
“You were my dad.”
The word slipped out.
Richard looked up.
Claire felt tears rise and hated them.
“You were,” she said. “That’s what makes this so bad.”
Richard’s face tightened.
May you like
Claire continued.
“If you had just been some villain Mom married, I could walk away clean.”
