ring a bell?’
Of course it did. It was the name of his father’s lover, the woman he’d chosen over his family when he’d taken off with all of their savings. Scott had been only four at the time, but his mother spoke about what had happened later, and often. Over the next five years, he was with his mother almost daily. Other children had their favorite bedtime stories; he had the story of his father’s betrayal, repeated over and over again until it became as familiar as breathing. He heard his mom talk about it to anyone willing to listen, oblivious to her children overhearing the bitter tale.
Scott looked at the woman again, more closely this time. Could it really be Dolores Martin? He'd seen a few photographs of her, because she'd been a distant family friend before she decided to run off with his father. His mother hadn't destroyed the photographs—quite the opposite, actually. She kept them in her box of sentimental mementos, together with the letter his father wrote to her when they were dating. Scott recalled vaguely the tall, good-looking girl with a wide smile and the figure of a goddess. Could the black-clad, thin woman in front of him, who looked old enough to be his grandmother, be the same person?
‘It's me.’ She nodded, one bony hand going up to fix her hair, a gesture that was as futile as it was instinctive. The woman, with her thinning hair and a net of wrinkles etched deep into her skin, was miles away from the Dolores he remembered, who had looked like a model.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked hoarsely, unwilling to open the can of worms that was his childhood. He had worked hard enough to put it behind him, resetting his clock to the fateful moment his uncle had announced his adoption and in doing so opened a new, happy chapter. Whatever had come before that had to be pushed away and dismissed.
‘I need to talk to you about a few things.’ She was watching him with her red-rimmed eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel pity. She hadn't aged gracefully, and he could only imagine his dad’s role in that process.
‘Your father passed away.’ The four words were spoken quietly and without an ounce of emotion. Scott listened, his brain refusing to fully comprehend what he was hearing. Throughout his life, he had imagined multiple times what he’d say to his father if given the opportunity to meet him in person, how he’d confront him and ask why didn’t he ever visit him and Marnie. Scott had played out the conversation in his head, trying to predict his father’s responses.
There would be no conversation. His father would never know how deeply he'd hurt Scott and Marnie. His reckless pursuit of pleasure had cost them everything. Their family ties had unraveled until there was nothing left but a pile of tangled, messy yarn that couldn’t be put back in order. It was only when his uncle decided to take them in that they had relearned to be happy again. Scott seriously doubted if either his uncle or his aunt fully understood the depth of the gratitude both Marnie and he owed them.
‘When?’ he asked, going over to the large window and looking outside, away from her hawkish gaze. If she thought he’d tear up, she was wrong. He was unable to mourn the loss of a man who hadn't really cared what happened to him since the day he left, thirty years ago.
‘Three months ago or so.’ She shrugged, her cool expression showing no emotion. Either she was the best actress in the world, or her passionate romance with his father hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped it would. He felt the urge to shake her, the absurdity of it all making it impossible to stay calm.
‘He had cancer and was dying slowly over the last two years.’ Her monotone voice sounded like a rehearsed lesson. ‘Caring for him had drained our finances; I had to sell our house to pay off the hospital bills. I got his life insurance payout, but still need to watch every penny.’
‘Why did you come then?’ Scott didn’t
Of course it did. It was the name of his father’s lover, the woman he’d chosen over his family when he’d taken off with all of their savings. Scott had been only four at the time, but his mother spoke about what had happened later, and often. Over the next five years, he was with his mother almost daily. Other children had their favorite bedtime stories; he had the story of his father’s betrayal, repeated over and over again until it became as familiar as breathing. He heard his mom talk about it to anyone willing to listen, oblivious to her children overhearing the bitter tale.
Scott looked at the woman again, more closely this time. Could it really be Dolores Martin? He'd seen a few photographs of her, because she'd been a distant family friend before she decided to run off with his father. His mother hadn't destroyed the photographs—quite the opposite, actually. She kept them in her box of sentimental mementos, together with the letter his father wrote to her when they were dating. Scott recalled vaguely the tall, good-looking girl with a wide smile and the figure of a goddess. Could the black-clad, thin woman in front of him, who looked old enough to be his grandmother, be the same person?
‘It's me.’ She nodded, one bony hand going up to fix her hair, a gesture that was as futile as it was instinctive. The woman, with her thinning hair and a net of wrinkles etched deep into her skin, was miles away from the Dolores he remembered, who had looked like a model.
‘Why are you here?’ he asked hoarsely, unwilling to open the can of worms that was his childhood. He had worked hard enough to put it behind him, resetting his clock to the fateful moment his uncle had announced his adoption and in doing so opened a new, happy chapter. Whatever had come before that had to be pushed away and dismissed.
‘I need to talk to you about a few things.’ She was watching him with her red-rimmed eyes, and he couldn’t help but feel pity. She hadn't aged gracefully, and he could only imagine his dad’s role in that process.
‘Your father passed away.’ The four words were spoken quietly and without an ounce of emotion. Scott listened, his brain refusing to fully comprehend what he was hearing. Throughout his life, he had imagined multiple times what he’d say to his father if given the opportunity to meet him in person, how he’d confront him and ask why didn’t he ever visit him and Marnie. Scott had played out the conversation in his head, trying to predict his father’s responses.
There would be no conversation. His father would never know how deeply he'd hurt Scott and Marnie. His reckless pursuit of pleasure had cost them everything. Their family ties had unraveled until there was nothing left but a pile of tangled, messy yarn that couldn’t be put back in order. It was only when his uncle decided to take them in that they had relearned to be happy again. Scott seriously doubted if either his uncle or his aunt fully understood the depth of the gratitude both Marnie and he owed them.
‘When?’ he asked, going over to the large window and looking outside, away from her hawkish gaze. If she thought he’d tear up, she was wrong. He was unable to mourn the loss of a man who hadn't really cared what happened to him since the day he left, thirty years ago.
‘Three months ago or so.’ She shrugged, her cool expression showing no emotion. Either she was the best actress in the world, or her passionate romance with his father hadn't worked out the way she'd hoped it would. He felt the urge to shake her, the absurdity of it all making it impossible to stay calm.
‘He had cancer and was dying slowly over the last two years.’ Her monotone voice sounded like a rehearsed lesson. ‘Caring for him had drained our finances; I had to sell our house to pay off the hospital bills. I got his life insurance payout, but still need to watch every penny.’
‘Why did you come then?’ Scott didn’t
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