by Dina Silver
“I picked up some mini turkey and Brie sandwiches from Foodstuffs, and some of their roasted red-pepper dip. Do you think he’ll want a beer or anything?”
Mom shrugs.
I open the fridge. There’s soda, beer, wine, orange juice, and bottles of water. “He won’t go thirsty,” I say and close the door. She’s sitting on the couch in the family room with Snoopy on the cushion next to her and a fleece blanket over her legs. About an hour ago, I helped blow-dry her hair and apply some makeup, taking careful effort not to clump her mascara.
“Would you like to wear your emerald pendant?”
She looks at me, and I go get it from her jewelry case.
Mom looks good, but she looks sick. The TV is turned to CNN, and the dismal housing market is the topic.
Snoopy’s head jolts up off his resting paws when the doorbell rings.
“Should I lock him in the mudroom?” I point to the dog.
She hesitates and then nods.
“Come on, Snoop.” He lays his head back down and won’t budge.
Mom shrugs.
“I’ll get the door.”
I nip at my fingernail and then open the front door.
“Hello, my dear girl.” His hand goes to his heart.
My father and I embrace, only he isn’t the father I remember from the few photographs I have of him. His hair is gray, and there are lines on his face. Quite the contrast from the handsome young stranger standing in Saint Mark’s Square with pigeons on his arms. He’s tall and still has a commanding presence and voice, one of the few memories I have of him. Buried deep in the back of my mind are little scenes where he used to grab onto my hands and spin me around until my feet lifted off the ground.
“First the wind up!” he’d shout. And then he’d lie on his back with my stomach resting on the soles of his feet, and I would fly through the air like Superman with him screaming for me to watch out for buildings and airplanes and seagulls. I never knew details about that time until now, and I shudder to think what my mother was going through as he was spinning me around and around.
It’s so easy to dislike someone you never have to see, but having him in front of me—grinning with pride—makes it all that more difficult. I can imagine he’d like for us to move forward and not relive the past, but I’m just not sure that’s going to be possible in this moment.
“Hi. Please come inside,” I say. From what little I know, he’s a man of great pride and stubbornness, but age humbles even the most obstinate people.
He’s holding a bouquet of yellow tulips. “How sweet, thank you. Are these for Mom?”
He nods. “I know you must have questions for me.”
“Yes and no,” I say. “I don’t know all the details about what happened to me, and I don’t know why it was kept a secret, but I do know why she told me.”
“She and I both made mistakes and poor choices.”
“I won’t speak ill of her today or ever, but when I learn the truth, all of it, I will do so with an open mind.”
“Thank you.” His eyes wander behind me, inside the house.
I step aside and close the door. “She’s back here.”
My father follows me to the family room, where Snoopy is now off the couch, seated in front of the coffee table with his ears on high alert. “He’s mostly friendly,” I start. “I know some people are scared of Rottweilers, but this one is actually . . .” I look up at my father and stop speaking when I realize he’s crying.
I drag Snoopy by the collar and lock him up and then walk back to the kitchen where I can see through to the family room. My father is kneeling in front of her with Mom’s hand in his. He lowers his forehead onto her lap. She looks up at me, and I expect her to roll her eyes, but she does not.
After a moment that will forever be frozen in my mind, he lifts his head and takes a seat where Snoopy was. I look around not knowing what to do but wanting them to have some time alone. She and I had not discussed or imagined he would react like this. They were staring into each other’s eyes, and my father was trying to speak to her.
“Just stick to the basics. Yes-and-no questions only,” I say.
“I want her to know how sorry I am to see her this way,” he says to me but keeps his gaze on her.
“She can understand you.”
Mom nods, and he whispers something in her ear. She makes her awkward smile and nods again.
I bring some food to the coffee table in front of them. “I’m going to let Snoopy out. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”
They are still in the same spot when I return twenty minutes later. My father has a small plate in front of him with some crumbs on it, and Mom is drinking some water. He stands when he sees me.
“I think I will leave you both now.” He gives my mom a very long hug and then wipes his eyes.
Mom looks up at him and nods. She is longing to say something, and my heart aches for her as she struggles but can’t find her voice.
“I . . . I know this means a lot to her.” I look at her and then back at my father. “When you said you were coming all the way here to visit us, she was really touched.”
Mom nods again.
“I wish I hadn’t waited so long,” he says, and by his expression, I can’t help but think he’s not referring to her illness whatsoever.
I walk him to the foyer, and he takes a deep breath. “I didn’t think I would be so emotional,” he says.
I cross my arms. “It’s hard, seeing her this way.”
“It is heartbreaking. I’m so very sorry.” He shakes his head. “I’m worried about you.”
“I’ll be fine. I’m really only concerned with Mom right now.”
“Please keep in touch with me every step of the way, and let me know how she’s doing.”
He places a warm, comforting hand on my cheek and gives me a glimpse into what I’ve missed over the years. The strength and confidence that comes from the love between a father and a daughter. I can see the hopeless look in his eyes. It’s one I recognize in myself lately, and now I know why he came. For the same reason she wanted me to call him. It was because of love. They loved each other once, madly and deeply, and despite all the ugliness from their past, maybe she thought I would need him now more than ever.
“I’ve been a disappointment to you and your mother, but now I would like to be here for you both, if I can.” He pulled back his hand. “I know you’re doing this for her, and I don’t know if you are very angry with me, but I can admit when I’ve been wrong, and I can also say I’m sorry for the things I did and failed to do. I’ve not been the father to you that I wanted to be. If you can forgive me, I promise I will never let you down again.”
I draw in a sharp breath. It’s all too much for me to take, standing in the front hallway of my home with my mother dying in one room and my father coming to life in another. He’s an older man now, a grandfather, and I can’t help but think of Todd and my own boys when I look at him. I want my boys to have a loving relationship with their dad. I don’t want them to be burdened with my animosity and pain. If there’s a part of me that’s willing to forgive Todd, there must be a part of me that’s willing to forgive my father. I don’t want to hate him, too. And maybe I don’t know enough yet, and maybe I never will, but I do know that if my mother is able to find love in her heart after everything she went through, then maybe, one day, I can, too.
I stand facing him with my arms planted firmly at my sides. “I promise to try,” I say, and then open the door for him to leave.
Mom is bedridden a few days later. The boys eat their dinner in her room and read books to her while we play her favorite songs on a CD player. We have a nurse who comes every day, and Dr. Scott has started stopping by as often as possible. If his presence in my life is the one blessing that results from her brain cancer, it’s entirely because my mother has willed it to happen.
Four months after she arrived in my driveway on a cool November evening, my mom took her last breath. She died in
my home with me, my boys, Snoopy, and Frank Sinatra by her side.
Except for going to the bathroom, Snoopy didn’t leave her room for two weeks after her body was removed. The boys set up his food and water bowls in there, and Ryan slept on the floor in a sleeping bag curled up next to him.
One morning, I wake up before sunrise and am surprised to find Mom’s box of journals overturned in the family room with Snoopy lying beside them. I haven’t approached the box in the weeks since she passed. He lifts his head when I enter and wags his tiny excuse for a tail. “Fancy meeting you here,” I say.
I walk over to the mess he’s made and scratch his chin. “Did you do this?”
He wags some more.
I place my coffee mug on the table and go to pick them up when I notice my mom’s pearls dangling from the edge of one like a bookmark. “What has she done?”
Snoopy tilts his head.
I take a seat on the floor, and Snoopy rests his chin on my leg. I gently open the journal to the page she marked for me and cradle her necklace in my lap.
May 4, 1974
We are at the airport on our way home together.
There were many, many days and nights that I thought we would never get to this place. One where I have you back in my life and safe, and on our way home. I worry that you don’t understand what home means, and some days I think I don’t know the meaning myself. It’s been an astonishing few years, with very little happiness in my life until now. I’ve lived so many places and have been uprooted more times than I care to think about. I don’t have the mental strength to write very much, and you’re spinning around the airport about to collapse from dizziness, but I have a few important things I want to get on paper before I forget.
First, you have always been loved. When you come to find out about your childhood, never question whether your parents loved you or not. We both did and still do.
Second, I have never been so happy in my life as I was the day I found out I was pregnant and the day you were born.
Third, when you are blessed with children of your own, you will understand how I was able to put my life on hold, yet still carry on without you. It’s because finding you became my means of survival. You will hold your own babies and imagine my suffering, but just know that I always knew this day would come.
Fourth, I hope that one day you can forgive me for allowing this to happen. I was never going to stop fighting for you, and I’ve always had faith in God that we would be together forever.
Just below the journal entry, there was fresh ink.
February 10, 2009
Love you so much, my sweet girl. I am so proud of you. Together forever.
I close the book and gaze down at her string of pearls. It’s astonishing how quickly she slipped through my grasp.
I drape the pearls around my neck and secure the clasp, allowing her energy and strength to seep into my skin with the weight of each bead.
A tiny smile emerges through my tears.
I have some big, fancy pumps to fill.
I will never know why bad things happen to good people, but thanks to my mother, I’ll know how to deal with them.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
While this book is entirely a work of fiction, it was inspired by an extraordinary woman and her very real experiences. A profound thank-you to my friend for sharing her mother’s harrowing and poignant life story with me as she grew from a headstrong young woman into a loving grandmother battling cancer. It’s been an incredible and humbling honor to be trusted with her memories.
Additionally, I could not have told this story without the support and encouragement of the following people:
Brigitte Ghannoum—Since I’ve never been to Beirut, and certainly not in the 1970s, I am so grateful to Brigitte for her invaluable FaceTime session with me and her notes on the sights, sounds, and smells of this Lebanese city. Also, thank you to my Purdue University pal Raed Taji for the introduction! I can’t tell you how many times I referred to the pages and pages of notes I was able to extract from her.
Christina Tracy—Speaking of Purdue pals, thank you to my Kappa Kappa Gamma sister Laura Tracy for introducing me to her real sister, Christina, who lives in Greenwich, Connecticut. Thank you, Christina, for the conversations and many, many, many wonderful texts and photos of that incredible town. Additionally, thanks to Christina’s friend Brian Salerno for some added tidbits about the town and the food and the Stanton House Inn. I can’t wait to visit someday soon!
Stephanie Bass—I seem to write a lot about divorce in my books, because I’m always turning to my friend of four decades (and former divorce attorney), Stephanie Bass. Her knowledge about the law is incredible, and her willingness to share it with me is equally amazing. Thank you for your time and friendship and generosity!
Badass Beta Readers—A massive shout-out to some beta readers who always give great, intuitive feedback: Erin Haase Budington, Beth Suit, Beth Schenker, and Meg Costigan. Reading a manuscript in its early unedited stages is no easy task, so thank you for that.
My mom and dad—Beta readers extraordinaire! I can’t thank them enough for their support throughout the entire process—for this book and each one before.
My husband and son—Love you both so, so much. Once my novels are turned into movies, I know you’re going to love them!
Sandra Harding—I was so blessed to be paired with Sandy as my developmental editor on this book. Her character insight and ability to interpret the story in a new way was such a gift to me during the editing process. I cannot thank her enough for helping me make this the best story it could be.
Danielle Marshall—Danielle is the editorial director at Lake Union Publishing, but to me she has always been my biggest cheerleader. Thank you so much for continually pushing me and believing in me after all these years. I’m eternally grateful for your unwavering support and for all those times you pick up the phone when I call.
Lastly, a general, but no less substantial, thank-you to my friends and family who have always supported me in everything I do.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Photo © Robin Miller
Dina Silver is an author, a wine lover, and an excellent parallel parker. She lives with her husband, son, and twenty-pound tabby cat in suburban Chicago. She’d prefer to live somewhere where it’s warm year-round, but she’s also a licensed real estate agent in Illinois, and she loathes the thought of having to take the broker exam again in another state. Dina is the author of five other novels, including One Pink Line, Kat Fight, Finding Bliss, The Unimaginable, and Whisper If You Need Me. To find out more about Dina and her books, visit www.dinasilver.com.