He’d never intended to hurt her, but that was the end result, and the reason she hated him now.
The knock at his door came as a surprise. With the building’s front door now locked, it had to be one of the tenants—but, unless there was an emergency, only one person would knock on his door.
He bolted from the chair, bumping it backward to ram into the kitchen cabinet as he made it to the door in three strides. Without hesitation, he swung it open, relief and excitement washing over him like an ocean wave. Her eyes, red and puffy from an obvious night of crying, stopped all forward motion, gripped his stomach, and twisted. If only he could take her in his arms to comfort and protect—if only he could tell her everything would be all right and truly believe those words, but he hesitated.
She stared at him with dark, innocent eyes, like a timid doe ready to flee.
“Hi.” He was unsure what else to say.
Hannah glanced at the floor then dragged her gaze back up to meet his. After clearing her throat, she stood a fraction taller and lifted her chin an inch. “I’m sorry,” she began. “I’ve had some time to think about what you said last night…and then I read what you wrote.”
He stepped back and lifted an arm to indicate she was welcome to enter. Hesitant at first, she slowly walked in, but stopped a few steps beyond him and just stood in the middle of the room.
“I’ve made coffee. Come sit down, and we’ll talk.”
She nodded and preceded him to the table where she slid onto a chair and sat with her hands clenched in her lap.
Adrenalin coursed through his system at seeing her total defeat. He curled his fingers into fists at his side, wanting—needing—to slay the dragon responsible for her pain, yet knowing he was largely at fault.
Fighting the urge to again beg for her forgiveness, he turned to the cupboard, fumbling slightly as he set out two coffee cups and saucers. With an unsteady hand, he filled them and added a dollop of milk to each one before setting them on the table.
“Thanks.”
His mind whirled while they both sipped. Should he start the conversation or wait for her? Thankfully, she made the decision for him.
“Thank you for the roses. I’ve never been given flowers by anyone besides you. They’re lovely.”
“You’re welcome.” He didn’t need to tell her the store didn’t carry flowers, but one of their neighbors down the street had bushes in her yard and agreed to sell him a few for twenty-five cents.
“Um, like I said before, I’ve given some thought to what you wrote.” She took a deep breath and slowly released it before continuing. “Last night, I found a letter from my mother, telling me about my father, although she didn’t mention a name. She said he was mafia and that she left him and came to California for my safety. She even asked me to forgive her for the years of lies. I now understand why you kept secrets from me—assuming Vince is really my father. But I must admit, the whole thing, everyone’s part in the lies and deception, feels like a huge betrayal. I don’t hate you, but it still hurts.”
Her words slammed into his chest with the force of a fist. Involuntarily, his hand came up to rub over his heart. “I’m glad you don’t hate me, but please know I’m sorry about this whole situation.”
She shrugged, turning her cup around in the saucer. “From what you said, if not you, then he’d have had someone else snooping around in my life.” Immediately, her gaze rose to connect with his, even as she cringed, pressing her lips together before commenting. “I’m sorry about that comment.”
He couldn’t stop the chuckle that popped out. “Don’t worry about it. Besides, it’s true.”
“And they might not have had a conscience nagging at them to tell me the truth,” she added with a sigh, then focused her gaze on him again. “So, what’s next? What should I do?”
He frowned. “What should you do?”
Her brows drew together and her jaw tighten, yet she hesitated, as if searching for words. She focused on her coffee for several heartbeats, but finally lifted her gaze to meet his. “My whole life has been a lie. I don’t feel like the same person.”
“Oh.” He reached out to lay his hand over hers, feeling her fingers tremble beneath his touch. “Hannah, you’re definitely the same person, but I think I can understand feeling off balance.” He hesitated, but when she remained silent, he continued. “One day at school, years ago when my mother and I lived with Vince, some of the kids started taunting me about being a mobster’s kid. They asked how many people I’d shot and other outrageous things. I didn’t know what Vince did for a living, so I didn’t understand why they had turned on me. I only knew my world had come off its axis.”
She nodded. “I’ll have to work on forgiving my mother a lifetime of lies, but my father… How do I forgive him? He was never here for me. My friends all had fathers, but I was an outsider.”
John sipped his coffee, taking time to think before speaking. He mentally ached for her pain, but his stomach twisted into a knot when her lost-child eyes silently pleaded with him for answers.
He hesitated another moment, seeking a higher power’s help. Give me the right words. “Well, there’s a question I’d like to ask that might help.”
“Okay, what?”
“If it were possible, would you want to go back to the time when you thought your father was a dead policeman and your mother a sainted woman who always told the truth? Would you want to go back to living in the fantasy world your mother created?”
She sat taller with her shoulders back and eyes growing dark and stormy. “Yes. I was happy then.”
He glanced at her hands gripping the cup tight enough to turn her knuckles white. “I know your world is upside down right now, but think about this. When I first moved here, you told me about two parents who had loved you, but were both deceased. Your mother moved here, lying to give you a sense of security and maintain your safety. Your father isn’t a deceased policeman, a hero, but a man working outside the law, and for your safety, he allowed you to remain here. Hannah, both of your parents made certain decisions…because of their love for you.”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes narrowed, but thankfully, she was listening.
“Your mother left the man she loved and moved to another state in order to keep you safe. The man she left, Vince, let her remain hidden away here on the west coast because he loved her and you. He put distance between himself and you—gave up the woman he loved and a future child—just to keep the two of you safe.”
Her pursed lips began to relax and soften around the edges. When her pupils began to constrict and her shoulders sag, he silently thanked his lucky stars he was reaching her.
“Hannah,” he cajoled, reaching out to touch her hand again, “he could have come out here and dragged her back to New York. Or your mother could have been selfish and remained with Vince, and then you would have been raised in New York, living in a compound—a fortified home—surrounded by tall, thick walls. And, I might add, a dozen other men living in or near the compound, and all of them wearing guns strapped under their jackets in order to protect you and your parents—with their very lives, if necessary.”
She leaned away from him, her eyes dark and huge, blinking several times as the blood drained from her face.
“Can you imagine what your life would have been like?” he pressed on. “Your mother would have worried herself sick every time Vince went out without her. Was he going to kill someone, or maybe be killed himself? Or maybe he’d be arrested and thrown in prison. But what if they went out together? She’d have worried herself sick for fear someone would attack him, and maybe that she’d be killed also, leaving you an orphan. Can you imagine the life of a don’s wife and child?”
“No,” she whispered, her hand coming up to cover her mouth.
Like the sun flooding a room when a curtain is opened, for the first time, John himself fully realized what his own mother had given up for his safety. She had sacrificed her happiness and left the man she loved�
��possibly still loved on some level—to protect her son. The thought left him humbled.
He blinked several times, drawn back from the past to face the present. “Hannah, good or bad, your parents are who they are, and each made decisions that impacted your life—not selfishly, but because they loved you. My own mother loved Vince but took me away from him and New York, too, because she feared what he did for a living and feared I’d follow in his footsteps.”
“But he cared about you. He helped you and paid for your college.”
“Yes, and I’m grateful, but he helped you also.”
“No,” she countered, frowning while she shook her head in denial.
“Yes.” In earnest, he gently tightened his fingers around hers. “He had someone watching you and your mother to be sure you were safe and didn’t need anything. I also wouldn’t be surprised if he had something to do with your mother getting the manager’s job here.”
“No, you’re wrong. She applied for the job. Vince had nothing to do with it.”
His frustration level inched up a notch. Vince should be the one explaining, not me.
She closed her eyes again, as if putting a shield between herself and the pain. “This is unbelievable.”
When next she opened them, it saddened him to watch the blue gaze radiate the same emotions he’d often seen in his mother’s eyes: loss and anguish—something he didn’t know how to alleviate.
“It’s like being an actor in a movie, but without a script. How can I go in front of the camera without knowing what’s coming next in the story?”
Tears trickle down her cheeks, ripping at him, yet leaving him hesitant to offer comfort. With a slowly drawn breath, he made the decision.
John stood and stepped around the small table. As if in slow motion, he reached out and took her hand, tugging gently until she stood. Relief was palatable when she not only allowed his arms to encircle her, but stepped in to lean against him, turning her head just enough to rest her cheek against his chest.
This is where he wanted her—now and forever.
Forever.
Where had his sub-conscience gotten that thought? Forever meant marriage and kids. Maybe too soon to be thinking along those lines considering…
“Where do I go from here?”
The whispered question left him pondering, not sure what to suggest. She wanted him to lead, but he was stepping out into uncharted territory, and from his point of view, the ground looked swampy and filled with pitfalls. He’d need to proceed with caution.
“You’ve had quite a shock and probably need some time to process all of this.” He felt her nod. “My suggestion is that you go down to the courthouse, or county records, and look up your birth certificate. Maybe ask for a marriage license. That might answer all your questions, and then we can talk more after that.”
She leaned away from him and stared up into his eyes. “That makes a lot of sense. Get the facts and then decide what I want to do next—if anything. Maybe letting life roll on as before is the best thing to do.”
“It would certainly be the easiest, but I’m not sure that would satisfy you. But for now, just get the facts, and then you can make a decision based on those and, hopefully, not just on emotions. Okay?”
She hesitated, then nodded.
“Good.”
“Thanks for the coffee.” She stepped away, offering a shy, tired smile. “See you for dinner tonight?”
A weight fell from his shoulders. “Yes, I’d love that.” He walked with her to the door and watched until she unlocked her apartment and stepped inside, glancing back to wiggle her fingers in a tiny wave before closing it.
John glanced toward the ceiling, thankful and seeking a little divine help in her struggles.
The hours would creep by until he could see her again.
Chapter Fourteen
After a quiet dinner with John, and a second sleepless night, Hannah was more than ready to get proof. She had arranged for the day off and now stood in the warm, early-morning sun outside the Hall of Records building, peeking through the glass and waiting for someone to come open the door for business. Normally patient, she felt antsy and nervous. Would she find proof her father was Charles Thomas Montgomery, former policeman, or Vince Giovanni, the mafia don?
A plump woman scurried across the building’s lobby, twisted a key in the lock, and pushed open the door. “Good morning, and how can I assist you today?”
“I’m here to look at my birth certificate.”
“You were born in California?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
The lady beamed. “Good, then we can help you. Just go up these stairs, dear,” she said, pointing, “and talk with the woman at the counter.”
“Thank you.”
Hannah reached the top of the steps, a little anxious, but determined.
“May I help you?”
“I’m looking for my birth certificate.”
The young woman behind the counter smiled and handed her a form. “Please fill this out and return it to me. If you plan to wait, I’ll research it immediately. Thankfully, we have the past twenty-five years here in the file room, so since you’re first in line, it shouldn’t take more than half an hour.”
Thirty-five minutes later, she stared down at her birth certificate.
Born: Hannah Marie Montgomery.
Mother: Sarah Elizabeth Montgomery.
Father: Unknown.
Hannah frowned, sucked in a deep breath, and imagined herself lashing out at a cruel world. Just as quickly, her shoulders slumped and tears welled up. She just wanted her life to return to normal.
Clearing her throat, she cast a quick glance at the clerk before taking one last look at the document. “Thank you,” she whispered, turning her back and stepping away before whirling back around. “Can I check for a copy of a marriage license?”
“Certainly. Just fill out this other form, please.”
The second request took twice as long. An hour later, she followed the worn path in the linoleum until she stepped out into the sunshine.
She had nothing. No birth certificate with a father’s name and no marriage certificate for Sarah Elizabeth and Charles Thomas Montgomery. Her world had closed in to weigh her down and leave her wondering where to turn next.
At the corner, she went inside the Woolworth Company and sat down on a stool at the counter.
“What can I get for you, miss?”
She glanced up at the middle-aged woman with neat curls and clean, white apron. “Just coffee with milk.”
“Coming right up. We only have reconstituted powdered milk. I hope that’s okay?”
She nodded, not really caring one way or the other. Once served, she stirred a dollop of milk into the hot, black liquid, her mind barely noting the rich aroma. Her mother had lied about everything.
No, wait a minute.
Her back straightened and her hands stilled. Maybe there had been a Charles Montgomery who worked for the Los Angeles Police Department?
She left the coffee untasted, slid a nickel under the edge of the saucer, and headed toward the back of the store where a sign on the wall advertised the location of a phone booth.
Once inside with the door closed, she dialed the operator. “Los Angeles Police Department, please.”
The connection was almost immediate.
“Hello. How can I assist you?”
“I need to find out if a Charles Thomas Montgomery ever worked as a policeman for Los Angeles. He would have been killed in action about twenty-three years ago.”
“It’ll take a while to look that up in our logs. Can you call back in an hour or two? Just ask for Sybil.”
“Yes, thank you.”
****
The trolley ride was long. After a stop at the corner market to get a newspaper and a few items, including powdered milk for one of her tenants, Hannah walked the short distance home, surprised when she suddenly stood at the bottom of the porch stairs, looking up the steep mountai
n she needed to climb. With an arm around the bag and a hand on the railing, she forced one foot in front of the other until she’d reached the first floor. After delivering the milk, she dragged her weary body up the next flight of stairs and closed herself in her lonely apartment.
She put the food in the refrigerator, then slipped out to the phone and dialed the police department. After three rings, a young woman answered.
“I’m Hannah Montgomery. Is this Sybil?”
“Oh yes, but I’m sorry to tell you that we don’t show a Charles Montgomery ever working for the department. Is there anything else I can help you with?”
“No. Thank you.” She hung up the phone and wandered back into her apartment.
Defeat had stolen her last ounce of enthusiasm. She’d never felt more depressed and alone. More and more it appeared that everything her mother had written and John said was the truth. Her father wasn’t a hero; he was a hoodlum and murderer—a man who lived on the opposite side of the law.
In her mother’s bedroom, she stopped in front of the mirror to stare at her reflection. “Do I resemble him in any way?”
Not in morals, that’s for sure.
Hannah frowned at herself and turned away, drifting into the living room and turning on the radio before settling on the sofa. The whole subject of her parents still weighed heavy on her mind, but she forced her thoughts away from the painful subject and focused on John instead.
The night before had started out much like the very first night they ate spaghetti together—quiet and uncomfortable—but once they began discussing his work, the tension eased and the evening was enjoyable. Then he’d stood to leave.
The memory sent warmth spreading across her chest, up her neck, and onto her face. He had taken her in his arms, holding her with gentle firmness until she relaxed against his warmth and strength.
With a smile, she burrowed back against the cushions and closed her eyes. The more she thought about John, the more she knew there was no way he could be involved in killing anyone. Her life had been turned upside down, but if anyone could help her get back the balance, it was him. He may have lied by omission in the beginning, but everything he had confessed since had turned out to be the truth.
When Truth Takes Flight Page 15