Travis stands and extends his hand. I hesitate. "I think I'm going to stay here for a bit," I say, not able to move. He nods, and then offers an endearing smile. It comforts me ever-so-slightly. He walks away, leaving me confused and scared.
• • • •
My phone rings. Seeing that it’s Rich calling, I power my phone off and ring the doorbell.
"Amy, I’m so happy you’re here," my mom greets me. She draws me in for a long hug. It feels good. "Let’s go sit outside in the backyard," she says, leading me through the kitchen. Pausing at the counter, she takes a stack of folders into her arms and walks outside with me following behind.
I sit at the table on the patio and fold my hands into my lap. My heart is beating out of my chest, feeling like I may pass out. I'm not sure if I even want to hear what she has to say. My life is headed down a road that I don't want to go down.
She pulls her chair up next to mine, and puts an arm around my shoulder, pulling me in toward her. "Ames, you look terrified. Don't be, honey. Everything will be fine. I really need for you to know a few things." She pauses, clearing her throat. "I’m struggling to figure out where to begin. I don't even understand it all myself."
I look at her, scared of what she’s about to say. "Mom, please tell me."
She nods. "Okay." She opens the folder on the top of the stack. "I will start from the beginning," she says, handing me a sheet of paper. I scan it. It’s a letter from Yale University, dated March 24, 2000, addressed to Travis. It's the letter he received in the mail notifying him of his academic scholarship. I narrow my eyes, looking up from the letter,
"Oh―Kay?" I know there has to be more to this. She hands me a stack of papers, stapled together. The page on top is an invoice from Yale University in the amount of $27,043. I flip to the second page, which is a copy of a check for that same amount to Yale University, from Warren Silver Law Associates, my dad's law firm. The last page is an email correspondence from my dad to Roger, the accountant. I read it under my breath. “Roger, please pay this invoice that I've attached. This amount is to cover the first semester of Travis Cashman's schooling, as we discussed last week. Please mail the check directly to Yale University.” I shake my head, feeling even more confused than ever. "Dad paid for Travis to go to college?"
"Yes, apparently your dad paid for Travis to go to Yale. There was no academic scholarship." She lays her hand on the stack of folders. "I could have you sit here and read all of these, but I think it's easier for me to tell you what I know."
"All right."
"Two weeks before your dad passed away, Roger called the house asking if your dad could provide him with some documents that he needed to file the taxes for the business. Your dad wasn't doing so well at that time, so Roger directed me to where I could possibly find them. I found what he was looking for in one of the boxes in the closet of the home office. But while searching through the boxes, I came across these files," she says, tapping on the stack of folders. "These files clearly outline that your dad paid for Travis to go to Yale. The letter that appears to come from Yale University announcing the academic scholarship is not from Yale, it's from your dad. I found a draft of the letter that your dad had marked up," she says before clearing her throat.
"Amy, your dad paid for Travis to go to Yale, so that he would be on the other side of the country from you."
I attempt to swallow the lump that’s formed in my throat. "But, why? Why would he have done that?"
"You know that your dad wasn't fond of Travis. He thought he was a nice boy, but your dad never wanted you to marry into—well,you know—a middle class family." I knew that my dad never felt like he had anything in common with Travis' parents, but I never thought he cared so much about it that he felt the need to separate us.
"Why didn't dad ever express to me that he didn't approve of Travis and his family?"
"You know that your dad never wanted to disappoint you. He never wanted you to know that he didn't accept some of your choices."
I shake my head, feeling betrayed and confused. “Maybe my life would have taken a different turn if Travis and I would have gone to college together. Maybe he wouldn't have ended up cheating on me if we hadn't been hundreds of miles apart," I say softly, trying to imagine how my life would have turned out.
"Ames," my mom says, putting a hand on my arm, "Travis never cheated on you."
I furrow my brow. "What do you mean? Travis cheated on me and got Susanna pregnant while we were together."
"No, honey, he didn't."
"No, Mom, he did. Travis has a thirteen-year-old daughter. I spoke with him this week and he told me himself."
"No, Ames. Amanda is not his biological daughter. Amanda is Brian, Travis' brother's daughter. Travis never cheated on you."
I let out an exasperated sigh. "I don’t understand any of this."
"Ames, who told you that Travis was cheating on you and that he was the father of Susanna's baby?"
I shrug. "I think it was dad who first told me. But I recall Susanna's dad, Mr. Lark, talking about it as well."
"Do you know who Mr. Lark was to your dad?"
"I think they were friends," I say, scrunching up my face and shrugging.
"No, they were business partners. Your dad had invested a lot of money in Mr. Lark's construction business. When I found these files, I confronted your dad, and he confessed to me in detail what happened. When Mr. Lark found out that Susanna was pregnant, he agreed to take a sum of money in return for saying that Travis was the father. Your dad knew that was the only way you’d leave Travis."
"But that doesn't make any sense mom. How would they get away with something like that?"
"When you have millions of dollars, and as many connections, you can do anything and get away with it." I’m left speechless. My mom raises her head, looking in the direction of the patio door. I turn around to find Travis standing there with his hands in his pockets. What is he doing at my mom's house? "Come sit down, you should be here for some of this," she says, motioning for him to sit at the table. He hesitates, looking at me, but then wanders over and pulls a chair out next to her.
I look up at him. "Did you know about all of this? Did your parents know?"
He shakes his head. "I found out when your mom contacted me last spring. My parents knew nothing about it."
"I called Travis when your dad confessed," my mom intercepts.
"And why did you wait to tell me?" I ask, looking at my mom.
"I knew you would ask that question. And I've been at war with myself over it for the last year. Ames, I didn't want to tell you because I thought that you and Rich had a great relationship. I didn't want to disrupt that."
"So why are you choosing to tell me now?"
"Well, for a couple of reasons," she says, and then pauses, looking afraid to tell me.
"Why?" I demand, wanting her to divulge everything.
"Ames, I'm sick. I'm really sick," she confesses, huffing. I feel the blood rise to my face, my cheeks become flush, and that lump that I was feeling in my throat earlier is back. "I have stage four throat cancer," she adds. Travis places a hand on her arm and lowers his head. I look at him, briefly taken aback by how comfortable he looks interacting with her. Redirecting my focus back to my mom, I’m unable to speak. "It's terminal. The doctors give me a month to live," she says, with fear radiating in her eyes. My vision becomes blurry and I feel lightheaded. I try to fight back the tears but they start flowing. I lower my head into my hands, and start rocking back and forth.
My mom throws her arms around me, and I lay my head on her shoulder. We both cry together. "It’ll be okay, Ames. I promise, it’ll be fine," she says in my ear, through sobs. We sit, hugging and crying, for a while.
I finally pull back from her. "Is there more that you need to tell me?" Through a look of defeat, she nods. "What more could there be, Mom?" I question, my mouth agape, throwing my hands up in the air. She leans back in the chair, and I look over at Travis who has barely move
d or spoken since he got here.
"While sorting through boxes last week, in an attempt to clean out your dad's office, I found more files that were stashed away in the back of the closet. It appears your dad made an investment in Rich's firm a couple of years back. Has Rich mentioned this to you?"
"No, never."
"Well,he made an investment—which is what they called it anyway. I guess the easiest way to explain it is that it's an investment to ensure that Rich never leaves you."
"What? What’s that supposed to mean?"
"This is where things get a bit complicated. I don't understand it all because your dad never mentioned any of this to me. When your dad found out he had cancer, he reached out to Rich to make a contract that included a very large investment in Rich's firm. It came with the agreement that Rich would never leave you in return. I suppose your dad knew that you never wanted to get married to Rich, so he felt that it would be easy for him to leave you, if he ever chose to. I know your dad was fond of the fact that Rich was so successful and wealthy. And I think he wanted to make sure that you were well taken care of after he passed away."
"So I was a business deal?"
"I truly don’t think that your dad saw it that way. I believe he loved you so much that he wanted to make sure you were taken care of, even after he was no longer here to do so himself."
"How do you even know this to be true?" I ask in disbelief.
"I have the contract right here," she replies, tapping on the stack of folders. She pulls out a folder with the word, Europe, written in red marker on the top. I look at her questioningly. "Apparently they referred to this deal as ‘Europe.’ I don't understand why. I'm sure there's more to it than I’ve been able to piece together. The parts that I know are in these folders."
"So, Roger must know about all of this?"
"I spoke with Roger after I found these documents and he admitted that he knew about some of it, but he never chose to question your dad for more information. Roger did what he was told to do. You can't pass blame on him."
"Did you know that Rich was—well actually, is cheating on me?" My mom's face becomes expressionless and Travis' mouth drops open.
"Rich?" my mom asks in shock.
"Yeah, he's cheating on me. He's been cheating on me. I caught him with Laura's sister last night. But I found a prepaid cell phone of his that had text messages with another woman from last year as well."
"I had no idea. I thought you guys were happy together. Despite spending a lot of time at work lately, I never thought he would do that to you." I glance over at Travis, whose expression has changed to anger. He looks down at his lap and shakes his head in disgust. "Is that why you didn't come on the cruise?" my mom questions.
"No. We didn't go because Rich said he got the time wrong. But I'm convinced he didn't want to go."
My mom shakes her head. "Did you ever find the letter I gave you?"
"No," I say, narrowing my eyes. "What was in that envelope, anyway?"
"It was a copy of the contract with a note telling you that we need to talk. I couldn't figure out the best way to tell you. I was afraid how you would react. But I knew I had to tell you regardless."
"Why would you choose to give it to me on my birthday?"
"Well, when I invited Rich to your birthday party he immediately declined, saying that he was too busy. Lately he’s been distant from us―from you―and he never makes himself available for family gatherings anymore. I asked if he could try to come, and he said he was certain he couldn't, but that he was going to make it up to you by taking you to the island and buying you a car. But, what he isn’t aware of is that I know he was not the one to pay for your new car or even your day trip to Catalina. These documents, right here, are quite detailed, Amy. You need to look at them. I couldn't allow myself to let this go any longer without you knowing. And with me being sick―" she says, sighing. "I know that I may not have picked the best day to initiate the conversation, but there really is no good day to find out all of this."
We all sit in silence for a while, before my mom gets up from her chair, announcing that she’s getting us something to drink. She disappears inside the house. “And I didn't want to talk about our past with you," I say, smirking. Travis gazes at me and smiles―a beautiful magnificent smile, without saying a word.
"How are you doing today?" my mom asks Travis when she returns, setting his glass of water on the table and resting her hand on his shoulder.
Not looking up from his hands, he nods. "I'm not bad."
"How is Amanda doing?"
He covers her hand with his and squeezes it lightly. "Today is one of her good days." So many questions flood my head. I didn't even know that my mom knew about Travis' parents, but it's evident that she does. And she might even know more than that.
"You know about what happened?" I question, looking up at my mom.
"Yes, I know," she says, observing Travis with caring eyes. "It’s so tragic, but everything will be all right though."
Travis' phone rings. He answers it while getting up from the chair and walking away from the table. My mom looks at me and smiles. "How are you holding up, honey?"
"I don’t know. I'm not sure it's all sunk in yet. I feel like it's so much to even understand."
"I know."
"How are you feeling, Mom? Like, how are you really feeling?"
"Well, you know, I'm not too bad," she says, attempting to tell me what I want to hear.
"When did you find out?"
"About three weeks ago. Part of the reason I wanted you, Marla, and Drew to come on vacation was that I wished we could all talk about it together. Marla still doesn't know yet, I left before I could tell her. But Drew knows. I ran into him at the hospital the day that I went in for a biopsy. He's been helping me to understand the test results and such," she says, her eyes filled with sadness and fear. "It’ll be okay though, Ames," she adds, no longer able to look at me. She looks down and starts fidgeting with her dress.
Moving my chair closer to hers, I lean in and hug her. "I love you, Mom." When I pull away, I see that Travis has returned.
He places his hands on the back of the chair. "I'll leave you two alone," he says tenderly.
"No, please don't go," my mom declares.
His eyes shift to mine,and I can tell by the look on his face that he really doesn't want to go—and well, I don't want him to go either. "Please stay," I advise, smiling up at him. His eyes instantly brighten and I see a glimmer of a grin form.
"Is Amanda with her grandma?" my mom asks.
"Yeah, she picked Amanda up from school. She's going to sleep over there tonight."
"Then, stay." My mom pulls his chair out. "We can order dinner."
• • • •
"Amanda isn't your daughter?" I inquire. We've had a couple glasses of wine with dinner and I’m starting to feel more comfortable having Travis in my presence. Although, the alcohol still hasn't helped me to look him in the eye for longer than a few seconds before I start feeling like a school girl with her first crush. If the butterflies in my stomach would go to sleep or flutter away, I'd be good. But at least my inner voice keeps getting louder with every sip of wine, so the butterflies have seemed to settle for a bit.
"She's not my biological daughter, but she's my daughter."
I furrow my brow. "What does that mean?"
"Amanda is Brian's biological daughter. But Brian hasn't been a dad a day in her life. Amanda's mom, Susanna, died when she was four. My parents took Amanda in, and then I decided to adopt her when she was ten." I’m left speechless. "She's a remarkable kid," he adds, his smile reaching his eyes.
"She's been through a lot," my mom interjects. Travis nods.
"She has.” He notices that I’m not sure what they’re talking about, so he elaborates. "Amanda was in a car accident with her mom. They were hit head on by a drunk driver. Their car burst into flames with the impact. Susanna was pronounced dead at the scene, and Amanda was left with third de
gree burns on seventy-five percent of her body," he explains. "She's had many surgeries and therapies over the last ten years, but she’s so resilient and strong. She goes through it all with a smile on her face." I instantly sense the love he has for her, radiating through his words. The feeling of admiration for him invades me.
"What made you adopt her?" I ask, interested in learning more about his love for her.
"Well, my mom was left having to take Amanda to her surgeries and therapies. It was a lot for her to do on her own, so I'd often accompany her. I became drawn to Amanda, and we started creating a bond. Eventually she ended up spending more time with me at work and sleeping over at my house. She even became friends with my neighbors' kids. Eventually, she was more at my house than she was at my parents'. I asked her if she wanted to come live with me," he says, his face lighting up. "And we've been inseparable since. Amanda asked me to be her dad, it was her decision. She's the second best thing to happen to me." His last statement speaks directly to my heart. It feels like he reached into my chest, took my heart in his hands, and spoke directly to it. I want to ask him what his first best thing is, but I'm afraid to hear his response.
Unsure how to respond, I announce that I need to use the restroom. Getting up with weakened knees, I head inside.
Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I attempt to give my heart a pep talk. “What are you doing, heart? This is not the time to start acting a fool. Find your composure. You haven't even broken things off with Rich. You don't even know if you want to break things off with Rich. Okay, fine, you do. But you have too much to deal with right now. You can't do this.”
“But he's gorgeous. He's so amazingly gorgeous. He adopted his brother's daughter. What man does that? A gorgeous, kind, and selfless one does,” the little voice from within interrupts. Taking long breaths in and out, I convince myself that I need another glass of wine.
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