“Well, good on you. And does that mean you’re going?”
“Uh-huh. This is my farewell tour, and you have the only ticket.”
“I’m so pleased for you, Asher. You deserve a little happiness.”
“Thank you.” He leaned in and whispered, “So do you.”
“Okay, okay.” She blushed.
“Anyway,” he said. “I have a big favor to ask you.”
“Sure. Anything.”
“I’m an old man, Diane. You may have noticed. And despite what I just told you, I still have reservations about going. I know I love Izabella, but the thought of moving to a new house at my age—and moving countries—well, I can’t help but be nervous. Would you promise me you and Brad will come visit us?”
Diane needed a gulp before replying. “You know, you’ve told me so much about Izabella, I’d really love to meet her.”
“Oh, thank you, Diane. I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
“Well, you will.”
“Thank you.”
Diane finished her coffee and stood. “We can keep talking, but I need to cook. How hungry are you?”
Early the next morning, Diane and Brad drove Asher into Pittsburgh—to the bus depot. Brad gave Asher a firm handshake, and Diane gave him a long hug—this time nothing like politicians or dignitaries, more like a close uncle and niece. Asher told Diane he’d be in touch about Warsaw, then they waved him off on his way back to Detroit.
“What did he mean by that?” Brad said as they walked to the mall.
“I’ll tell you later. First, we need a present for Mother because we can’t go empty-handed. Then we need breakfast.”
“Well, okay. Aren’t chocolates kind of compulsory for these occasions?”
Thirty minutes later, with a heart-shaped box of gourmet Belgian chocolates duly bought, they sat down to a late breakfast.
“So, did you two have a good time yesterday?” Brad said.
Diane nodded. “It was good. It was . . . worthwhile.”
“Worthwhile? That’s rather specific a word. He told you why he signed that confession?”
“Mmm . . . in a roundabout way. I think I know why.”
“Really?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good.” Brad waited while she took a bite of hash brown. Then he waited while she took a sip of coffee. “Tell me at your leisure, won’t you?” he said.
“I might. It’s a long story and perhaps something only Asher and I understand. I think we have a bond.”
“A bond. Right.” He laughed. “Have it your way. Anyhow, what was that about Warsaw?”
“Well . . .” She showed him a comedy grin. “I have a couple favors to ask you.”
He tutted.
“It’s not what you think—definitely not what you think.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Go on. Put me out of my misery.”
“The Warsaw thing. You see, Asher’s moving there to live with this Izabella I told you about.”
“The woman he met during the war? You’re kidding me!”
“They want to be together.”
“Good for them. Jeez, Asher has a lot of years to make up for.”
“He does. And, uh, I’ve promised we’ll go visit them sometime. Is that okay?”
“A European vacation? I’d like nothing more.”
“Well, that’s both of us happy.”
He smiled. “For sure.”
They ate in silence for a minute or so.
“And the other thing?” Brad asked.
“Huh?”
“You said you had a couple favors to ask.”
“Oh, yes. There was one other thing.”
“Shoot.”
“That question you asked me.”
Brad frowned, trying to remember. “What question?”
“The one you asked me at the millennium celebrations.”
He choked on his hash brown and coughed a few times before regaining his composure. “Oh,” he said between coughs. “Oh, yeah. That question.”
“It’s time to start asking me again, this time with a little real purpose.”
Brad swallowed, his face reddening. “Are you . . . are you serious?”
“Asher isn’t the only one with a lot of years to make up for.”
“Wow!” he said. Then he composed himself. “I’m sorry. I guess I should have something better to say after all these years together.”
She shook her head. “Wow’s good.”
Brad said he’d call “that swanky French restaurant” to see if they had any tables free. Then they smiled and ate, and ate and smiled, words unnecessary.
Diane knew she would never stop missing her father—whatever his faults. But now she could see a brighter future for her and Brad, and also for Asher and Izabella.
Just like Asher, Diane knew she wouldn’t waste another moment longing for a past she never had.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
This novel was a team effort, more so than anything else I’ve written. It also caused me untold grief, as it turned into a different tale quite a few times during its lengthy gestation period.
For its development during the early stages, thanks are due to Jill Worth, Delphine Cull, Sarah Manning, and Lee and Marcus of Frostbite Publishing. I’m also immensely grateful to Sammia Hamer and Victoria Pepe at Amazon Publishing for their unstinting belief in this story even when it wasn’t quite right, Celine Kelly for her structural editing expertise, Gemma Wain for her copy-editing skills, and Ian Bahrami for his thorough proofreading. Special thanks are due to Maria for encouraging me to persevere, when I could easily have put the whole thing to one side.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Ray Kingfisher was born and bred in the Black Country in the UK, and now lives in Hampshire. He has published novels under various pen names, most notably Rachel Quinn, but also Ray Backley and Ray Fripp.
For more information on the author, please visit www.raykingfisher.com.
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