As soon as Véronique read his name, it sounded familiar to her, and she realized why he also looked familiar in the photographs. She had seen pictures of him somewhere, maybe in the press. So he had had the successful political career he wanted so badly, and Marie-Helene had lost the man she loved, and Véronique a father. She didn’t like the fact that her mother had been deceptive about it, but it was hard to be angry at her now that she was gone. She had sacrificed so much for his well-being, because she loved him. If anything, Véronique was more touched than angry, and had never lacked for anything, thanks to her mother. The money he had left her had been untouched, to be used later on. He had given it to Marie-Helene when they parted, so that it didn’t become entangled in a legal battle at his death, and by giving it early he had spared everyone embarrassment. Marie-Helene said that his wife had never known about her. It explained why they had never married, and she affirmed that he had been the love of her life. Véronique thought she had paid a high price for it, and there were tears running down her cheeks as she read the letter. More than anything, she felt sorry for her mother, who had given up so much. And she had been such a devoted, loving mother.
The letter created a dilemma for Véronique. She was no longer an orphan now, as she had thought. She had lost her mother, but her father was alive. The temptation was great to try and see him, so that she had a connection with someone in the world, and wasn’t entirely alone. She hated what he had done to her mother and how selfish he had been, but he was still her father and she was curious about him. She had no idea how to reach out to him, and wanted to think about it. She was grateful her mother had written the letter, and realized it must have been painful for her. She apologized to Véronique for lying to her, but Véronique was mature enough to understand and forgive her for it. The one she had more trouble forgiving was her father for letting her mother slip away, and abandoning them both. She thought he had a right to know that her mother had died, which seemed like another valid reason to contact him. She was sorely tempted to do so. She wondered if he’d even respond. It gave her something to think about, other than her injuries, and her own uncertain future. The only gift after all her losses was knowing that she had a father and he was alive.
She read the letter several times again that night, and looked at the photographs of Bill Hayes and her mother. Her parents. She wondered what kind of man he was, cheating on his wife with a mistress, and having a child with her, and then abandoning them in favor of his political career. If nothing else, he sounded very selfish. She spent the rest of July and all of August thinking about it between her surgeries. She was due to be released in September. If her father had health problems, she wanted to meet him before he died. She had a lot to think about now that she knew about him and she was grateful for her mother’s letter and the truth at last.
* * *
—
Things seemed very slow at the hospital in July and August, with many of the doctors away for their summer holidays. She had two more surgeries to remove more shrapnel in July, and another long plastic surgery on her face and a shorter one in August. She had been in the hospital for five months by then, and had improved enough to start feeling restless and cooped up. She still had odd, inexplicable aches and pains from the shrapnel throughout her body, and was told she’d have to live with it. She could see shapes and light and dark with her injured eye now, which they said might not improve. Technically, she could drive with an eye patch, but she didn’t feel safe driving with impaired vision, whether legal or not. She still needed another surgery in a few months, but the ones in August were the last ones for now. She wondered how long it would take so one couldn’t see the scars. She knew that plastic surgeons could perform miracles.
When the bandages came off in early September, she got her first glimpse of the truth. She had two deep scars that ran across the right side of her face, and a third smaller one below it. They said there would be some improvement, and they would pale, but they couldn’t be fully erased. She just stared at them in the mirror and cried. Half her face was untouched and the other half badly scarred. The reality was shocking when she saw it. She almost fainted when she first saw the injured side in contrast to the unscarred half of her face. It looked like a bad before and after photo. She realized then that this was her face now. Half perfect and half damaged, like a terrible curse someone had put on her. The psychiatrist spent hours with her while she cried. She tried walking around the hospital in the surgical mask they gave her to conceal her scars and felt smothered and like an invalid.