She felt as if the walls of the room were closing in on her.
She’d arrived here thinking that she’d be able to take it slow, observe, find out what she needed to find out and then make a measured decision based on the facts. She hadn’t expected to be plunged deep into emotions so visceral she’d been robbed of breath.
Her thoughts and feelings about her father had all been acquired secondhand, given to her by her mother.
Some men can’t handle responsibility.
You can’t trust a man to stick by you when times are tough.
Those were the answers she’d been given whenever she’d asked questions about her father. Her mother had placed all the blame squarely on him.
Some men aren’t built to be fathers.
But now she had evidence to the contrary. Maybe her father hadn’t been able to handle the responsibility of her, but he’d handled being a father to Hattie. Maybe some men didn’t stick around when times were tough, but her father had stuck around for Hattie. He’d stuck by her in the toughest of circumstances. He’d been a great father to Hattie.
So what did that mean?
Erica wrapped her arms around herself.
Had her father ever thought of her? In all those happy years with his second daughter, had he thought of his first? When he’d swung Hattie into his arms, had he ever felt a twinge of regret or guilt that he hadn’t ever put those same arms around Erica?
She leaned her burning forehead against the glass.
She was forty years old for goodness’ sake, and she’d been taking care of herself for as long as she could remember. Even as a child her mother had insisted she solve her own problems. There was no reason to be standing here with shaking legs, feeling as vulnerable as a child. Definitely no reason to cry. It was pathetic.
She felt embarrassed. She couldn’t understand why something so far in her past could cause such emotional havoc in her present.
It took a moment for her to register the silence behind her.
She turned to find both her friends staring at her stupidly.
They didn’t know what to say. She didn’t blame them. She didn’t know what to say, either.
She gave an awkward shrug. “This is a first, isn’t it? Me crying?”
Claudia spoke first. “I don’t understand.”
Erica shrugged. “I don’t understand, either. Apparently, I’m more emotional than I thought. It’s a disturbing discovery.”
“Not that part.” Claudia waved a hand. “I mean, I don’t understand how Hattie’s father can be your father.”
“Neither do I. This makes no sense.” Anna looked confused. “Hattie is British. She grew up in London.”
“Yes, she grew up in London. She was born there, and her mother was British. But her father—” Erica drew in a breath “—her father was from New York.”
“How do you know all this?” Claudia stared at her. “Your mother refused to ever talk about him.”
“That’s right. She never did talk about him, except when she held him up as an example of the folly of relying on anyone other than yourself.” She should have confided in her friends sooner. She wished she had, but opening up had never been easy for her and the right moment to talk about this hadn’t arisen. “You remember when I cleared out my mother’s house after she died?”
“Of course we remember,” Claudia said. “We were there.”
“I know. It was a horrible job, and you were incredible, both of you.” They’d both insisted on joining her, even though she hadn’t asked. They’d brought food, and most important of all they’d brought friendship. She’d needed the second more than the first. “I found something. Hidden away in my mother’s things. I almost missed it.”
“What did you find?”
They’d forgotten about the room, the views, their luggage, the book they’d read specially, the purpose of their trip. They were both focused on her, and Erica felt a twinge of guilt because this was supposed to be a fun week, and right now it was anything but fun. She’d ruined their special vacation. She should have warned them, so that they’d had the choice. They could have said no way do we want to waste our book club week digging into your past. It’s supposed to be relaxing. Pick a different hotel.
But even as she thought it, she dismissed it. If she’d told them, they would have wanted to come and be with her. They would have insisted. That was who they were.
“I found a card,” she said. “A birthday card. For me.”
“From your dad?” Claudia glanced at Anna and then back at Erica. “And you didn’t tell us? Why not?”
“It’s fine.” Anna touched her arm but Claudia shook her off.
“No, actually, it’s not. This is huge. We’re your closest friends. Why wouldn’t you share something like this?”
“I don’t know.” Erica had asked herself the same question. “I was shocked. I was processing it.”
“Okay, that might explain why you didn’t tell us at the time, but it was two years ago and you haven’t said a word to us?”
“I blocked it out. Tried to forget it. It’s what I do. You know it’s what I do.” She felt the emotion rising and didn’t know what to do. She never felt like this. She had no experience of this. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”
“You haven’t upset us,” Anna intervened. “It’s now that’s important, not what has gone before. This card…your mother never gave it to you, or mentioned it to you?”
“No.” And she’d asked herself why. She’d conjured up so many possible scenarios, but she’d never know for sure because her mother was gone and with her all the answers to the questions Erica was never going to be able to ask.
Claudia bit her lip. “What did it say?”
“Nothing. Just his name.”
“Which name?” Claudia showed her usual forensic attention to detail. “His actual name or—Dad?”
“I don’t remember.” She remembered perfectly. It had said Jeff, your father. It was telling that he felt he needed to introduce himself. Of course if he hadn’t walked out shortly after she’d drawn her first breath, it might not have been necessary.
She didn’t tell them that when she’d found it she’d ripped the card into four pieces. Or that she’d then stuck it back together.
Anna wouldn’t have torn it up. Anna would have folded it neatly and stored it in a file. Anna would have thought carefully about the best way to deal with it.
Claudia probably would have set fire to it.
Anna slipped off her boots and curled up on the bed, settling herself in for a good heart-to-heart. “But if he sent a card, then that means he was thinking of you. He hadn’t just walked away and forgotten about you. Maybe it didn’t happen exactly as your mother said.”
“Or maybe it happened exactly as she said, and he had second thoughts.” Claudia frowned. “Were there more cards?”
“No, just the one.”
“But why go to the trouble of sending a birthday card and then never send another one? That doesn’t make sense. Not that I expect male behavior to make sense.” Claudia paced across the room, as she always did when she was thinking. “I mean, he walks away. Your mother doesn’t hear from him. Then he sends a card. Why?”