“What are you talking about?”
“Your grandsons. My brothers, Ned and Adam. My father.”
Barron’s complexion turned ashen. “How did you find out about them? We made sure to keep all of that hidden from you.”
“You didn’t do a very good job.”
“Apparently not. Now answer my question.”
“Mother kept boxes of photos and things. I found them.”
Barron sighed. “I told her to throw them out, but she wouldn’t. It would have made the loss too final. As if storing them would change anything.”
“Maybe it did for her. It certainly did for me.” Once she’d seen what was inside the boxes, she could never pretend she was all right around her family.
“I assumed you were pulling some sort of stunt when you sent me that cashier’s check for your college tuition. Thought you were trying to make a statement. Independent woman, all that sort of thing. So I put the entire sum into
a few funds I was starting, thinking I’d give it back to you when you returned.”
She stared at him. He must’ve at least quadrupled the money by now.
“But then you disappeared. Cut your phone, left no forwarding address.”
“I sent that check almost eight years ago, and it took you this long to figure out your only grandchild was gone?” Her voice shook.
Barron’s dark eyes flickered. His hands tightened briefly before he reached for his tea. “I suppose I deserve that. You were upset. Still are.”
“This isn’t about my being upset. And if you want me to continue this conversation, I suggest that you not try to reduce my actions to a temper tantrum.” She hadn’t acted because of theatrics or to get attention. She’d done everything she could to insulate herself from further pain.
It had been so obvious that the hope she’d harbored about how her family would one day realize that she was a good girl and love her was just that—a hope. And hoping wasn’t enough to make something come true. Whenever her family looked at her, she’d always be the girl whose birth robbed them of their men. She’d never be more than that to them, and she needed to cut her losses.
“You left without telling anybody.” Barron picked up a sugar cookie and broke it in half. “We noticed not…” He sighed heavily. “It’d be easier if I could just lie, but I’m not going to. You deserve better. We noticed not because we cared, but because your mother passed away and we suddenly realized none of us knew how to reach you.”
Kerri said nothing. She’d known about her mother. It’d made the news several months back—reported once the funeral was more or less over. Barron was a significant figure, and even though his daughter had retired from society in grief years earlier, the press had still gone sniffing around.
The article had been a shock. Even though Renée had been completely unstable and rarely there for her, Kerri had never thought she’d lose her. In retrospect it made sense. Renée was—had been—a delicate woman who’d lived her life with unimaginable grief. Living with the stress of losing her husband and sons would’ve been incredibly tough, especially since she’d been the one who’d wanted a girl and insisted on having another baby. Kerri swallowed a big lump in her throat. She’d never really had the chance to know her mother, and she never would.
Barron sighed again. “Renée would’ve wanted you there. No matter what, she loved you. She wanted a daughter very badly.”
Not once she’d lost her husband and sons. She hadn’t wanted a girl then.
“And she blamed herself for what happened.”
Kerri’s head snapped up. “What?”
“It’s true. She asked that David bring the boys to the hospital to welcome you into the world, even though he thought it would be better to wait until the next day. It was late when your mother went into labor. She told me she was certain God took them away from her because she didn’t appreciate them enough. She couldn’t bear the sight of you not because you made her lose her children, but because you reminded her of her ‘selfishness’ as she called it.”
Kerri’s throat suddenly felt parched. She took a quick sip of tea, her hands unsteady.
“I never imagined you would separate yourself from the family, just walk away on your own and vanish. I always assumed you’d either work for Sterling & Wilson or get married and start your own family.”
“Why would I want a family of my own?” she said, stunned.
“Because that’s what your mother did, and that’s what I assumed you’d like to do if you didn’t want a career.”
“Even if I didn’t opt for a career, I wouldn’t want a family.”
The muscles in Barron’s jaw flexed. “That, too, is my fault.”