“What do you know about your father?”
The swift change in subject left her reeling.
“My father?”
“Yes.”
A memory rose up, vivid and bitter. The one time she remembered her mother raising her voice. She’d been ten and had asked about her father for a school project.
There’s nothing to tell,Mom said with an overly bright, brittle smile.
But—
Drop it, Briony. He never was, and never will be, a part of our lives.
At the time, she’d thought the emotion in her mother’s voice had been anger. Mom’s refusal to talk had hurt deeply and driven a wedge between them. While they had recovered, that conversation had lingered in the background of the remainder of their relationship. It had taken Mom’s illness to make Briony conscious of the fact that she had been pushing her mother away, creating a distance as a shield against the hurt of not knowing that piece of her history. The realization had come in time for her and her mother to have a frank conversation, one that still hadn’t resulted in her father’s identity, but had left her feeling more connected to her mom than she had in years.
But as Briony reexamined the initial memory of her mother’s refusal, she realized the truth: her mother had been afraid. She’d been so angry that she’d projected her own emotions onto her mother. It wasn’t until now, revisiting the memory with the emotional maturity of an adult instead of the volatile feelings of a young girl, that she understood. It had been fear, not anger, that had made her mother’s voice pitch up. Dread that made the tendons in her neck tense, the pulse in her throat pound so hard it was visible to the naked eye.
Warning whispered in her ear.
“What does my birth father have to do with this?”
Cass’s smile flashed again, a cruel twist of his lips that made her feel cold. But she blinked, and it was gone. Had she imagined it?
“Your father has everything to do with what I’m about to propose.” He reached over to a black briefcase sitting on the edge of the counter. He popped the lid and pulled out a folder. He slid it over to her. “Van Ambrose” had been written in bold black script across the top.
She swallowed hard. Intuition told her that whatever was in this folder had the power to change the course of her life. Mom had gone to great lengths to keep her father’s identity a secret.
Yet her mother’s unwillingness to talk about her birth father had left a void, a missing piece in Briony’s life. Once her mom had married Trey and welcomed his daughters, Stacy and Ella, into the family, Briony had felt that emptiness even more acutely. Trey had been friendly, but the few moments of affection he’d displayed had felt like hard-won battles instead of fatherly love. She’d taken a shop class in high school because Trey had loved woodworking. The first time he’d spontaneously hugged her had been when she’d presented him with an end table she’d made for his birthday. When she’d overheard her mother and Trey arguing about his lack of involvement with Briony, she’d doubled her efforts to show her mom that everything was wonderful and see, she and Trey got along just fine.
The twins had been slightly better, coming into her room for slumber parties and going shopping with her up until she’d left for the university in Missoula. When she’d returned to help care for Mom, Stacy and Ella had been excited to see her.
But now...now there was nothing meaningful left in her life. Nothing but her father’s true identity.
She tore open the envelope, not caring if Cass saw her shaking fingers or heard her shuddering breath. She pulled out a sheaf of photos. It took a moment for her to realize she was looking at pictures of her mom.
Tears pricked her eyes. Judging by her mother’s long red hair and smooth face, the photographs had to be at least twenty years old. In every photo, she was in the company of a man who had to be in his mid-to late forties. Silver-haired with hawkish features, a smug smile and a lean figure dressed in expensive-looking suits, the expression on his face said he knew the world was his and dared anyone to tell him differently.
Yet in the few where he looked down at her mother, his thin lips were softened at the corners, his arm wrapped possessively yet gently around Marie’s waist.
Briony peered closer. His eyes were green. A vivid, almost unnatural emerald green. She knew without a doubt that she was finally seeing a photo of her father.
Blood roared in her ears as time slammed to a halt. She traced a finger over his face, happiness flooding her as she soaked in the matching eye color, the same pointed chin. Her mother and her had shared the same vivid red hair, but every time she’d seen a picture of the two of them together, the differences in their faces, it had been yet another reminder of the missing piece of her life.
Mom, why didn’t you tell me?
Confusion swamped her happiness and sank it faster than she could catch her breath. Her eyes flickered to Cass as she felt herself drifting out to sea, unanchored and awash in grief and bewilderment. This man—a complete stranger—knew more about her past than she did.
She set the photos aside, reached back into the envelope and pulled out a sheaf of papers. Her mother’s entire life was in her hands: her hospital records from when she gave birth to Briony in Kansas City, her college degree, her teaching contract for Nowhere’s elementary school, the deed to their house, her and Trey’s marriage certificate.
The last piece of paper made Briony’s eyes grow hot. Her mother’s death certificate. Had her father planned on finding Marie, making amends, only to find out too late that his lover had died?
Slowly, she looked up at Cass. “How did you get all this? Who are you?”
“Your half brother put together the file. He and your father gave it to me last month.”
The photo edges crinkled as her fingers tightened. “You’ve met them? I have a half brother?”