She sat beside me and opened the yearbook on the couch, careful not to disturb Princess, who was settled across my lap like she had no intention of moving. The cat’s steady purr vibrated against my legs as Kelly flipped through the worn pages. The smell of old paper and ink rose faintly with every turn.
A few pages in, Kelly stopped and turned the book toward me. My gaze locked onto two faces staring back at me in faded colors: my dad, the same man from the photo on the side table, smiling with easy confidence, and my mom, her beauty undeniable even then. However, her eyes betrayed something else: a weariness that clung to her expression, like life had already started weighing her down long before this picture had been taken.
“They were high school sweethearts,” my grandmother said. “She lived up the road from here. I don’t know much about her family. She never spoke about them. But it wasn’t a loving house she came from. The police were called there often. I think Henry, your grandfather on her side, had a bad drinking problem.”
I studied my mother’s picture, this girl who must have been fighting for her own survival from the start. In some twisted way, it felt familiar.
“Are they still alive?” I asked. “Anyone from Cynthia’s family?”
Kelly shook her head. “Not that I’m aware of. And if there is, you might be better off staying away.”
I nodded. Strangely, it didn’t hurt. Sitting here, with this sweet grandmother and an ancient cat purring in my lap, felt enough. Aside from Daniel.
“What happened?” My eyes drifted back to my dad’s photo. He wasn’t particularly handsome, just average: brown hair, brown eyes, a nose a little too big, one slightly crooked tooth.However, his build was impossible to miss. Even in the picture, he looked huge—broad shoulders, a chest like a wall. He had to be over six feet tall. His stance was steady and powerful, like he could take on anything.
Kelly smiled softly, her eyes warming as she looked at me. “You look so much like him. You have his eyebrows and nose.” She tilted her head. “Although yours is a bit smaller, thank God.”
A giggle slipped out before I could stop it.
“Your dad was always so strong,” she went on. “Honest to the core. Always willing to help anyone. That’s how they fell in love, I think.” She stared off for a moment, the memory seeming to pull her somewhere else. “It was raining that night. A horrible Thanksgiving storm. We heard screaming outside and saw Cynthia and her father fighting in the street. She was barefoot. Looked like she’d run for her life. Your grandpa—my husband—told us to stay out of it, said it was none of our business. But your dad, he didn’t even hesitate. He stormed out just as Bob, your other grandpa, grabbed your mom by the hair and started dragging her back. Your dad landed a solid punch and brought her inside.”
Her gaze drifted to the window. For a long beat, she was lost there.
“Of course, he fell for her beauty,” she continued. “How could he not? She was perfect. And when she loved him back, I’d like to believe they were happy for a while.”
“Until she got pregnant with me?” The words came out rough. A sharp pain twisted through me at the thought that I’d been the reason it all went wrong.
A teen pregnancy.
Kelly turned to me, her voice firm. “Oh, no, honey. No. Nothing about this is your fault. It’s the world’s fault, like always.” Her shoulders sagged. “Things started to fall apart when your mom began to show. The bullying at school wasawful. And the school did nothing to stop it. Your mother dropped out quickly. Your dad tried to stay, but after losing his friends and the football team, he started running with the wrong crowd. Then he broke his hand, and the doctor gave him those awful pain pills. That’s when it all changed.”
Her voice dropped. “He said they took everything away. The pain, the stress. When the doctor cut him off, he found other ways to get that feeling. From street drugs. The drugs hollowed him out, turned the sweetest boy I’d ever known into a ghost. He lost so much weight, his skin turned gray, his veins and hands...they were always swollen and purple.”
Kelly shook her head, her mouth trembling. “I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy. I can’t even blame Cynthia for leaving him. And there were days I wished he’d never gone out that rainy night to save her. But then…”
Her head lifted, and her gaze met mine. It was soft and full of love. “But then you came into this world. You were the sweetest baby I’d ever met. Whatever time she allowed us with you felt like it was sent straight from the Lord, a gift to soothe the pain of slowly losing our son.”
Her lips curved into a sad smile as another tear slid down her cheek. A big orange cat rubbed against her leg and let out a deep, throaty meow.
“I’m all right, sweetheart,” she whispered, bending down to stroke its head.
I flipped through the album in my lap, pausing at every photograph of my parents. My mom in her cheerleading outfit, radiant and flawless, looking like she’d stepped off a runway. My dad a few pages later, standing tall with his football team, full of life, ready to take on the world.
Then a loose picture slid out and fell onto the couch. My breath caught. It was my mom with another woman. They were leaning their heads together, smiling like best friends. Thewoman was older, maybe in her thirties, and had a striking elegance that was polished and effortless.
“Who’s that?” I asked.
Kelly leaned closer and squinted at the photo. “I can’t remember her name. Your mother met her at a church fundraiser in New York City. If I remember correctly, your mother stayed at the church’s dormitory for women who’d fallen on hard times. They hit it off right away. At least that’s what your mom said in her letters. They met often after that. She sometimes sent me pictures like this so I could show them to you while you stayed with us. She sent them to your dad too when he was in jail.”
She exhaled, shaking her head like the memory still pained her. “What was that woman’s name...”
I flipped through the pages until another photo slipped loose and landed in my hand. My fingers tightened around it, and I froze.
An icy chill hollowed out my stomach. My hands trembled as I stared.
It was my mom again, this time on a yacht. The same elegant woman stood next to her. They were both holding champagne glasses and laughing like they didn’t have a care in the world. And behind them—
“Winthrop,” I whispered. “The woman’s name was Winthrop.”
