He glanced down at the memorial card, a photograph of his dad on the front. Jack never saw his dad look like this: clear-eyed and healthy with a grin that tilted up at one corner.
Jack had the exact same grin. The same hairline and shape of nose.
Odd. He’d never realized how much he and Frank looked alike. What else had he inherited from his dad? So much was lost. So much he would never know about the man who did an about-face in middle age and changed the entire trajectory of his life.
Sophie was in the front row with two blond young ladies beside her. They were his half-sisters. Those two girls were the only living relatives Jack had on this earth, and yet, they wouldn’t know him if he passed them on the street.
Who would come tohisfuneral? Not that Jack cared, but it was a depressing thought.
Soon it was all over and the guests were funneling out of the chapel. To his surprise, Sophie intercepted him before he even reached the lobby. He managed an awkward hug despite his crutches.
“Thank you for coming,” she said. “Please tell me that you’ll stay with us. Courtney is bunking in with Jessica, so we’ve already freed a room for you.”
Curiosity tugged. What sort of house had Frank managed to provide for his second family? What were his sisters like? Staying with Sophie would answer those questions.
“Thank you. I’d be grateful.”
Following the reception, he headed out to the Latimer house. It was a modest, two-story home filled with family pictures, high school trophies, and two lumbering old mutts that left their dog beds to sniff Jack’s fingers when he arrived.
Jessica and Courtney, his half-sisters, were curious and eager to spend time with him. Surprisingly, they knew all about him. They led him to a hallway crowded with family photographs on both walls. Frank had led a full life with his new family . . . horseback riding, sailing, and church picnics. Jack startled when he saw a photo of himself, probably five or six years old, sitting in the saddle of a fiberglass horse on a merry-go-round. His mom and dad stood on either side of him, holding him on the brightly painted horse. Even then, his foot was in a boot. A merry-go-round was one of the few rides at an amusement park safe for a hemophiliac.
“What’s it like to have hemophilia?” Courtney asked. “Will you bleed to death if you get a papercut?”
He chuckled and answered the infamous question, grateful his sisters would never have to worry about the disease. It was passed down through the maternal line, so Jack got the gene from his mother, and neither Courtney nor Jessica would ever be touched by it. Still, they were curious and listened as he explained some of the challenges of the disease.
He continued walking down the hallway, letting the girls explain their life that was so alien to Jack.
Envy clawed. What would it have been like to have had summers on the beach? Building sandcastles and sailing and picnics by the sea?
“Jack, come sit down,” Sophie urged. “Take the weight off your feet.”
He nodded gratefully, and the girls followed. They sat on either side of him, plopping a photo album in his lap, showing him more glimpses into Frank’s life over the past twenty years.
Photos of his dad looking tanned and healthy as he pushed the girls on a backyard swing. Christmas mornings and an Elf on the Shelf. One showed the girls when they were little tykes, gazing atFrank in adoration as he carved a pumpkin. Every page triggered a rush of painful joy.
His dad wasn’t a failure. He built a happy family and had been a good husband and father to his second family. It was hard not to wonder how things would have turned out if Jack had accepted one of the million phone calls when Frank tried to mend fences. The fact that Jack never became a part of this new family washisfault, not his father’s.
It was almost ten o’clock before the family turned in and Jack could retreat to Courtney’s bedroom, where he tugged up the window. Alice’s love of fresh air must have gotten to him, because he had a hankering for the soothing sounds of the crickets and evening breeze.
Except … Mingled with the rustle of leaves came the sound of muffled sobs. He peered outside, into the backyard. Sophie sat on a bench beneath the trees, her face buried in a dish towel. Had there ever been a more heart-rending sight? It wasn’t so much the sight of her alone in the garden, it was the keening wail of grief she struggled to hide. The dish towel covered her face, but the long, endless sobs leaked through it anyway.
Sophie had been brave all evening, but this sort of crippling grief … it was hard to even hear, let alone offer her comfort.
He should go down to offer his shoulder, but what would he say?
It didn’t matter. Comforting Sophie is what his father would have wanted of him. He shut the window quietly, shouldered his crutches, then made his way downstairs.
Once outside, he propelled himself across the lawn. Sophie startled and looked up, and he didn’t look away. She stood as he approached, unsteady on her feet. He didn’t say a word—just opened his arms. And that was all it took.
She collapsed into his arms, sobbing, her small frame shaking in his embrace. He held her tightly, letting her cry, letting himself cry, too. Quietly, but without shame.
He hadn’t known he could feel this much. It was awful. And beautiful, too. He wouldn’t abandon these people again. His sisters needed him. And so did Sophie.
Becoming a decent son was the one gift he had left to give his father.
And he meant to give it.
Jack left before dawn for Camp Lejeune the following morning. With luck, he’d be able to complete the budget and get the proposal turned in before the five o’clock deadline on Friday.
