“Did you ever wonder why your rent was so reasonable, Branna?”
Gripping the sink behind her, she tried to focus on what he was saying, tried to make sense of his words, but her head was suddenly a swirling mass of emotion.
“Those textbooks that suddenly got handed to you one day by a fellow student? The trip to Paris that was funded by an anonymous benefactor?”
“Th-that was you?”
“Yes.” His face was calm, the words spoken slowly. “And I’m not telling you to buy your gratitude. I’m telling you so you understand that, even though you thought I had walked away from you, in fact, I hadn’t. I used everything I had at my disposal to make sure you never had to struggle, never had to know hardship. It was the only thing I could do as your father, seeing as you wanted nothing else from me.”
He stood in her kitchen doorway, dirt under his nails, smudges on his face, and blew everything she had believed about her life apart.
“You are my daughter, Branna O’Donnell. We share bloodlines and once we shared love, and while I understand why you feel as you do about me, I am telling you from the depths of my soul and with the strength of your mother’s love inside us, that you have always been my blessing and the one thing I had a hand in creating that makes each day worthwhile.”
“No.” The word was wrenched from her chest, but he didn’t stop. He just kept on talking in that calm, clear voice.
“Yes. You were an extension of the love I felt for your mother, daughter. Her death plunged me into a hell that I had no idea how to drag myself out of, but know this, had you succeeded in taking your life that day, then I would have followed you, because losing her nearly destroyed me, but you…” Branna watched as he closed his eyes. “Losing you would have simply taken my will to live.”
Branna turned back to the sink and closed her eyes, gripping the sink hard; she waited until his footsteps started on the stairs before she let the first tears fall. All these years, she’d believed one thing, only to find out another. He’d watched over her, made sure she never went without, and all the time she’d thought he had no idea what was happening in her life. She remembered the things that used to happen to her, the small random acts that she could never account for, and now she realized they were him.
The timer went off and, drying her hands, she took the cake out, surprised to see it actually looked good when she was crumbling inside. Branna set it on the rack to cool, then made her way upstairs. She had to pull herself together before going to the Book Club. She needed to find a way to lock the emotions back up inside her like she had always been able to do. But now, she wondered if the box was even big enough to fit them all.
By the time she’d showered and dressed, she felt calmer. She would shelve thoughts of what her father’s declaration meant until tomorrow. For now, Branna had to go to her first Book Club meeting. A book club? Seriously, what was she thinking? Smoothing down the skirt she’d chosen, she questioned if it was the right outfit to wear to Elizabeth Heath’s house.
Looking in the mirror, she wondered how she looked the same as she had this morning, the same as a week ago, when inside she felt so different. She felt a sharp tug of longing for Jake. She wanted his strength, needed to feel his arms around her.
“You can do this, Branna. You managed before.”
Pulling her shoulders back, she studied herself. Rose-colored, the dress was slim fitting with small sleeves and finished just above her knees. She’d added black sandals with a small heel. Her hair was piled on top of her head and fixed with a large clip, and to give her courage, she wore her mother’s thin gold bracelet and hoop earrings. Her makeup was minimal, with a touch of rose-colored lip gloss.
Going back down the stairs, she found her father sitting with his laptop in the lounge.
“I made mac and cheese,” Branna said, collecting up the cake tin and her bag, inside of which was the envelope and book she had to take. “I-it’s in the oven on low.”
“Thank you, Branna. Have a good evening.”
The great secret, Eliza, is not having bad manners or good manners or any other particular sort of manners, but having the same manner for all human souls: in short, behaving as if you were in heaven, where there are no third class carriages, and one soul is as good as another.
Her father had often quoted George Bernard Shaw to her, but why it now played through her head, she had no idea. Maybe she was finally succumbing to the hysteria that had been bubbling inside her for days.
“Good night, Declan.”
Chapter19
Elizabeth Heath lived in a house not dissimilar to Buster’s, and as most of the houses in Howling were grouped in this area, they were not too far away from each other. Mrs Heath’s home was white with sky blue trim and the lawn looked as if it had been manicured. Parking on the road, Branna got out and collected her things just as a large beige Cadillac pulled out of the garage and began to back slowly down the driveway. She waited for it to pass, but it stopped beside her and the window lowered slowly.
“Well now, Branna O’Donnell, it’s my hope you’re ready for those old biddies.” Bending, she looked in the window. “Walt Heath, girl, it’s a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”
Juggling her cake, Branna managed to stick her hand through the window and shake the one he extended toward her. He had thick white hair that Santa Claus would give his eye teeth for and neatly trimmed matching eyebrows, beneath which sat soft brown eyes.
“Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Heath.”
“Walt, girl, you just call me Walt, and you remember, Branna, not to take any of their crap. They’ll boss you about something fierce if you let them, seeing as even the youngest in there has fifteen years on you.”
Fifteen? Branna had thought at least thirty.
“Thanks, I’ll give it my best shot, Walt.”
“And don’t offer to do stuff. Make them ask you,” he added. “And any of them give you grief, you tell me about it and I’ll sort it.”
