If Amelia had two daughters, only one was likely to be biologically hers. The other would mean she was happily married to that man the girls called "daddy."
It was not her.
I didn't want it to be her.
"Amelia Baylin," a man called out from across the terminal. "Are you Amelia Baylin?"
"Yes, sir. Can I help you?"
I closed my eyes.It was her.
"I was hoping for your autograph. I'm a big fan of your work. I recognized your face from the article in the magazine last month. Brava, miss. Brava." I forced my eyes back open. I needed to face the truth. Amelia held her hand over her chest and took the pen from the man before signing her name on the article in the magazine. I didn't know her face had made it to print. "My wife and I have several of your paintings hanging in our foyer. You are a true artist. Thank you for your time, Ms. Baylin."
"The pleasure is all mine," Amelia said, gracefully.
As the man walked away, I watched the interaction between her and the man who appeared to be her husband. He shook his head as a smile pressed into his lips. He then glanced back down at his magazine. "Unbelievable. You never cease to amaze me, Amelia. I never doubted this would be your future." The man leaned over and placed a quick kiss on Amelia's cheek.
My heart exploded, or so it felt.
The daughters were quick to return, jumping for joy, hugging and kissing their parents with gratitude. They were all so happy, just as she deserved.
I considered my options: I could approach her and pull her in for a hug as if no time had passed, even though thirteen years had passed. Or, I could walk away knowing that she was safe and happy—living out her dream.
I asked myself what love meant.
Love meant walking away.
If I chose to approach her, I would bring back those memories and all the nightmares. I would cause her more pain than she appeared to be carrying. I would be selfish.
After all this time …
Amelia and who I assumed to be her husband stood from their seats. Each took a daughter by the hand and walked away side by side. It was my last chance, but I stood there, frozen.
I don't know if it was a sound she heard or a feeling in her gut, but Amelia turned to look over her shoulder. Her focus skated over me, and for a brief moment, I wondered if she noticed me too.
Chapter 36
1958
New York City, NY
"Charlie, sohn, you haven't said much," Mama said as I was helping her up the stairs to my apartment. I didn't consider how challenging it would be for her to walk this many steps in her condition.
"Mama, I am just so happy you are here in America," I told her.
"It is wonderful. The smells, sights, and sounds; it's everything I imagined it to be."
"It is very nice," I agreed.
Mama has aged dramatically since I had seen her thirteen years ago. Since we spoke weekly on the telephone, I imagined nothing more had changed, but she looked much older than fifty years old.
Mama took me by the wrist and pulled me to face her as she sat down on a wooden chair at my small dining table. "There is much sadness in your eyes, Charlie. Something is not right with you. Talk to me, please." She released my hand, and I pulled out a chair on the other side of the table.
"Claude, Juliette, and their little girl, Penny, are bringing supper over tonight," I told her.
"Charlie, do not change the subject. I already knew about our dinner plans." Mama sweeps her hand along the table, finding a speck of dust I must have missed while cleaning the night before.
"I—I saw Amelia at the airport just before your airplane landed."
