Lauren felt split in two. She wanted to confront her father about keeping this secret, about leaving Mother to mourn alone. She also wanted to honor Mother’s dying wish that the years of separation in their family be redeemed. Was it possible to do both?
“But this is true, too, you know.” Aunt Beryl broke into her thoughts, tapping the letter once more. “A thousand times she told me she wasn’t sorry she’d married Lawrence, because of you. You were a gift to her. I felt better about her being way out in Chicago knowing she had you.”
Fighting a swell of emotion, Lauren refolded the letter and placed it back in the box, closing the lid firmly. That was enough revelation for now.
WEDNESDAY, DECEMBER 9, 1925
Lauren couldn’t sleep for thinking of her mother.“She had you,”Aunt Beryl had said, surely intending to comfort.
Lauren placed the sentiment on a scale in her mind, weighing itagainst what she remembered of her childhood. She recalled climbing a tree to look for her father. Dashing out of the house before Nancy could scold her for making noise. Hiding in Dad’s office, curling into a tight ball of loneliness. It was dark and cold, for no fire had been lit behind that grate for months.
Nancy hadn’t bothered to look for her, but Mother knew where to find her that day. Sick as she was, Mother had crawled to join Lauren under the desk. Lauren’s emotions had been too big to understand, too big to put into words. So all she’d said was that she was a hibernating bear, then pretended she was sleeping. Mother swept the hair off her forehead, kissed her, and said,“All right, hide away, baby bear. Sleep through the long winter’s night. I will be here when you wake.”Lauren felt Mother shivering at her back.
She should have turned around. She should have thrown her arms around her mother’s neck and kissed her cheek and told her how much she loved her. She should have brought Mother back into her own warm room and put her back to bed herself. Why hadn’t she?
Guilt filled Lauren’s stomach with lead. But then something else, something sharp and burning, spread through her. She hated that she hadn’t tried harder with Mother while she had the chance. But she’d been a child, with no idea that Mother had already lost four children. What Dad had done—and not done—was unthinkable. Unforgiveable, even, except for the fact that Motherhadforgiven him.
After Aunt Beryl had left, Lauren had dared to look through the envelopes in the box, searching for any postmarked around the time of Lawrence’s birth. She hadn’t found any. All she had on the subject was her aunt’s word.
Throwing back her covers, Lauren sat up and looked at the clock. Three thirty. She wouldn’t be going back to sleep now. If she couldn’t rest tonight, why should her father get to? She’d never be able to concentrate at work today if she didn’t talk to him first. Never mind that she might have trouble focusing even after she heard what he had to say. That was a worry for later.
Lauren could bury many things for the sake of preserving peace. She could deny that others bothered her at all. With this, she could do neither.
At four o’clock, she called and woke her father. At five, she met him downstairs in the lobby.
“What’s wrong? What is it?” He looked harried and alarmed, his jaw stubbled white. “Are you all right?” Through the windows behind him, light flashed in the dark from headlamps of passing taxis.
“Let’s sit down.” After leading him to the back of the room, she pointed to a wingback chair upholstered in ivory and camel-colored stripes.
She took the matching one beside it, a glass-topped table between them. A potted ficus tree and silk screen shielded their corner from the rest of the lobby.
“What’s going on?” he asked.
Now that he was here, the lines she’d rehearsed fled her mind. She could do nothing more than blurt out, “I talked to Aunt Beryl last night.”
His brow pleated. “That woman despises me.”
At least now Lauren knew why. A few feet away, a Beresford staff member stoked the fire in the marble fireplace, replaced the screen, and left. Warmth bathed one side of Lauren’s face. The other half felt cold.
Dad leaned back, his fingers pressing the brass nails at the ends of the chair arms. “That’s what this is about?”
“She told me some things about our family that I’d never heard before.” She crossed her ankles, her heels sinking into the carpet.
Lines carved deeper around his mouth. “Well, I hope you’ve considered the source. For goodness’ sake, you might have brought me a cup of coffee for this.”
It hadn’t even occurred to her. She was wide awake, adrenaline charging through her. If he wasn’t alert now, he soon would be. “She told me about my brothers. The three miscarried babies and little Lawrence, who died when he was three days old.”
Instantly, water filled Dad’s eyes, his entire composure collapsing. “My boys.” A slow intake of air swelled his chest, and then deflated it.
Lauren tamped down an answering surge of emotion. “Why didn’t you ever mention them? Why keep them a secret, as if they were something to hide?” Despite her best effort, her voice wobbled.
He bent forward, elbows on his knees. “We all grieve in different ways, Lauren. I’m ashamed to admit that mine was denial. I didn’t know how to get away from the pain, so I—well, you know what I did. You may not believe this, but I figured that not telling you about your brothers was one way I could protect you from a sadness you shouldn’t have to carry. By the time you were old enough to understand, we’d all moved on anyway.”
Lauren tilted her head, wondering if that was possible. Would Mother have said she’d moved on from losing four children? Flames hissed behind the grate, a log crumbling. “But why weren’t you there for Mother? Why didn’t you help her through her grief? Why didn’t you plan to be home for little Lawrence’s birth?”
He leaned back so hard, so fast, it was as if by physical force. “So that’s what Beryl told you.”
Dread and doubt gripped Lauren. But whatever came next, she knew she needed to hear it.
