“I’m notsure how long I’m going to be,” I tell Rosco when we pull up in front of my dad’s office. “If you want to take off, I can call you when I’m ready to go.”
He steps out of the SUV and opens my door for me, then looks around. “I’ll hang out here.” He points to the coffee shop next door. “Grab a coffee and catch up on some reading.” He pulls a rolled up magazine out from his back pocket.
“Okay, cool. Thank you again for driving me.”
“No worries,” he says with a smile. “Go on up.” He nods toward the building. “I’ll be here when you’re done.”
After waving goodbye to him, I enter the building and go to the elevator. It takes a few minutes after pressing the button for the elevator to arrive. When I get in, I hit the tenth floor and watch the numbers rise until I get to my dad’s floor.
The doors open and I walk down the hall to his office. Hissecretary, Glenda, greets me when I walk in.
“How are you, Nevaeh?”
“I’m good. You?”
“Busy as usual. Your dad said you can go straight back.”
“Thank you.” On my way back to his office, I pop my head into a few of his employees’ offices to say a quick hello. My dad has had this insurance agency since before I was born, and for the most part, his employees have been here just as long.
When I get to my dad’s office, his door is open, so I walk in without knocking. Instead of sitting behind his desk, where he usually is, he’s sitting on the couch—with my mom.
“Hello, sweetheart,” my dad says, standing and walking over to give me a hug.
“I thought it was going to be just us,” I whisper, so my mom doesn’t hear.
“She showed up and refused to leave,” he replies before releasing me.
I should’ve known she would pull this crap.
“Mom,” I say, walking over to give her a hug.
“Nevaeh.” She stands and rakes her eyes down my body in disgust. I raise a brow, daring her to say something about my choice of clothes, but she keeps her mouth shut. Which is probably for the best since I’m no longer the girl who would cower at her insults and go running home to change.
“Mr. Hansen, your food has arrived.” Glenda walks in holding three boxes in one hand and a bag in the other. She lays the boxes out then sets out the drinks and utensils that were in the bag.
“Thank you, Glenda,” my dad says, gesturing for me to sit onthe love seat adjacent to the couch he and my mom are sitting on.
The three of us open our boxes filled with food from the deli we love and start eating. Mine has all my favorites: shrimp eggs benedict with home fries, fruit, and a toasted blueberry muffin on the side.
For the next few minutes, we eat in silence. I’m not sure how to start this conversation. Do I bring up what I came here to talk to my dad about—what my brother told me? Since my mom is here, it’s probably best if I include her in the conversation. I also need to tell them about my tumor.
Setting down my fork, I clear my throat to get their attention. “I came here to speak to Dad about something Stephen told me before he died.” I look at my mother. “I tried to speak to you about it, but you didn’t want to talk. Since you’re here, I would rather hear it from you.”
Mom’s face goes stoic, and I can tell she’s already raising her walls, but she nods once for me to continue.
“Stephen told me he came across a journal of yours that insinuated he wasn’t Dad’s son.”
Mom gasps.
Dad’s face whips around to look at my mother, his eyes bulging.
“Is this true?” he asks.
“No.” She shakes her head. “I promise, Stephen was—is—your son.”
She stands, glaring daggers at me. “How dare you accuse me of cheating on my husband!”
“I didn’t accuse you of anything,” I say, trying to remain calm. I knew she would react this way. God forbid she have a conversation like a mature adult, without freaking out and being dramatic. Ican feel a headache looming and I’m trying to avoid it, so I can get through everything I need to say. “I’m asking you if this is true.”
