Her thumbs glided across the sealed envelope. She’d found it in his desk drawer after helping Sauda sort through stacks of his files, had jotted down Quinn’s address from it. Niall’s handwriting was painstakingly neat, a contrast to his usual scrawl. The letter was even stamped and ready to go.
When Niall had first mentioned it to her, she had felt a tide of overwhelming envy and resentment, of her futile yearning for the love of a father that she never had. Now, all she felt was grief—and underneath it, a determination to set things right, however much she could, for a man that had been the closest thing to a father she’d ever known.
Now she was here, alone, more nervous than she ever was at the start of any official mission.
Make me proud, kid.
She looked back toward the house. Even now, there was a small part of her that wanted to be selfish, to wallow in her grief at losing Niall, a part of her that wanted to keep this letter for herself. That because Quinn had never known or understood her father, maybe she didn’t deserve Niall’s love as much as Sydney did.
She wiped tears from her face. She had been in and out of these crying sessions all day—perhaps she would never really be free from them.
What was it that Winter had said in his interview in Honolulu?
Griefislove. It’s the price we pay for the gift of someone meaningful in our lives.
She knew Winter would do it, would give the letter to its rightful owner, and that no matter what, he would find a way to absorb the hurt to his open heart.
She wasn’t sure if she was as good a person. But she could feel the pullof his influence on her all the same. Tems was right. Winter had changed her, in his own way.
She took a deep breath and composed herself. Then she stepped out of the car.
The only sound in the night was the clip of her boots on the stone walkway up to the house. Sydney rang the doorbell, then took a step back and waited. A few seconds passed, followed by the muffled sound of voices from inside.
Then the door opened, and Sydney found herself looking into the face of a slender young woman that reminded her immediately of Niall. The same soulful eyes, the same thick hair.
It had to be Quinn.
She gave Sydney an uncertain smile. “Can I help you?” she asked.
“I, ah—” Sydney began, her voice hoarse. She held out the letter to Quinn, handing over her heart. “I think this is for you.”
Quinn frowned slightly. Behind her, Sydney heard the sound of a man, followed by a baby’s cheerful gurgle.
Quinn took the letter, then gave Sydney a questioning look.
“Your father wanted you to have it,” Sydney said.
Quinn’s expression shifted, morphing from confusion to shock, to pain, then to a wary hope. Her eyes went down to the letter and back up to Sydney.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“A colleague,” Sydney said. “And a friend.”
When Quinn’s hand tightened on the letter, Sydney took another step back. She didn’t belong in this moment anymore. “Sorry to interrupt your night,” she said politely.
And before Quinn could say anything more to her, she turned around and walked back to her car. Behind her, she could sense the woman standing there, filling with questions she didn’t know how to ask, unsure how to handle the tide of emotions that the mention of her father had brought back.
Imperfect.The word echoed in Sydney’s mind as she reached her car. When she glanced back at the house, the door had closed.
Imperfect. But we all did the best we could.
Then she got back into the car, took a deep breath, and drove off into the night.
36Happiness in Yourself
For a while, Winter thought that Sydney wouldn’t get a chance to say farewell at all, that this was the way that Panacea would once again step out of his life. Once he’d flown back to America, he’d been caught up in a media whirlwind, everyone foaming at the mouth for an interview about how he’d been trapped in Singapore during the president’s assassination.
In the midst of government upheaval and protests in the streets, in the midst of headlines and his phone ringing off the hook, Winter had waited for word from Sydney.
