"Don't talk nonsense. Taking care of you two—I'm happy to do it." The man named Mark reached out like he wanted to touch Casey's head, but restrained himself, just patting her shoulder.
My heart felt torn by a rusty, dull blade.
Repay? Taking care? Happy to do it?
During these six years I'd been absent, this man had been by her side? He'd been there when Tommy was sick and crying at night?
And me? I'd been in that cold Boston manor, maintaining the family's fake dignity.
Six years ago, I told her to her face that she wasn't good enough.
Six years later, she showed me with her actions that I was the one who wasn't good enough.
I didn't deserve her smile, didn't deserve to be part of Tommy's life, didn't even deserve to appear in her peaceful life now. To her, I wasn't some international conglomerate CEO. I was just a stain she desperately wanted to scrub away, the past she wanted to escape from in her nightmares.
I sat in the car thinking for a long time, then drove to Waikiki Beach. I parked by the road and walked aimlessly along the coast. Then I saw them without warning.
Tommy squatted by the tide line, digging in the sand with a little shovel. Casey and Mark sat on a nearby rock, laughing and talking. Tommy dug for a bit, then ran over holding something to show Mark. Mark took it, patted Tommy's head, pointed at the beach, and said something. Tommy ran back to keep digging.
The sun sank slowly, painting the ocean orange-red.
Tommy ran back again, this time holding two shells. He gave one to Casey, one to Mark. Casey took hers, smiling as she touched his head. Mark held his to his ear listening. Tommy laughed so hard he nearly fell over.
I stood in the distance watching the scene like a thief stealing glimpses of someone else's happiness.
After a while, Mark stood up, walked to Tommy's side, helped carry his bucket, and took his hand walking back. Casey stood and followed. The three of them went down the path like a family.
I stood there watching for a long time, watching them disappear like a family, unable to do anything. I didn't even have the right to walk over.
Waves rolled in one after another, hitting near my feet. My shoes got wet, but my head was full of those images. Tommy offering shells, Tommy laughing till he nearly fell, Tommy bouncing around.
I'd seen photos of this kid—in reports, on my phone. I'd looked at them countless times. But photos were dead. People were alive.
The Tommy before my eyes could run, laugh, and pull adults' hands toward the beach. He called Casey "Mommy" and called that man "Mark." He probably didn't even know there was someone in this world called Dad.
I suddenly felt unbearably bitter, my heart dense with pinprick pain. But I knew clearly I deserved all of this.
I started the car and went back to the hotel. Standing at the window, I looked at the bright lights on the beach below. Tourists strolled the streets, some holding ice cream, some carrying shopping bags. The luau was over, the beach quieter now, just the sound of distant waves.
I couldn't stop thinking about the daytime scene again.
Her smiling thank you to that man, the way he took her medical kit, the gentle look in her eyes when she said, "I don't know how to repay you," his matter-of-fact tone when he said, "taking care of you two—I'm happy to do it."
Six years. She'd lived a whole new life on this island. Got a job through her own effort, had a healthy, lively son, and had a man by her side taking care of them.
And me? Six years ago, that winter, on the street corner by the Four Seasons, I told her if she sat in Diana's seat, the Vincent Family would only march toward ruin.
I stood at the window for a long time. Then I took out my phone and called David.
"Push back all my appointments," I said. "If anything comes up, tell them to contact my lawyer."
David paused. "Mr. Vincent, what are you—"
"I'm on vacation." I hung up.
The next morning, I rented an apartment.
Two blocks from the preschool, ten minutes by car. One bedroom, one living room, fully furnished. The landlady was a local old woman, white-haired, speaking slowly. She asked if I was living alone. I said yes. Asked what I was doing in Hawaii? I said vacation. She said you're renting for a year for vacation? I said I like it here.
