On the plus side, as soon as I moved to Oregon my relationship with my father took a turn for the better. It was easy to get along with someone you hardly saw and spoke to maybe twice a month.
In the fall of my third year of college my dad asked me if I was coming home for Christmas. I hadn’t the year before, preferring to remain at school. The truth was the holidays bugged the shit out of me, all that tinsel fakery and phony smiles. But my dad sounded really earnest and over the last year I’d only visited Hawk Valley for a total of three days over the summer. He was pleased when I said I’d be there.
“There’s something I want to tell you in person, Nash. Something that I hope will be okay with you.”
His words were odd but I didn’t dwell on them. Maybe he was throwing in the towel and closing the store. As far as I was concerned it would be about time. In any case I was determined to get along with him. I could make that happen for a few lousy days.
Within an hour of arriving in Hawk Valley I changed my mind.
“You’re doing what?” I couldn’t believe what I’d just heard.
He was nervous, kept staring at his hands. But he met my eye when he confirmed the news. “I’m marrying Heather Molloy.”
My brain struggled for a reaction but no words came out so Chris Ryan saw this an invitation to keep talking.
“She moved back here about six months ago to take care of her mother. We got to be friends. Then it turned into more. Nash, this doesn’t have anything to do with past mistakes. We both still feel awful about that. But what we have now, the people we are now, this is different. I hope you’ll understand.”
“I understand there’s something really fucking wrong with both of you. That’s what I understand.”
“Nash, please.”
“Please what?”
“She cares about you. She wants to be your friend.”
I thought that was funny. “Oh Jesus, that’s rich.”
“She wanted to be here to talk to you. But I thought this needed to be between us.”
I paced the floor of the living room, disgusted. “Of all the women around, that’s the one you pick.”
He stood his ground, remaining where he was. “I love her.”
“Fuck that. You don’t love anyone.”
He looked hurt. “That’s not true. I love you. I’ve loved you since the day you were born.”
I stopped pacing. “You sure picked a special moment to say that for the first time.”
“I thought you knew.” He ran his hand through his hair. He’d hit his fortieth birthday this year but his hair was still thick and black, like mine. “I was just never good at saying it. I should have been better at making you feel loved. I should have been more like your mother.”
I whirled on him, practically snarling. “Don’t you fucking dare talk about her!”
“We should have talked about her more. That was my mistake.”
“You always hated my mother.”
My father was shocked. “No, son. I didn’t hate her, not ever. Your mother gave me so much. She gave me you.”
“Yeah. And I figured that was what you hated her for the most.”
I hadn’t seen my dad cry since the night he woke me up to tell me the person I loved the most was dead. A tear slid down his cheek now.
“No,” he repeated hoarsely. “I loved her for that. We never got along but I always loved her, if for no other reason than because you were part of her.”
I didn’t want him to say these things. Not when I was hell bent on being furious.
“You’ve got to stop, Nash,” he said. “You’ve got to stop blaming yourself, for feeling guilty about something you never could have prevented. You’ve got to stop the way you lash out, thinking you can right all the wrongs in the world. You weren’t built for violence and it takes a piece of you every time. It will destroy you if you let it and my son, my beautiful boy, you are so much better than you pretend to be. Someday you’ll wake up and understand that.”
I didn’t want to listen. “Strange words from a man who spent so much effort tearing me down.”
He flinched. “I wasn’t always the best father. I said and did things I shouldn’t have. I own that completely. I’m asking you to forgive me.”
I picked up the duffel bag I’d left by the door when I walked in here only a short while ago. “I don’t want to hear it. Go on. Marry her. It doesn’t fucking matter to me. We’re done.”
“Wait!” He stood up and covered the distance between us. My hand was already on the door.
“I want you to stay,” he choked out. “I want so badly for us to start over. But I won’t stop you from going if you need to. I’m just asking, no I’m begging, please don’t cut off all contact. Please, Nash.”
Instead of answering his plea I slammed the door in his face.
Until two months ago, that emotional Christmas Eve was the last time I set foot in Hawk Valley. Fortunately some of my father’s words had sunk in. It took me some months to cool off but eventually I did pick up the phone and call him. I wouldn’t go to his wedding or come visit or even welcome a visit from him but I did what he asked. I stayed in contact.
When Colin was born I was sorely tempted to visit. I’d always hoped and wished for a brother when I was a kid and now I had one. My dad sent photos every week and I found myself looking at them often, wondering when I’d meet my brother, what he’d think of me.
I never would have guessed even in my worst moments of dread that it would happen the way happened.
But that was the random fucked up nature of things in this life. Things happen that we couldn’t possibly plan for. And fate can deal a cruel and unforeseen blow no matter what we intend, no matter what we want, no matter how much we wish for more time.
Nash had told me he’d be home before eleven. After I put the kids to bed I couldn’t sit still so I embarked on an overzealous cleaning spree throughout the entire first floor of the old house.
All day my thoughts had been battling with each other and I still had no clear plan. Steve Brown was a family friend and a capable lawyer but I hesitated to involve him. Or anyone. Returning to Hawk Valley pregnant, alone, and without a degree had caused a ripple of gossip. I was Kathleen Doyle after all, the goody goody brainiac who left here with every intention of making a name for herself.
Instead I returned with nothing but a vague story about a failed relationship that didn’t begin to touch the truth. Emma was given my last name and I refused to list the father on the birth certificate. It wasn’t until I received a copy in the mail when the baby was six weeks old that I learned my mother had paid a visit to her friend in the county vital records office and changed my response.
The name Harrison Corbett stared back at me in bold typed letters.
“Stop howling, Kat. I was trying to protect you and Emma. You might change your mind someday and want child support.”
She meant well so I couldn’t be angry. She had no idea that the explanation I’d given her was missing some key elements, the largest of those being the name of Emma’s real father.
Cleaning was therapeutic. Getting on my knees and washing the hardwood floors by hand succeeded in calming the turmoil in my head. Roxie seemed offended when I booted her out of her corner so I could clean there. She watched me with puzzled doggy eyes and then plopped down in a huff when I set her soft bed down on a different area of the floor because it was already dry.