It was late — nine thirty — but what I needed to tell Alex couldn’t wait until morning. I entrusted Benjamin with Katie and walked the short distance to his house. I didn’t announce my visit and when he opened the door and saw me standing on the doorstep, he was momentarily taken unaware.
“Well, hello,” he said. "What a wonderful surprise."
I remembered the reason for this impromptu visit and could take no pleasure in the excitement in his voice or the smile that spread across his face. After I told him about his roots, he might never want to see me again. He’d probably curse the day we met and curse me for not minding my own business. He’d be justified in thinking the latter. Some things were better left buried. But not something like this. Why couldn’t I mind my own damn business? “May I come in?” I asked, cordial-like.
His smile turned to a frown. “If you can’t, no one else can.” He stepped aside. “Are you all right? Something hasn’t happened to Katie, has it?”
I shook my head.
“Benjamin?”
“He’s fine.” I mustered a smile.
“Jonathan?”
“No.”
He studied me. “You’re pale. Are you sick?”
“Yes, with regret.”
“Susan, you’re not making any sense, and you look like you’re about to pass out. Come into the den, and I’ll get you something to drink.”
I let him lead me to a chair beside the fireplace. The tenderness in his voice and his concern made me feel all that more guilty. “I don’t want anything to drink. I have something to tell you.”
“Okay.”
“You might want to sit down.”
He sat on the sofa facing me. “What is it?” He sat forward, rested his forearms on his knees and linked his fingers together.
“I learned Irwin’s identity — ”
“You did?”
I tried to look him in the eyes but ended up looking over his head. “Yes. You know the research I’ve been doing?” He nodded. “I found some articles and brought them to Leroy. He pieced everything together for me. It was easy for him. He already knew the story.”
“Who is Irwin?”
“We think he’s your brother.”
“My brother?” He stood, ran his hand through his hair and paced the length of the room.
“In 1965, your biological parents, Anthony Cabrini and Dorothea Cabrini, bought the house I’m living in now. Shortly after they moved in, your six year old brother, Rocco, was struck and killed by a truck hauling pulp from the mill.” I paused and waited for his reaction. He urged me on with a nod. There was no nice way to say what came next. “Your father was the driver of the truck who hit him. A week later, your mother shot your father, killing him instantly, then turned the gun on herself. She was pregnant with you at the time. She lived long enough for the doctor to save you.” The truth about his past rushed from my mouth. “I’m so sorry, Alex. If I had known, I never would have inter ....” He stood so swiftly, I faltered.
“Did Leroy tell you my father was drunk at the time?”
I stared at him, dumbfounded. “You knew?”
He nodded.
“How long have you known?”
“Since I was twelve.”
I couldn’t believe it. He kept silent while I went on and on about the history of my house, digging into a past he knew intimately. I stood. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t think you would understand.”
That saddened and disappointed me. He didn’t know me at all. “I would have, or at least I'd like to think so."
“I know that now.”
Pondering that a moment, I understood how he might think that. Something else occurred to me. “Is what we have real or did you pretend to be interested in me and my children just so you could be close to your ancestral home, hoping it might give you some insight into why your mother did what she did?"
"What we have is real, Susan. Make no mistake about that. True, I wasn't looking for a relationship, but I found one."
"That’s why you tore down those walls in my house. You were looking for a clue, something — ”
"That doesn’t make sense. My parents didn’t build the house. What could I have hoped to find?”
I gave him that. “And that night — the night I found you outside staring at my house? Why didn’t you tell me the truth then?”
“My past is not something to tell a stranger.”
True. I would have thought him loony had he said, 'Hi, my name is Alex Cowan, but my real name is Joseph Cabrini, and I’m the son of the woman who shot her husband in your house then shot herself when she was nine months pregnant with me'? “But you could have told me after we became friends.”
“I never planned any of what happened between us, Susan. I swear. At first, I admired your courage for moving into a haunted house. Then I worried the ghost would hurt you and the children.”
“So, you really did believe the house was haunted, and you took it upon yourself to protect us.” His silence gave me my answer. “Did you suspect that the ghost was a relative of yours?”
He hung his head. “I had my suspicions, but it was too incredible to believe.”
I should be mad, but felt only sadness that he hadn’t trusted me enough to tell me the truth.
“When I began to care about you and the kids, I wanted to tell you, but then I thought you might think I set everything up. I was afraid to lose you.”
“Jonathan lied to me. I hate him for it. Now you lied to me. I might trust too easily, and I might be a little slow, but eventually I learn.”
“I didn’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you.”
His whispered words told me how much he cared and the swell in my heart told me I couldn't end the relationship. I wanted to understand, wanted to think I might have done the same thing in his position. “I'm sad and a little mad right now, Alex, but I'll get over it. Will you give me time?”
He swooped me into his arms. "I'll give you all the time you want."