* * *
As we chow down on Denver omelets, we decide to stick around the house today to take care of everything we’ve been neglecting, like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping, and other errands. We’ll spend time with Pap later today, after Gram feels better about the state of the house and refrigerator.
She also wants to stop by her store to check on things. She has people working for her she trusts implicitly, but she never stays away this long without popping in for a visit. I’m sure Gram’s a great boss, especially on holidays. She’s very generous with family—and with her employees.
Once we figure out our plan for the day, we waste no time getting right to it. I help Gram clean, Dhelia goes grocery shopping, and the boys do laundry before going outside to help Dru and Aunt Morgan take care of the shaggy yard.
While I start in the living room, Gram goes on kitchen duty. The house is by no means messy, not even with seven people living here for the time being. It just needs some routine maintenance, like dusting and vacuuming.
As I work my way through the living room with a bottle of pledge and a dust rag, I come across the Wiccan statues and Celtic figurines taking up residence on the shelves. Like the miniature, gold Altar bell; the pewter Moon Goddess statue; the bejeweled statues of Isis and Pagan fairies; the stone Hecate figurines; and pentacles of every color.
There are so many memories in this room—and most of them predate even Gram and Pap.
Over the years, they’ve restored the entire house and added all sorts of cool colors to the walls, like the deep shade of burnt-red the fifty-two-inch flat screen hangs on. From the inside, it doesn’t even look Victorian anymore. The house is full of detailed trim with a natural oak finish, matching the hardwood floors to perfection. It gives the room such a homey feel.
The living room alone is big enough to fit five or six full-size cars in it, but with floor to ceiling bookshelves on two walls, three over-sized puffy couches and two matching chairs, it’s still somehow cozy.
I drag the dust rag across the wrought iron and slate coffee table and can’t help but smile. I love this room. It was also my mother’s favorite room because of the color, so Gram will never change it—for that reason alone.
I grab the spindly feather duster, making my way to the wall of family portraits. I’d almost forgotten just how many photographs of my mother there are. It looks like there were even quite a few new ones that went up after she died.
I stop when I come to a picture taken during our last Christmas together. My eyes fill to see her the way I try to remember her. When she was happy. Pain courses through my chest, so I return the photo to its home on the wall.
As I move further down the wall of memories, the vision of Michael and Morgan from the other day hits me. The one with no sound.
Only this time, I know it’s happening today.
I throw the duster on the couch and head outside to find Aunt Morgan.
“Aunt Morgan!” I yell, running through the grass Dru’s mowing. “It’s today! Michael will be here this afternoon for the conversation that has you all in tears.”
I wipe my hand across the beads of sweat forming across my nose.
She shrugs her shoulders and goes back to weeding, without saying a word.
I don’t know how she does it. She’s always been a rock. And she says there’s something about this house that’s always given her the strength to face anything. I never noticed as a child—but being here now—I get it.
Having kept my promise, I head back towards the house.
It isn’t taking long to clean, but we still have the den, the dining room, Pap’s study, and four bathrooms. There are ten bedrooms in all, but we’re responsible for taking care of our own rooms. For the ones not in use, she doesn’t care about cleaning them. Thank, god.
If I have to guess, it will take Dru and Aunt Morgan longer than anyone to finish. There are five acres of grass to mow, not to mention flowerbeds and a garden to weed and water. With the flowers and shrubs of every color, it’s undeniably a gorgeous lawn. The upkeep, however, is pretty much a full-time job for Pap. But he loves every minute of it. He even tends to Gram’s herb garden when she can’t get around to it.
By lunchtime, we’re just about finished. We have a quick lunch of grilled cheese and tomato soup so we can get back to work. Another hour or two and we can clean up for the hospital.
As I help Gram and Aunt Morgan clear the table, the doorbell rings. We know right away who it is, so Aunt Morgan tells the boys to behave this time, and not say anything to make it worse. She’s already made it clear they don’t need to defend her.
Dru and Dhelia had already gone back outside, but the rest of us remain in the kitchen.
The front door creaks open, followed by Aunt Morgan saying, “Michael, we’re just cleaning up from lunch, come on in.”
Michael asks with a polite smile, “I’d like to talk to the whole family, if that’s okay?”
“Sure.” She agrees, but the hesitation in her voice is undeniable.
His attitude doesn’t seem angry like it did last night. He’s calm. Almost apologetic with his hunched over posture and chin dipping into his chest.
Once he’s in the kitchen, he looks at everyone and says, “First, I need to tell you all how very sorry I am for my outburst last night. It was a bit overwhelming to find out I have two grown sons after all these years.”
As he hangs his head again, Gram interjects. “Michael, no one faults you for being upset. You don’t need to apologize. Any one of us would have acted the same way. If not worse.”
Aunt Morgan even adds, “You have every right to be pissed. You just have to know it was never done to hurt you, Michael. It was done to protect the boys.”
With a pained face, Michael turns to face his sons. He scans them up and down then walks to stand before them. “We weren’t properly introduced last night. I’m your father.” His creased brow softens. “You have no idea how wonderful it is to meet you. No words can describe how happy I am to know you’re alive.” His voice cracks with emotion. “So what are your names?”
Before they can say anything, Aunt Morgan steps over to where they stand. “This is Ash . . . and this is Aidan.” They nod at the same time towards this stranger; this man who calls himself their father.
Michael spins around, pacing across the floor like a madman.
He runs his hands through his somewhat thinning, salt and pepper hair. “I found out a few details last night I never knew. Things I still can’t believe.” He pauses. “I spent the entire night, and morning, trying to figure out how to come here to tell you, but I never came up with an easy way.”
He shoves his hands into his back pockets, shaking his head.
Aunt Morgan’s face scrunches up in a way I don’t quite understand. Confusion perhaps? Maybe doubt. She steps forward about six inches from Michael, and the boys move to the other side of the table to face them.
“What is it, Michael?” Her voice turns sympathetic. Tender even.
He lifts his head, pain woven through a furrowed brow and damp forehead. “I don’t know how to tell you. It just doesn’t seem real.” He starts pacing again, but stops to brace his hands on the corner of the quartz counter top. “Morgan, we were played and lied to in the worst way imaginable. According to my mother, my father decided to take it upon himself to destroy our relationship . . . and our lives.”
He glances back at Aunt Morgan.
“What do you mean?” I swear I hear her heart breaking from across the room.
He turns around to lean his lower back against the island. “The letter you kept mentioning . . . well, it was my father who wrote it. Not me. I never knew anything about it before last night.” His eyes well up, struggling to contain himself.
Aunt Morgan’s jaw drops to the floor. “What? Are you kidding me?”
“No, unfortunately, I’m not. In fact, he also wrote a letter to me . . . signed by you. Supposedly, they pretty much said
the same things. I hate you . . . I never want to see you again . . . if you come anywhere near me or my family . . . blah, blah, blah. For me, saying you no longer loved me was all I needed. Then a few days later, your mom told me you lost the boys. Now knowing about the letter you’d received, I can’t say I blame you for what you did. I just can’t believe my father is capable of such cruelty. I mean, what kind of father would do such a thing to his child?” As he says the words, tears pour down his blotchy face.
Aunt Morgan doesn’t utter a word. She must be just as stunned as Michael is. Hell, as we all are.
“How am I supposed to believe this, after twenty-one years of trying to mend a broken heart? After twenty-one years of raising our boys, alone? Even if what you’re saying is true, why would you not reach out to me to say you were sorry when you heard I had a miscarriage? It just doesn’t make sense.” Her eyes glaze over.
Michael places his hands on her forearms. “Morgan, I thought you hated me. I thought you meant what your letter said. You left town. And then, well, so did I.”
She shakes her head. “I just don’t know what to do with this information right now. I don’t know what to believe, or what not to believe. I need to think, Michael. I’m sorry, but I need to think.”
He drops his hands, tears still flooding his face. He looks to the boys. “If I would have had any idea you were alive, I would have been there in a heartbeat. I would have never abandoned any of you. Please know that.”
Ash and Aidan remain silent, but their tearful eyes speak volumes about what they’re feeling.
Michael turns to Aunt Morgan again. “I am so sorry for what my father has taken away from us. I’ll never forgive him. I just hope in time you’ll be able to forgive me, and allow me to be a part of my son’s lives.” He reaches into his pocket, pulls out a card, and places it on the counter behind her. “When you’re ready to talk, please call me.”
She lifts her head, but the second she sees the tears falling down his cheeks, she’s unable to control her own.
Michael sees her tears and turns, barreling out the back door as fast as he can.
Ash and Aidan bolt to their mother’s side to embrace her. They huddle together and cry as the family of three they’ve been for twenty-one years.
Now the vision makes perfect sense. I get it.
The sight is heartbreaking. Gram and I hold onto each other and cry, too.
This news is not what any of us were expecting to hear. It’s going to change everything, but there’s no way to know exactly how. Not yet.
The unnecessary pain she’s been through is because of a lie, and nothing more. What kind of a person—who claims to be a man of faith—can do something so blasphemous?
The only man Aunt Morgan has loved her entire life, clearly never stopped loving her. And he never left her the way she was lead to believe.
Her life of heartache was for nothing.
Chapter 13
SPELLBOUND