Chapter 6 - SHE NEVER ASKED HER FATHER FOR MONEYThe morning after the gala, August sent a car.
Maris sent it back.
Then he sent breakfast.
She accepted that.
Pride had limits.
Especially when pancakes were involved.
Eden sat in her high chair at Maris’s apartment smearing banana into her hair while Maris read the note.
No conditions.
Just breakfast.
—Dad
She folded it.
At eleven, another delivery arrived.
A dress.
Deep green.
Expensive enough that Maris recognized the designer from the packaging.
She returned it.
August called.
“You returned the dress.”
“Yes.”
“You kept the pancakes.”
“Yes.”
“Interesting line.”
“Food spoils.”
He almost laughed.
“How is Eden?”
“Sticky.”
“Can I see her?”
Maris looked at her daughter.
“Not today.”
“Tomorrow?”
“Dad.”
The word came out naturally.
Both went quiet.
Maris had not called him that directly in years.
August softened.
“Fine.”
She hated that she heard the relief.
He continued:
“I owe you an explanation.”
“You owe me several.”
“I know.”
“Stop saying that.”
“Right.”
Maris sat.
“Why did you invite me?”
“I wanted you here.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“I didn’t know how to ask.”
“So you manipulated a charity invitation.”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it.”
“I am learning confession is shorter than defense.”
That sounded almost funny.
Maris resisted.
August continued:
“I also thought the program might matter to you.”
“It does.”
“I know what you do now.”
She stiffened.
“How much do you know?”
“Your work.”
“Anything else?”
He hesitated.
“Too much.”
Maris closed her eyes.
“You had people watching me.”
“Not watching.”
“Dad.”
“Checking.”
“Same thing with better tailoring.”
He sighed.
“I needed to know you were safe.”
“You had no right.”
“I know.”
She almost hung up.
Instead:
“Why didn’t you call?”
“Because you told me not to.”
“For eight years?”
“I told myself I was respecting you.”
“And really?”
“I was afraid you’d reject me.”
Maris stared at the wall.
August Ellington.
Afraid.
It still sounded unnatural.
He continued:
“You built a life without me.”
“Yes.”
“You were supposed to come back.”
The honesty startled her.
“What?”
“That’s the ugly truth.”
His voice lowered.
“I thought eventually you would need me enough to forgive me.”
Maris felt anger rise.
“That’s horrible.”
“Yes.”
“You were waiting for me to fail.”
“No.”
“You just said—”
“I was waiting for you to need me.”
“That is the same thing when you’re the reason I had to prove I didn’t.”
Silence.
August accepted it.
“You’re right.”
Maris closed her eyes.
He was making this difficult by not fighting.
Eden threw a spoon.
Maris picked it up.
August heard.
“What was that?”
“Your granddaughter rejecting cutlery.”
A pause.
Then:
“Can I meet her properly?”
Maris looked at Eden.
“Eventually.”
It was not yes.
But not no.
August understood.
“Thank you.”
After they hung up, Maris noticed something in the hallway.
A cardboard box.
Old.
One she had moved apartment to apartment for years without opening.
Inside were things from Seabrook Crown.
Photographs.
Letters.
A silver hairbrush that belonged to her mother.
And one envelope August sent seven years ago.
She had never opened it.
Maris stared.
Then returned it to the box.
Not yet.
Across town, August sat in his study with another old item.
A photograph of Maris at age six riding a pony.
Julian entered.
“You asked for me.”
August placed the photograph down.
“You knew she was coming.”
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“She asked the foundation not to publicize her attendance.”
“That’s not why.”
Julian looked at him.
“No.”
August waited.
Julian finally said:
“I wanted to know what her return meant.”
“To whom?”
“To the family.”
August’s eyes sharpened.
“You mean to you.”
Julian did not answer.
August leaned back.
“You have been treated as though my daughter no longer existed.”
“I never asked for that.”
“No.”
August paused.
“You benefited anyway.”
May you like
Julian’s jaw tightened.
And both men knew the conversation was only beginning.
Related Stories
