Chapter 7 - THE GRANDFATHER WHO WATCHED FROM A DISTANCEAugust met Eden four days later.
Maris chose a public park.
Not Seabrook Crown.
Not August’s office.
A park.
He arrived without security visible, though Maris suspected two men reading newspapers nearby were not deeply interested in local sports.
Eden sat on a blanket.
August stood awkwardly at the edge.
Maris almost smiled.
“You’ve negotiated billion-dollar acquisitions.”
“Yes.”
“And a baby scares you.”
“Terrifies me.”
“Good.”
He sat.
Eden stared.
August offered her a wooden toy giraffe.
Maris looked at it.
“No diamonds?”
“I was advised against luxury gifts.”
“By whom?”
“Three people.”
“Smart people.”
“Apparently.”
Eden took the giraffe.
Then immediately put one ear in her mouth.
August looked horrified.
“That was handcrafted.”
“She’s eating it.”
“I see.”
Maris laughed.
It escaped before she could stop it.
August looked at her.
For a moment, neither spoke.
He said softly:
“I missed that.”
Maris’s smile disappeared.
“Don’t.”
“Sorry.”
Eden crawled toward him.
August remained perfectly still.
She grabbed his watch.
Maris said:
“Careful.”
August almost smiled.
“She has good taste.”
“She’s eleven months old. She also eats paper.”
Eden climbed against his knee.
August’s face changed.
He touched her hair carefully.
Like he expected Maris to stop him.
She did not.
They stayed thirty minutes.
At the end August stood.
“Thank you.”
Maris gathered Eden’s things.
“You said you had pictures.”
“Yes.”
“How?”
August’s face became uncomfortable.
“Public ones.”
“Dad.”
“And occasionally from people who knew you.”
“Who?”
“Not strangers.”
“Names.”
He sighed.
“Your old landlord sent me one after Eden was born.”
Maris stared.
“Mr. Patel?”
“Yes.”
“He knew?”
“He knew I was your father.”
“How?”
“I called him.”
Maris closed her eyes.
“Of course.”
“I paid nothing.”
“That’s not the point.”
“I know.”
“Stop.”
“Right.”
He looked ashamed.
“I never approached Eden.”
“No.”
“I never approached you.”
“No.”
“But I did watch from a distance.”
“Yes.”
“Because I was afraid.”
Maris looked at him.
“Of what?”
“That if I appeared, you would leave farther.”
The answer softened something she did not want softened.
August continued.
“I am not asking you to forgive that.”
“Good.”
“I am asking you to know I did not forget you.”
Maris looked down.
“That was never the part that hurt.”
He understood.
Being remembered without being reached for could hurt too.
That night August returned to Seabrook Crown and opened a locked drawer.
Inside were eight folders.
One for each year.
Maris’s public work.
Addresses.
News clippings.
Eden’s birth announcement.
Receipts from anonymous donations August made to nonprofits where Maris worked because direct help would have been rejected.
Then one letter.
The last letter Maris sent him eight years ago.
If you ever loved me, let me build a life without your shadow.
August had obeyed literally.
And failed emotionally.
He closed the drawer.
Downstairs, Julian waited.
“Genevieve called.”
August looked at him.
“Why?”
“She wants to apologize to you.”
“To me?”
“Yes.”
August’s mouth hardened.
“She humiliated Maris.”
“I know.”
“Then why apologize to me?”
Julian had no answer.
August did.
“Because she still thinks power is the injury.”
He walked away.
Julian remained behind.
His phone buzzed.
Genevieve.
He answered.
“What?”
“You need to help me.”
“With what?”
“Your uncle.”
Julian looked toward the staircase.
“No.”
Silence.
Then Genevieve said:
“If Maris comes back into the family, you lose everything.”
Julian’s face changed.
May you like
Not because he agreed.
Because part of him had already thought the same thing.
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