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My eyes go wide, and I place a finger on my lips as I struggle to place him. “Should I?”
“I’m John Connoly,” he laughs. “Andrew’s dad.”
“Oh! Mr. Connoly, how are you?”
“Doing better now, dear. Are you alright?” Mr. Connoly frowns with concern, looking me over from head to toe.
I nod. The girls keep on looking at us, and I look at them. Helena takes the hint and goes back to work, but the others need some enticing, so I immediately say, “Go find work to do.”
And soon, everyone is busy. I take a seat at the bench and invite Mr. Connoly to sit with me.
“What brings you here, Mr. Connoly?” I ask.
“I come as a messenger for Andrew. He told me you asked him to not get in touch unless you got in touch first, so he decided to cheat and send me here to talk to you instead,” he explains with a smile. “Do you know what I’m talking about?”
“Yes. Yes, I do, Mr. Connoly.”
I have to hide a smile.
It’s only been a few days, and he’s already missing me.
Chapter Nine
ANDREW
After finalizing details with the realtor, I head back to the hotel to complete the preparations for the move. My entire life is shifting from New York back to Chicago. Now, all I have is what I've built for myself.
Content with my efforts, I turn on the TV and wait for my father's return, eager to hear how his encounter with Emily went.
Whatever he tells me, it’s better than remaining in the dark, like she’s keeping me.
All of a sudden, I hear a noise at the side door, and dad pops his head through from the adjacent room, a can of beer already in hand.
“She hates you!” he spouts. Looking at the shock on my face, he just shakes his head with a laugh and continues, “No, she doesn’t hate you son. But it’s going to take a miracle to change her mind about you.”
I plop back in bed, hard enough to bounce a little, while dad sits in one of the uncomfortable chairs the room provides.
“What did she say?” I ask, staring up at the ceiling.
“Basically, that she got tired of waiting, and the empty promises you made caused her to die inside a little,” he says casually, as if ordering a drink at a bar.
“And what should I do?” I sigh heavily.
“First of all, take responsibility for the kid, because she’s obviously yours.” He says it calmly while focusing on the TV.
I sit up to better look at him, intrigued and shocked.
“What?” I retort.
Dad starts doing the math on his fingers. “You left in May, six years ago, right? The little girl is five and was born in February, exactly nine months after prom.”
“How can you know something like that?” I ask, dumbfounded.
“I asked, dumbass!” dad shouts at me.
“You asked if I’m the father?” I’m dumbfounded.
“No…” He elongates the vowel. “I saw the girl. Emily’s dad stopped by and brought her to the store while I was there. She has your chin, and the same color as your eyes.”
