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“Would you like some coffee?” Kinsley offered.
I almost forgot Dani and Kinsley were there.
Dean smiled at Kinsley. “That would be most welcome. It’s been a long few days and a very early morning.”
“I’ll come with you,” Dani sang. I knew that was translation for, let’s go to the kitchen and text everyone we know about what’s going down over here.
“Would you like to sit down?” I waved toward our living area.
“Thank you.” He followed me.
I sat on the burnt orange couch and waved him toward the floral chair next to the couch.
“Would you mind if I sat on the coffee table?” he asked. “I want to get a good look at you.”
I didn’t say anything. I wasn’t sure if that creeped me out or if it was sweet.
“You’re unsure of me. Of course you are,” he said more to himself than me. “I’m sorry. I’ll take the chair and we’ll talk.”
We both sat and faced each other. There were whisperings in the kitchen. I was sure Dani and Kinsley were on the phone, but my focus was on my father. Wow, that was weird to think.
“First of all, I should probably give you some proof that we’re related.”
He reached into his satchel and pulled out a picture. I knew it was old even before he handed it to me. Not only was it faded, but it was small and square, unlike printed photos today. He handed it to me, and I took it, anxious to see his proof. When I flipped it over I was shocked. It was like looking in a mirror, except the woman in the photo had that 70s long hair parted down the middle with disco curls. She was wearing bell bottoms and a big flowy shirt that I honestly kind of dug. She had her arm around a teenage version of Dean. It looked like they were at the Grand Canyon.
“That’s my mother,” he said, “shortly before she died. She wasn’t much older than you are now.”
I brushed my fingers across the picture. This woman was my grandmother. It all seemed so surreal. “I’m so sorry. What happened to her?” I kept staring at the picture.
“My mother, Ariana—”
“Her name was Ariana too?”
He nodded with a smile. “I was as surprised as you when I found out.”
I lay the picture in my lap. “I need to know the truth. Where have you been my entire life and what about the letters? And your name? And my name?” I cried.
He scooted closer, so he was sitting on the edge of his seat. “I know this seems farfetched, at least it does for me, but I swear to you until three days ago, I didn’t know you existed. You see,” he swallowed, “my legal name is Roger Dean Stanton, but for a very brief period of time I went by Roger. It was a summer many years ago when I met a young woman named Joanie,” he said fondly. “We were both at Camp Alpine that summer as camp counselors. It seems silly now, but during orientation, the nametag they created for me had my legal first name on it. I was going to have them correct it, but I met this beautiful girl who said she liked the name Roger. She said it was a strong name. So I went with it. I don’t ever recall telling her that I went by Dean.”
“Then why did the letters I received every year come from a Dr. R. Stanton?”
Dean grimaced before clearing his throat. “My father is Dr. Roger Stanton.”
“He sent the letters?”
“He did,” Dean cringed.
“Why? And how did he know about me if you didn’t?” This really did seem farfetched and I wasn’t sure if I was buying it.
Dean reached into his satchel again and pulled out several letters, all the letters that had been marked with return to sender. They were tied neatly with some string. “Ariana,” he sighed, “my father is dying, and he had his attorney bring these to me. He wants to clear his conscience before he dies.”
I sat back on the couch, my brain buzzing. I looked up to find Kinsley and Dani staring at me from the kitchen. They were as stunned as me. I could really use that coffee now.
“I know this is a lot to take in. It has been for me as well. I will try and explain the best I can, or at least what I know. My father goes in and out, so it’s hard for him to speak for long periods of time. And though he is in the wrong here, very wrong, I don’t want to distress him in his fragile state.”
I folded my arms, waiting to hear what I had been wanting to know for my entire life.
Dean shoved the letters back into his satchel before moving to the coffee table so he could be closer to me. He patted my knee in a fatherly fashion. “Feel free to stop me or ask me anything. I will be as honest as I can with you,” he started out. “From what I’ve been told, when your mother called to tell me she was pregnant, she asked for Roger. I was already back at school and my father took the call. When she admitted the reason for the call, my father didn’t tell her who he was. And we do sound similar on the phone. She probably never even had any inkling it wasn’t me.”
