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“The next thing I remember was coughing up a shit load of water and my father standing over me, screaming something in German. His face was red and the vein between his eyebrows ready to explode… He left for London that day. Marianne said it had to do with work, but I didn’t believe that for a minute. When I found the doors to this room locked, I asked Bentifourt about it and he told me my father had the pool drained––that I was never to set foot inside again.”
I hadn’t realized that my hands had moved to cover my mouth until he peeled them away and held them.
“We never talked about swimming again. Not when I set a world record in my age group at sixteen, not when I won national championships…” His voice lost volume while his eyes remained on me.
What could I possibly say? Any words would have either been an insult to his feelings, or an outright lie. So I crawled onto his lap and wrapped my arms around his neck, holding him tightly as I stroked the back of his head, comforting him the only way I knew how.
“This is going to sound terrible…however, I’m glad he didn’t take an interest in you,” I whispered in his ear. “I’m afraid of what he may have molded you into if he had. And in case you don’t already know, I happen to think you’re perfect.”
The last word was smothered by a passionate kiss. The intensity of his feelings were on the lips that met mine, on the fingertips cupping my face. He pulled back far enough that we were nose to nose.
“Whatever your father did––” he said, shaking his head, “he did for your benefit, not for his own. You were everything to him. Give him a little credit for that.”
In his eyes was a bottomless supply of love staring back at me, offering me comfort and understanding when he’d had so little of it in his own life. Tears of gratitude spilled down my face, tears I made no attempt to hide. And none were for my father.
Chapter Twelve
The next morning I woke up abruptly, just as the turn of the earth ushered in a new day. A persistent nagging at the back of my mind made it impossible to sleep. Next to me Sebastian didn’t stir. He was on his stomach, a muscular arm stretched out, his long fingers gripping my thigh possessively. Slowly, I pulled away and crept out of bed.
In the box of my father’s things I searched for the flash drive I had seen the night before. Cross-legged on the chaise lounge, I opened my MacBook and inserted it. At least a hundred folders popped up. A shock of awareness hit my stomach, butterflies taking flight. There was no doubt in my mind this was a good omen. One by one I opened each of them and began reading.
“What are you doing?”
Glancing sideways, I found him leaning on an elbow, his hair disheveled, a sleepy grin on his face. He looked so happy and relaxed I wanted the moment to last forever. My excitement, however, had other plans; it could only be contained for so long.
“You’re not going to believe this,” I said, jumping off the chair and into bed. I tilted the screen in his direction.
“Manuscripts––at least thirty of them. It’s fiction. Pulpy thrillers…mystery and suspense. And they’re pretty good,” I said, finishing with a giggle. “My father’s name was Tyrone. See––” I said pointing. “This must be his pen name.” S. Tyrone was neatly typed on the cover page.
Sebastian scanned the documents, the remnants of sleep wiped away by curiosity. “The publishing house is in Vienna. I’ll contact them today,” he said as he read. This new development made joy explode in my heart. Somehow I knew that we were onto something. “Did you know anything about this? These are old. Some of these date back over twenty years.” He waited expectantly for my answer, his gaze laser sharp.
“Nothing––I knew nothing about this. He never mentioned it once.”
“Then he had a tendency to be secretive,” he said softly.
With that, the fragile thread of hope I was spinning snapped instantly. My eyes returned to the documents on the screen. “I guess…you’re right,” I agreed dejectedly. “I need to know, Sebastian. Either way, guilty or innocent, I need to know. Or it will haunt me forever.” I looked up into his sympathetic eyes––he, better than anyone, knew what it felt like to be denied closure.
“We’ll get to the bottom of it. We’ll find out, either way,” he replied. And in that moment, hearing him use the pronoun we when in truth I couldn’t do a single thing to help, my love for him expanded until I could no longer see the boundaries of it.
