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For that, Chrissy was turning to the man who had raised her, even though she knew full well he wasn’t her real father. I understood why Dale felt so angry and betrayed, both by his sister’s decision to stay and live in Maine with her mother—Dale made it clear he’d never talk to Chrissy again if that’s what she chose, and I think he meant it—and now her decision to come sponge off the man who had raised her, a man she’d called “Dad,” most of her life, until the truth was revealed—a man she had ultimately rejected.
“I’m sorry, baby.” I put my hand on his shoulder, feeling the muscles tighten at my touch. “Do you want to talk about it?”
“There’s really nothing to talk about.”
I heard the phone ringing downstairs. We had one in our room but Dale had the habit of unplugging it when he was practicing.
“Sara!” It was John, calling up the stairs. “Phone for you!”
For me? It had to be Aimee—was she calling me from St. Bart’s? I never did get a chance to talk to her after we’d made our quick exit from the wedding. I braced myself, knowing she was going to be mad. I couldn’t blame her. If my best friend’s boyfriend was a rock star and had been the sole reason a whole bunch of crazy fans crashed my wedding, I’d be mad too.
“Aimee?” Dale watched as I scrambled for the phone, having to find the cord under discarded clothes and socks, mostly mine, so I could plug it into the end.
“Most likely.” I picked up the phone, hearing that strange sort of open sound that meant John was still on the line downstairs. “I got it, John, thanks.”
John hung up and I waited, already feeling guilty, for Aimee to scold me for ruining her wedding.
“Hello?” I finally said, meeting Dale’s eyes. He was watching, curious.
“Hello, Sara Wilson?” It was a man’s voice and I blinked in surprise. My first thought was, oh no, a reporter! Why hadn’t John asked who was calling?
“Yes, this is Sara,” I replied cautiously.
Dale frowned and I knew he was thinking what I was thinking.
“I’m sorry, I told the man who answered—was that John Diamond?—I told him I was Dave. From the t-shirt shop.”
But he wasn’t Dave from the t-shirt shop.
“Who is this?” I demanded. Dale was trying to grab the phone from me and I pushed him away, turning, the cord wrapping around my legs.
It had to be a reporter. Who else?
“This is…” He cleared his throat. “Well, this is your father.”
I dropped the receiver to the floor like it was on fire.
CHAPTER EIGHT
“Sara, listen to me.” Dale reached across the table and took my hand. It was clammy and trembling but I didn’t pull it away.
“I’m listening.” I was listening. But my eyes were on the door. Every time the little bell over it rang I jumped.
“I know this man says he’s your father,” Dale began.
I rolled my eyes. This again? When the man on the other end of the phone said he was my father, the image of the stepbeast, the only father I’d ever known, rose up to tower over me. My father, my real, biological father, was dead. That’s what my mother always told me.
“Dale, come on.” I met his eyes briefly over the scones we’d ordered. I loved Cuppa Joe’s hot chocolate. Dale was drinking coffee—black. “He passed every test I could think of. He knew the hospital I was born in. He knew my mother’s maiden name. He knew her middle name. He knew my middle name.”
“All things he could have looked up in public record,” he reminded me. I glared at him. “Look, I’m not trying to be the bad guy here. Really, I’m not. But this guy shows up the day after your picture is in the paper connected to me? Everyone knows rock stars are millionaires, right?”
I regretted telling him about my conversation with Josh. But I always told him everything.
“How did he know about my birthmark?” I had tears in my eyes imagining my father—my real father—holding me as a tiny baby, kissing the dark question-mark on my right shoulder. “Everything he says rings true. He’s from Florida. That’s where my mother’s family is. He knew everything about her I could think of to ask, at least from when she was younger. He even knew my grandmother’s middle name. Even I had to look that up!”
“Well, don’t you think that’s a little strange?”
“Now he knows too much instead of not enough?” I had been holding back tears but now they slipped down my face.
