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I planned to never come here again. I have so many painful memories about our time here; I thought being back would send those old feelings, that I avoid like the plague, flooding back. But my feet guided me, anyway. As I stand here, the only thing flooding me is love.
I had loved it here.
It had been the best summer of my life.
I love living in New York, but this feels like home. And now that Remi and I are both be ready to give us a go, it also feels like a solution.
It’s still vacant, just as we left it.
I wonder why Lister never sold it or found someone to re-open it.
I also wonder why he never wanted to know his daughter. I can’t imagine what makes a man do that. Paul may not win any awards for father of the year, but he at least made time for Bianca.
My feet, guided by my heart, lead me through the huge grassy square that’s the heart of Rivers Wilde.
I can see Bianca running across it, flying her kite. We have a great park in our neighborhood in New York, but nothing like this.
I pass the massive arcade of food stalls called The Market that would put an international festival to shame. Bianca has always been fascinated by other people’s backgrounds. She has a more adventurous palate at nine years old than I do at thirty-one.
Oh, she would be in heaven.
This could be a real fresh start. Not one made borne out of a moment of crisis, but a decision made in a moment of clarity.
And that’s why, a few minutes later, I find myself standing at the other place I never thought I’d go. In front of David Lister’s house. It is in spite of my nerves that I find the courage to take a deep breath and ring the doorbell.
He answers the door himself and if it wasn’t for that trademark scowling smile, I wouldn’t know it was him. The words I’d rehearsed die on my tongue as my alarm at his appearance rises. He’s stooped, and pale, his cheeks nearly hollow. His pajamas, a dignified navy blue ensemble, look like they’re draped on a clothes hanger instead of a human body. His dark eyes are watery and red rimmed as he takes me in.
“You look just like your mother.”
“I do?” I’m surprised at the tenderness in his voice.
“You better come in. Standing up for too long is tiring.” He shuffles away, leaving the door open and I follow him in.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’m not dressed. Just doesn’t seem like it’s worth all the effort on the days I’m not going out.” He says wearily over his shoulder.
“I don’t mind at all.” I look around the room, trying to see every picture. See if I can see glimpses of myself in him when he was younger. I see nothing but strangers faces staring back at me.
“Have a seat.” He points to the small loveseat across from his reclining chair.
I hesitate for a second, not sure that this was a good idea after all.
“Go on. You came all this way, don’t chicken out now.” His eyes twinkle with humor as he lowers himself back into his chair.
“I’m not chickening out of anything.” I sound defensive, but I don’t care. My nerves are flying around like bats in my stomach and sit I down because I’m afraid my legs might give out on me.
“You’ve got more courage than me. I’ve never been able to work up the nerve to come and see you. Even though there were so many times I wanted to.”
“You did?” I clutch the bag in my lap to my chest, I didn’t expect that.
“Of course. I owe you an apology. It’s too little, too late. But I do.”
His admission surprises me. I, of course, can list my grievances against this man in my sleep. But I’ve never imagined he would feel any remorse.
So, I ask the one question I promised I wouldn’t.
“Why didn’t you want to know who I was?”
He doesn’t even blink.
