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"Who has been a wonderful and loving father," I added pointedly. My words were as sharp and as point
ed as darts, all falling on a bull's-eye.
"Really," he said. "Well, I'm glad about that. Anyway, I would like to see you."
"See me? What for, Michael?" I demanded. "Why would you want to see me now?" My voice dripped with anger and sarcasm.
"I know you have a right to be furious with me, Dawn," he said quickly. "But if you will give me a chance to explain—"
"Explain?" I started to laugh.
"And tell you things I couldn't tell you then," he added in a louder voice, "you will at least understand.
"Besides," he said in a softer, more solicitous tone, "I'd like to see our child."
"Our child? She's not our child anymore, Michael; she's mine and Jimmy's. We've gone through all the legal steps. Jimmy has formally adopted her."
"I understand," he said. "I just want to see her, just once, that's all."
"Why would you suddenly care about her now, Michael? Where have you been all these years?" I asked sharply.
"As I said, you will understand once we meet. It's not the sort of thing one can explain over a telephone. I'm staying in this nice hotel, the Dunes."
The two contradictory parts of myself began a desperate struggle. Everything good in me, everything mature and sensible told me to scream back at him, to tell him how despicable, insensitive and irresponsible I thought he was and then hang up on him, forbidding him ever to call again. But that softer part of me begged me to be compassionate and merciful. Why shouldn't he see his daughter, and she see him? Perhaps he had come to suffer remorse for his actions and wanted, sought, craved a way to make some sort of amends, at least to her. Who was I to deny him that? Also, I couldn't help being curious about him and his story. What could he possibly tell me that would justify what he had done to me?
But if Jimmy should find out, he would be furious with me, I thought. He would be more than furious—he would be deeply hurt. I couldn't decide.
"You don't have to tell her who I am," Michael suggested, anticipating some of my hesitation. "We'll pretend I'm an old friend visiting. That way no one need know," he said, and he added, "No one knows who I am here. I'm not in town to do any performing; I'm just passing through."
"I don't know, Michael. I—"
"What's her name?" he asked quickly.
"Christie," I said, realizing how terribly sad and tragic it was that her father hadn't known her name until now.
"Beautiful name. Did we pick that out? I can't remember."
"No, Michael, we didn't."
"Anyway," he said, wisely changing the subject, "for me to be so close to you and Christie and not to see you . . . it would be a sin," he said.
"Don't talk to me of sins," I snapped back.
"Oh, I wouldn't be blaming you. No, no. I'd be blaming myself. It would be another sin added to those I have unfortunately accumulated. Dawn, just for a few minutes, even just ten minutes . . ."
"It would have to be late in the afternoon tomorrow, after Christie returns from school," I said, relenting.
"Fine, fine. We'll have some tea at my hotel. What time?"
"Four o'clock," I said, not believing I was agreeing to this.
"Perfect. I'll do nothing but wait all day. Thank you.
Good-bye until then," he said, and he cradled the phone just as I had second thoughts.
"Michael, wait—"
The line was dead. Slowly I returned my receiver to its cradle and then sat back. I shouldn't do this without telling Jimmy, I thought. He would never understand. And yet I knew if I did tell him, he would be furious. He might even go down to the hotel in Virginia Beach before I did and pound Michael through the floor or throw him through a window.
