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While she was growing up John Cawthorne had never been around. She’d never even met him until a few months ago, and for years—years—she’d believed him dead. So it seemed unbelievable to her that now, when she was thirty-three years old, a widowed mother of two, she should be expected to forgive and forget. Just like that. Well, guess again.
For the dozenth time in as many days she read the embossed invitation.
Mr. John Andrew Cawthorne and Ms. Brynnie Perez
Request the Honor of Your Presence
at the Celebration of Their Marriage
on Sunday, August 7th
at 7:00 p.m.
at the Chapel of the Rogue
Reception Following
at Cawthorne Acres
R.S.V.P.
“Fat chance,” she whispered to herself.
As far as Tiffany was concerned, John Cawthorne’s upcoming marriage was a sham. She wanted no part of it and had refused to attend the nuptials. Even though John had called over, even though she’d felt a ridiculous needle of guilt pierce her brain for not accepting the olive branch he’d held out to her, she’d held firm.
Scowling against a potential headache, she retrieved a handwritten note that was still tucked inside the envelope. In a bold scrawl, good old John had tried to breach a gap he’d created when he’d turned his back on her mother thirty-three years ago.
Dear Tiffany,
I know I don’t deserve your support, but I’m asking for it anyway. Believe me when I say I’ve turned over a new leaf and more than anything I want you and your sisters to be part of my family.
God knows, I’ve made more than my share of mistakes. No doubt I’ll make more before I see the pearly gates, but, please find it in your heart to forgive an old man who just wants to make his peace before it’s time to face his Maker. In my own way, Tiffany, I love you. Always have. Always will. You’re my firstborn. I hope you will join me and your sisters at the wedding.
Your father,
John Cawthorne
* * *
Father. There was that painful word again. Where had he been when her mother was working two jobs trying to raise an illegitimate daughter? Where had this wonderful “father” been during her growing-up years when she’d needed someone—anyone—to explain the complexities of the males of the species? Where had he been when she’d gotten married and had no one to give her away at the small wedding? What had he thought when she’d had children—his grandchildren?
John Cawthorne didn’t know the meaning of the word father. She doubted that he ever would. She curled the letter in her fist, felt the edge of one sheet cut into her finger and tossed the crumpled pages into a wastebasket near the back door. Why was she even thinking of the man?
Because in a few days it will be his wedding day.
So what? So he was finally marrying the woman he’d professed to love after all these years—a woman who had collected more husbands than most women had pairs of earrings.
As for her “sisters,” she wasn’t sure she had anything in common with either of them. Bliss was a few years younger than she. Just as she’d appea
red today in the agency, Bliss seemed always to be a cool, sophisticated woman who had been born with the proverbial silver spoon firmly lodged between her teeth. She had always had John Cawthorne’s name, had never experienced the feelings of loneliness and despair at being poor or different from other kids who, even if their parents had divorced, knew who their father was. Tiffany was fairly certain she wouldn’t get along with Bliss Cawthorne.
As for her other half-sibling, Katie Kinkaid—well, Katie was a dynamo, a woman who was naive enough to think she could change the world by sheer willpower.
Tiffany had nothing in common with either of them. Not that she cared. She went upstairs, changed into jeans and a sleeveless blouse, scraped her hair back into a functional ponytail, then returned to the kitchen where she started unpacking the groceries. She was just about finished when she heard the sound of voices in the backyard. Folding the grocery sacks and placing them under the sink, she glanced through the window and spied Mrs. Ellingsworth carrying Christina toward the porch.
“Mommy!” the three-year-old cried as Tiffany opened the screen door. Christina scrambled out of the older woman’s arms and ran up the back steps.
“She’s plumb tuckered out,” Ellie said.
