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“You’re a good dad,” she said. “Much better than my ex-husband ever was.”
Officer Cutler shrugged. “It’s the greatest privilege in the world.”
Elise walked out of the police station with this in-mind.
The greatest privilege in the world.
Sean had never said anything like that.
For most of the babies’ early lives, it had just been Elise and Allison. Sometimes, her mother had teased that she was their daddy. “We live in a land of women,” her mother had cooed to them. “We don’t need that whole other half. Except for you, Bradley. We need you.”
Elise walked in a daydream toward the docks. She sat on a bench and gazed out across the water, holding the letter in her hand. She had the strangest fear that the wind would take it and force it out across the waves. She imagined jumping in after it, swimming as fast as she could to retrieve it, then struggling to read the wet and ink-smeared pages.
This was the first contact she’d ever received from her father.
Elise used one of her hair clips to tear through the thick envelope.
She took a deep breath as she unfolded it.
Elise,
It has come to my attention that you were the only guest at my bed and breakfast, Willow Grove, at the time of its tragedy.
I’m so grateful that you are all right, that no one else was injured.
I must apologize that I’m only writing this letter now. For some reason, the fire itself was only reported to me last evening. Otherwise, I would have jumped into action much more quickly.
I’d like to invite you for dinner at my home as an apology.
I’d also like to give you keys to another of my bed and breakfast rentals, where you can stay as long as you want, no charge.
I hope you are enjoying our beautiful little island. It has such charm to it. A magic I’ve never been able to resist.
My home is located near the Pontiac Trail Head, the big white one—number 67. You can’t miss it.
I’ll be waiting for you at seven.
If you choose not to come, if you choose to leave the island, if your plans take you elsewhere, then I wish you well. Please get in contact with me through Officer Cutler, to ensure that you receive some sort of payment for your troubles.
Yours,
Dean Swartz
Elise reread the letter three times before she folded it back up and slipped it into the envelope.
It was only noon.
She had seven hours until she met her father for the first time.
She’d already waited her entire life.
She supposed another seven hours wouldn’t hurt.
