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Eight
India had plenty of hours to regret her too-honest statement. Why hadn’t she said I don’t want this. I don’t want you? Probably because she wasn’t that good an actress. She’d been plastered against Farris’s chest, kissing him back like they were the last two people on a sinking ship.
He knew she wanted him. How was she going to stay out of his bed?
Going back to New York wasn’t an option. Dottie genuinely needed companionship. Because of the relationship between the two women, India was bound by her compassion and her love to stay right here in this house.
Even though the legal bond between husband and wife had been severed, India still regarded Dottie as family. The “ex” part wasn’t relevant. Her affection for the older woman was unchanged. Family bonds weren’t so easily broken. And as India had come to understand since traveling to Wyoming, neither were the vows between husband and wife.
With Dottie hibernating after her harrowing experience and Farris out riding the range somewhere, India found herself at loose ends. Though the day was temperate for January, she had no desire at all to venture out alone. She would need some time to get over the bear incident.
In the end, she settled in the great room to work through more of the pictures. Even without Dottie present, India could organize envelopes by date and make sure the contents were in the right place.
It was nothing more than rabid curiosity and self-indulgence that led her to the oldest of the old pictures. India was fascinated by the images of a tiny Farris. In one photo, he was trying to blow out two candles on a cake with circus animals.
India’s womb clenched with unexpected longing. She had assumed from the beginning that she and Farris would have babies. During the first year of their marriage, she had often daydreamed about being pregnant. She wanted a large family. A shrink would say it was because of all she had lost, and maybe that was true.
Farris hadn’t been in a hurry for fatherhood. He’d said he wanted the two of them to enjoy each other for a few years. To travel. To grow closer.
It was hard to argue with that logic. But by the time India knew for certain she was ready, the marriage unraveled.
If things had gone differently at any point, India might have had a kindergarten-age son or daughter right now. It was almost impossible to imagine.
She made it all the way to the depths of one of the biggest boxes. A couple of empty file folders lined the bottom. But there was something underneath.
India removed the folders and found one last envelope. According to the information printed on the outside, this roll of film had been developed years ago at a facility no longer in business.
The envelope itself was old and torn at the edges. Did Dottie remember it was here, or had she hidden it away, because she didn’t want to look at it?
Something about the envelope seemed sinister—which was melodramatic, of course. Maybe India was still edgy after the earlier bear trauma. Telling herself she was being stupid, she opened the old envelope and pulled out the stack of black-and-white photos. Her stomach sank to her toes.
There was a man in these shots, front and center. And he was holding his young son. This must be the infamous bigamist. India knew nothing about the dreadful person. She knew now that Dottie had changed her last name and Farris’s to Quinn years ago. Farris’s mother had wanted nothing to do with the husband who’d lied to her and deceived her.
Though India’s stomach churned, there was no way in the world for her to simply set the photos aside. She was obsessed with them.
Suddenly, she flipped the package over to the front...where the address was. There was Dottie’s name, but the line said Dorothy Simpson. Farris Simpson. Did he know? Had his mother ever told him the truth, or had they never talked about it?
If Farris was four when Dottie discovered the two-family charade, maybe little Farris eventually forgot he’d had another last name. Was that possible? He was a smart kid. Even at that age, surely Dottie would have had to give him an appropriate explanation for why they were moving out.
Obviously, the adult Farris knew what his biological father had done. But had Dottie kept the name a secret all these years? Had Farris ever demanded the information? Had he wanted to confront his father as an adult?
Or—like this envelope—had the family secrets been hidden and never again probed? The Farris she knew would not have forgiven such a terrible crime against his mother. He was so protective of Dottie. Surely, he would have thought about destroying the man who had ruined his life and his mother’s.
Despite the passage of months and years, she felt foolish. How had she not known these things about her own husband?
Suddenly, the photos in India’s hand felt like a ticking time bomb. She could put the envelope back where she’d found it and cover it with all the other packages she had removed from the box. The problem with that scenario was, sooner or later, Dottie would get to the bottom of the box.
India didn’t want Dottie to be upset if she’d forgotten those pictures were there. India knew why they hadn’t been thrown away. No mother could bring herself to destroy irreplaceable pictures of her beloved young child, even if the devil himself was in those same images.
Carefully, India looked at the photos one by one. Although it was impossible to judge a man’s character by an old monochrome image, India decided on the spot that she didn’t like him. Even holding Farris in his arms, Dottie’s ex-husband seemed slimy.
He was playing house with one wife and son while having another family elsewhere. That was sick and twisted.
Why hadn’t Dottie pursued legal action? Possibly because she had no financial resources without her husband.
The photos themselves made India uncomfortable. There were many of father and son, presumably at this long-ago birthday celebration. But there were also several of husband, wife and child. Dottie looked happy and proud, having no inkling of what was to come.
India’s heart winced in sympathy.
