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“Here you go,” he said. “Just like you like it, with a half teaspoon of sugar.”
“Thank you.”
He parked himself diagonal to where I was seated at the end of the couch. “Talk to me. It better not be Knox who’s got you so upset. If it is, I’m going to need you to find me a big stick before you go, so I can whack him in the back of the knees and take him down to my level to get a solid punch in.”
I smiled sadly. “It’s not Christian, not really anyway.” Tears threatened again as I looked into this kind man’s eyes, but this time I managed to swallow them back. “I don’t know where to start.”
“The beginning is usually a good place. Take your time, sweetheart. There’s no rush.”
Over the next twenty minutes, I spilled my guts. If I’d had any doubt as to whether Marvin Barrett knew what his son had done, his face confirmed he was as shocked as I’d been.
But as I told the crazy story out loud for the first time, a lot of pieces clicked into place. It had never made sense why John Barrett would care enough to follow me—doing crazy things like donating a library next to the shelter where I’d lived—yet never come forward to admit he was my father. Now I understood it was because he had guilt, but his freedom meant more to him than clearing his conscience.
My grandfather shook his head. “I don’t even know what to say. How could he have done such a thing and hidden it?”
That was the million-dollar question. If it had been an accident, he would have stopped. So it either wasn’t an accident, or there was a reason he’d kept going.
“Did he drink in the owner’s box during the games?” I asked.
My grandfather frowned. “He liked to have a few. There was a period of time right after Celeste died that he got carried away. I remember being worried he was taking things too far. He had the girls to consider and all. They’d just lost a mother, and the last thing they needed was a drunk for a father. But then something changed, and he seemed to go back to his old self. He didn’t quit drinking, but he had more control over it, or at least I thought so.”
“Do you remember when that was? Or maybe how long he seemed to have problems?”
Coach tapped his lip with his pointer. “Not exactly. But it was sometime right after Celeste passed, which was on St. Patrick’s Day, I remember. And by the end of the season that year, he seemed to have things under control.”
“His wife died seven months before my mom. I remember reading about it when I first found out he was my father. She died in March, and my mother’s accident was in late October.”
“Jesus…” He shook his head. “So you think he was drinking, and that’s why he left the scene?”
“That’s the only thing that makes sense. Either that or he intentionally hit her.”
“I can’t imagine that,” Coach said. “But I also would never have imagined that he drove drunk, killed a woman, and ran away.”
“Yeah…”
He was quiet for a long time. “Where do we go from here? Do we go to the police? Let them take a fresh look at the case with the new information? Maybe they can figure out the rest of the story? Interview people who might’ve been with John that night? I’ll do whatever you want, whatever it takes to make this right. Not that it’s possible to right this wrong, but you deserve to get the truth—the full truth.”
“I think going to the police is probably the best way to handle it. But there’s something else.” I swallowed. “We never took a DNA test. What if John Barrett isn’t my father, and he left me the team not out of guilt for never acknowledging me, but because he felt guilty for killing my mother and running away?”
The look on my grandfather’s face—oh God, no! Was this wonderful man even my grandfather? I had no idea why that didn’t even dawn on me until now.
I clutched my stomach. “Marvin…you might not be my…”
He held up his hand. “Let’s not even go there, sweetheart. We’re family, no matter what.”
I rubbed at my breastbone. “I think I need to know for sure. Would you…let a lab do a DNA test? We never had to prove John was my father during the court proceedings, but I really need to know…” Tears rushed to fill my eyes again. “…if you’re my grandfather.”
“Of course. I’ll do anything you say.” He took my hand and spoke into my eyes. “I’ll take the test. But DNA doesn’t make a family, love does. I’m your grandfather no matter what the results say.”
