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“I left. Worked, slept on couches, and eventually got myself pulled together. I’m doing good now. Ironically, after all that, I’m a nanny, so I still take care of kids, but it’s on my own terms.” She seems more present now, like she’s here with Janey and me and has finally found a seed of happiness. “The family I work for, they’re really great, and last Christmas, they got me one of those DNA kit things. They knew I always wondered . . . couldn’t help it, you know?” She frowns, seeming almost embarrassed by her reasonable desire to know who she is and where she came from.
“The results came back with a match. William Webster. My biological father. I reached out to him, and he wanted to meet me.”
Riley glances down at the phone again, but the screen has gone dark. I reach over and wake it back up so she can see the picture of her and her father again. She touches his face, and an errant tear runs down her cheek.
“I’m glad you told me,” she whispers. “Otherwise, I would’ve thought he didn’t want—” She cuts off what she was going to say with a choked sob.
“I’m sorry you didn’t get to spend more time with him,” Janey replies.
“Riley,” I say carefully, not wanting to spook her after everything she shared, “Will’s wife is doing all the paperwork after his death. As his daughter, there are assets you’re likely entitled to. If you need help with a lawyer, I can connect you with one. Pro bono.” I don’t add that I’ll be covering that cost because there’s no way Riley has the funds to bankroll something like that.
She’s shaking her head, refusing me before I finish offering. “No, no, no. I don’t want his money or anything. I want . . .” she pauses, correcting herself, “wanted to get to know him. And I did.”
I’m not sure she understands what she’s potentially giving up. The Websters aren’t top one-percenters or anything, but they have enough that Riley could probably set herself up for life if she handled an inheritance properly. “He doesn’t have other children, nobody other than his wife. She knows about you.” I wouldn’t usually divulge that, even under threat of prison or death, but this situation feels different from most. Riley feels different from most clients I work with. And she’s not even my client.
“She knows about me?” Riley repeats, a thread of hope woven in the question, and I realize that the way I phrased it makes it sound like Will told his wife about his long-lost daughter.
“That Will was meeting with you, not who you were to him,” I correct. “She thought he was sneaking away for other reasons.” I leave that open to interpretation, having probably shared too much already.
Riley’s shoulders droop and her face falls. She studiously picks at her fingers for a long minute while she thinks and then sighs as she meets my eyes again. “Thank you for telling me what happened. And for the offer to help. I really appreciate it. But I got what I needed in that cabin in the woods. I wanted a family, a history, a place where I belonged. That’s all I ever wanted, and for a minute, I had it. That’s more than some people get, so I guess in some ways, I’m lucky. I had a great mom who loved me so hard, she fought to stay with me long after she was ready to let go. And a dad who was excited to meet me, said he loved me, and wanted to get to know me. I wish I’d known them longer, but I’m really blessed to have known them at all.” She places her hand on her chest, tears falling openly now.
Janey’s crying too, dabbing her eyes with a napkin, and I clear my throat while discretely swiping at my own eyes.
This woman, who’s been through so much, is sitting here with more love and hope in her shattered and stomped-on heart than I could possibly imagine. It makes me disappointed in myself for not appreciating my own family, who’re not perfect but are at least here and willing to repair some of the shit we’ve gone through.
“I’m gonna go, but thanks,” Riley says once more.
She stands, but I stop her. “Wait. Here, take this.” I hold out a business card. “Call me anytime, for anything. If I can help in any way, call.”
Riley takes the card, slipping it into her pocket without looking at it. I don’t think I’ll ever hear from her again.
Janey’s more hands-on, standing and holding her arms out. Riley and Janey embrace for a long time, having found a connection in a moment of pain. “You’re okay. Always have been, always will be,” Janey tells her. I sense that she’s said those words to herself more than a few times when things were rough.
