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Well, this is weird.
“Um, thank you. Coffee would be good. And you are…?”
“I’m Bing—your father’s major domo around here as well as his driver and currently his dog sitter. He’ll be back next week. Can you stay?” He speaks without the hint of an accent so I’m guessing he’s U.S. born, but what do I know? It doesn’t matter anyway.
“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose, and Weston and I need to get home, but thank you.”
“And home is…?”
“Carmel, Indiana.”
Nodding like he knows where Carmel is, Bing leads us into a cavernous room with fantastic furnishings and wonderful paintings and sculptures adorning the area. It’s strangely homey for such a large room, probably because of the bright colors and comfortable-looking chairs. Bing seems like the personification of cheerfulness, bouncing along as he walks. “I’ll just order that coffee now,” he says as he makes a notation on his phone. He types for a moment and asks us, “Please makeyourselves comfortable. Who is your charming man, Petra? Your boyfriend? I don’t see any rings, so I assume you aren’t married.”
“Oh, yes, sorry. Bing, this is Weston Alister. One of my roommates.”
Well, that’s pretty unclear. I try not to be ruffled by my description. I know she’s still nervous. I shake Bing’s hand telling him, “Pleased to meet you,” before taking a seat.
Storm settles on the floor next to Bing, looking aloof and regal. He really is a gorgeous dog.
“The refreshments will be here in a moment,” he assures us, and then his cheerfulness seems to fade. “I am curious, Petra, why has it taken you all these years to make contact with your father? He’s had a terribly hard time dealing with the rejection.”
“He’sdealing with rejection?” she nearly screeches. “I didn’t even know he existed until I found out yesterday by accident!” She breathes deeply and softens her voice before she continues, “Sorry. I grew up feeling abandoned by my father whom I was led to believe rejectedmefrom birth!”
I always suspected her assurances that she never missed her “sperm donor” masked some deeper feelings.
Bing’s eyes flash in anger. “What are you talking about? Your father was a constant in your life and as involved as their agreement would allow. It broke his heart that you never responded to one word from him.”
Petra reaches into her purse and pulls out her phone, saying, “I need to show you what Weston found yesterday in a ratty storage locker my mom rented who-knows-how-long ago.” She scrolls through her photos and comes to the ones of the unopened stacks of letters. “I never saw these until yesterday. Not. One. I’m afraid my father and I have been played.”
“Oh, my God.” Bing breaths. “That insufferable bitch! Sorry, sorry. I know she’s your mother, but from what I’ve heard…”
“All true, I assure you,” I tell him. “And probably evenworsethan you’ve heard.”
A lovely young woman brings a tray in and sets it down on the coffee table in front of us. I don’t miss the hungry look Bing gives her that probably has nothing to do with her snacks. He winks at her, and she flushes crimson.
The tray is filled with steaming coffee mugs and a platter of delectable pastries that smell like they just came out of the oven. My mouth waters even though I consumed a hearty omelet less than an hour ago. Petra just reaches for her coffee, but I can’t resist an almond-encrusted bear claw to go with mine. “Thank you, miss,” I tell the retreating woman. She turns and smiles, then quietly takes her leave.
“Bing, my father had to have some idea of what my mother was like or this ‘arrangement’ or whatever they had wouldn’t have happened. Can you explain anything to me? For one, why didn’t he arrange to have custody of me if he loved me so much and knew that my mother was gone all the time?”
Bing gives her a thoughtful look, sips his coffee, and finally answers, “Petra, I shouldn’t stick my nose in this at all. Your father needs to have a long talk with you when he gets back. He’s not even accessible by phone at the moment, but I’ll fill him in as soon as possible. It may be difficult, but it’s obvious that the two of you have much to learn about each other.”
“I guess you’re right. I’m not being fair to you by putting you in the middle. But I do wonder about one thing. How did you know immediately who I was?”
Smiling broadly, Bing stands and says, “Follow me.”
Petra stands and looks at me as if to say, “You promised not to leave my side.” So I quickly chew my mouthful of the most delectable pastry I’ve ever encountered and wipe the crumb off with a linen napkin. I stand, take her hand, and we follow Bingout of the room and into a formal dining room. He gestures, à la Vanna White, to a painting on the wall, and Petra gasps.
“How did he have me painted?”
“He purchased a copy of your college yearbook from the year you graduated and hired an artist. It’s a wonderful likeness, don’t you think?”
“I guess. Why would he even want me on his wall if he was so disappointed in me?”
“He’s never stopped loving you, Petra. I think he figured one day you’d come around, and he was right—here you are. You’ll soon discover your father has an infinite capacity for love and a trusting nature that can sometimes be his downfall.”
The tears start then, and I have to envelop Petra in my arms. I know she needs me.
With a stern expression, Bing continues, “Break his heart again, and you’ll have me to contend with.”
