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I cough and Logan asks, “Would you like some water?” I nod and he jumps up and walks quickly to the kitchen, returning with two glasses of water.
I look up at him as he leans down to offer me one. “Thank you.” I gulp down the cool liquid and place the half-empty glass on the coffee table. I rub my damp hands down over the fine knit of my mini dress. Logan returns to his seat beside me, this time he reaches for my hand and holds it in his large warm one.
I look at him, willing the tears threatening to fall, to hold off for a few more minutes.
“In the court case, it came out that my father was stealing from shareholder funds, setting up fake investment companies to embezzle from the rich and famous. Money just disappeared. I didn’t understand it all and can’t bring myself to look into it now.”
“How much?” Logan asks. And it doesn’t surprise me that his first question is around the financial cost.
“Millions and millions. One estimate said a billion. I don’t think anyone was ever sure exactly how much.”
“What did you and your mother do?”
I look away from him and purse my lips. “My mother … well, she didn’t stay at my grandparents’ place more than an hour after we were dropped off. A man pulled up in a fancy black convertible and she just left with him. I didn’t see her for two weeks.” A bitter laugh bubbles up from inside me, at odds with the seriousness of my words. “Another fact that came out in the courts was that she was having an affair and it had apparently been going on for years. She chose to stay with him rather than her daughter.” I shake my head still disgusted at my mother’s actions even after all these years. “The court case was brutal. Every morning I woke up to another revelation about my parents plastered across every national newspaper. I was fourteen and understood everything the media was saying.”
I don’t bother telling him how bad it was at school. Of course, word got around, even before the trial began. My humiliation was complete.
We sit silently for a few minutes, then Logan asks, “But why do you think this relates to the threats?”
“Because people lost their homes. My father destroyed so many lives and that made me a target. There were death threats. So, my grandparents decided the best thing they could do for me was to give me a fresh start.” I pick up the glass from the table and take another sip. This is the hardest part to share.
“But you were just a child. What your father did was not on you,” Logan grinds out. I want to hug him for standing up for the little girl I once was.
“I know it wasn’t fair. But I guess when people lose everything …”
He shakes his head and gives my hand a comforting squeeze. “Was that the point that you moved to New York?”
I nod. “Yes, but it wasn’t just a move. I was given a new life with the help of the FBI. My name was officially changed and everything from my old childhood was effectively erased. New York City, the largest in the United States was the perfect place for me to disappear … I guess you know the rest.”
His back is ramrod straight, his eyes wide, and his lips pulled tight into a straight line.
“What was your name?” he asks, his voice flat and low.
“Emily Dorman,” I whisper. A name I haven’t uttered for so many years, it feels like the name of a stranger.
Logan’s jaw drops open. “Robert Dorman, is your father?” he asks.
I nod, and he mutters, “Fuck.”
We sit in silence. Logan staring down at our clasped hands, his fingers stroking over the top of mine. Me staring at him. I want to ask what he’s thinking. But maybe it’s best I don’t know given the darkness that has spread over his features, he looks angry. I know he’s not angry at me, but I hate that I’ve made him feel like this.
Time ticks by. How much? I don’t know. I don’t want to move but don’t know if I should stay.
My cell buzzes, shattering the silence more effectively than words. I watch as Logan picks it up and looks down at it. He raises his eyes to mine. “It’s another text.” He holds my cell up so I can read the short message.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A sob bursts from my mouth and I wrap my arms around my waist trying to hold back more. Tears flow down my cheeks. I don’t wipe them; I can’t release my arms from their tight hold around my body or I’ll completely break apart. I curl forward but I’m stopped by Logan gathering me into his arms.
He lifts me onto his lap as if I weigh nothing more than a child. Years of grief pour out of me. Mopped up in the shirt of the man holding me so tenderly. The man I thought might hate me when he heard the truth.
Years of stored-up grief seem to have been released in a flood of tears. I grieve for my lost family. The grandparents who loved me enough to let me go. And who passed five years ago without me being able to say goodbye.
For the truth I desperately wanted to share but couldn’t.
For the lies I had to tell in place of the truth. So many lies.
And for the name I can no longer use. Erased from my history.
