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I got to the spiral staircase, grabbing the rail. Immediately, I pulled to a stop. One of the large, carved French doors that rested on the back wall was slightly ajar. It had Parker’s words about the new addition flooding back. He’d said it was important, and Fay must have wanted to see why.
A small dose of relief settled but didn’t last as I neared the entrance. Henry’s voice played in my head, twisting what I knew with what he’d heard.
My fingers pressed into the heavy wood, easing it open. When I stepped inside, I couldn’t move, more or less speak. I wasn’t the only one. Fayette stood entranced, tears rolling down her face as she gazed into the titled portrait of her own parents: Mr. and Mrs. George Brexton. It didn’t seem real concerning the formally dressed young man in the picture that helped raise me. He’d never appeared like that. He didn’t hold the aura of the rich or royal. I didn’t know this man, and I couldn’t imagine how Fay felt seeing her parents in a completely different light. I’d never met her mother, but from the pictures I’d seen at their home, I knew who was sitting before George while he stood and held to her shoulder.
Marilyn was beautiful. Dark curls were elaborately piled on her head, a few escaping over her shoulders. Layers of diamonds were around her neck and wrists. She appeared young; perhaps early twenties. She wore a white, lace gown, not much different than the high collared satin one Fayette was wearing now. The resemblance was shocking.
“I was looking for you. Fay, are you okay?”
For a long moment, she didn’t speak. “I read the letters on the wall. My parents told me they had a small wedding. Here…in New York. That they were so in love and in a rush to be married, they’d never had pictures taken. That’s what they told me when I was little. That’s what they said when I’d asked. It wasn’t the truth. They married in London. They…What is this?” She spun to me, blue dominating the green color in her bloodshot eyes. “I don’t understand. I mean, I do, but…” Her hand gestured to the entire room that was dedicated to her estranged past. “This can’t be right? Are these fakes? Or…Is this real? Did you know?”
“I didn’t. Not until a few minutes ago. I’m sorry.”
“So, it’s been a lie? All of it. My entire life—Their entire life?” She spun back, looking at the portrait. “Why would they hide such a thing? Did my father do something bad? Did he lose all his money and was embarrassed by what he did?”
“I don’t know.” I walked over, taking her hand while she continued to gaze at the picture.
“There were so many nights I heard my parents arguing over their finances. Over how it was going to be possible to have enough money for meals the rest of the week. About bills. The mortgage. Do you know what that does to a child? Do you know how many times I was too afraid to ask for the smallest necessity? How many school trips I missed out on because I knew we didn’t have the money to pay the fee?” Her voice broke as she turned to me. “I was a wreck! Money, money, money. It was always about money. My father grilled the importance into me from as early as I can remember. Get the best grades, Fayette. Go to college, Fayette. But oh, wait, only the best. Did you see the interest rates for those stupid loans? Sorry we got screwed because of my credit, maybe you should get another job to help me pay them, Fayette. Or maybe I can get another job, despite I’m never home anyway. Job? Job!” Her head gave a hard shake. “Look at all these pictures around us. Look at the life they led. He better have been as broke as he made us believe. He better—If my life has been a lie…”
I pulled her into my arms as she sobbed, rubbing my hand down her bare back. How was I going to tell her what I’d heard? Should I wait to discover the truth for myself before I troubled her further?
I took in the framed letters, statements, and portraits. The room wasn’t large, but big enough. There was even a large black and white picture of a plantation covering half of one wall. Was that where George had lived before he’d given up everything?
“I don’t like you so upset. I don’t think this was my grandfather’s intention when he made this room for you.”
“Why did he? Why even tell me?”
“I believe.” I stopped. “I think he thought you should know. He loves history. It is the epitome of what he believes is important.” As I glanced down and caught her quivering lip, I could have killed Charles and George for what they were doing. To see her so distressed shattered every piece of me. “I don’t begin to understand why your father kept this from you. I don’t even know if he ever planned to tell you. I feel like the George I knew would have let you know when the time was right. Responsibilities to that magnitude can sometimes be overwhelming. Maybe he didn’t want that for them or you. As for the money, I mean.” The words locked in my throat.
“Aimon?” Fay’s eyes searched mine. “What about the money? You stopped. What do you know? What did you find out before you came in here?”
Did I say I could kill them? The anger in me only grew worse. “Henry, an old friend, he recognized your name. I guess he knew your father back when he worked with my grandfather.”
“They worked together?”
My hand went up to calm her. “From what he says, George was quite the businessman. He almost bought out Charles. He was a legend. The best. But then you came, or so the story goes, and he gave up this life.”
“Gave up? Like…walked away from? Just…left? Unbelievable.”
“It’s a story, Fay. I don’t know the truth. They were just rumors. Supposedly, no one knows. There is one person who does, but he’s sleeping right now. Please don’t be upset until we know the entire story. It’s not good for you or the baby. Let’s get you back to the room so you can rest. I’ll find out all the answers, and we’ll get to the bottom of this. You have my word on that.”
Chapter 25
Fay
I was shaking, rattled, and fuming. And…I was hurt. It wasn’t Charles’s fault, but I couldn’t help but be upset that he didn’t tell me about my father sooner. Didn’t he think it was important for me to know? Shouldn’t this have been one of the first conversations we had? I wanted to scream. To burn everything down to the ground. I wouldn’t show him that side of me. I wouldn’t ruin his last days with emotions meant for a man who was long gone. Right now, I needed answers. I needed the truth.
“Did you have a good nap?”
“I haven’t had one yet. I went to the gallery.”
“Did you now.” Charles sat up straight for the first time since he’d been brought in. “Did you go in the back room?”
“I did. I have to say, I’m a little confused.”
“Confused? Whyever, so?”
My eyes went wide. I was walking the razor’s edge of a complete meltdown, and I had to be careful.
