Chapter 4 - What My Father Never Told Me
Nora gripped the phone.
“Then who?”
Margaret inhaled.
“I can't explain this properly over the phone.”
Nora almost laughed.
“Apparently that's a family tradition.”
“Nora—”
“Where are you?”
“Twenty minutes away.”
Howard stood abruptly.
“You're here?”
Margaret heard him.
“Hello, Howard.”
His face drained of color.
“Margaret.”
Beverly appeared behind him.
“What is happening?”
Nora raised a hand.
“Where do you want to meet?”
Margaret gave her the name of a small public café.
“I'll be there in thirty minutes.”
The call ended.
Beverly immediately said, “Don't go.”
Nora turned.
“You've had thirty-four years to control this story.”
“Nora—”
“I'm going.”
Marcus drove.
Nora didn't trust her hands.
Margaret was already seated when they arrived.
Nora recognized her immediately.
Not from memory.
From herself.
Same eyes.
Same way of pressing her lips together when nervous.
Same slight tilt of the head.
Margaret stood.
For several seconds, neither woman spoke.
Then Margaret whispered, “You've got his posture.”
Nora stopped.
“Whose?”
Margaret looked instantly regretful.
“Your father's.”
“My biological father?”
“Yes.”
Nora sat.
“Who was he?”
Margaret glanced at Marcus.
“You trust him?”
“With my life.”
Marcus quietly moved to another table.
Margaret folded her hands.
“His name was David Bennett.”
Nora absorbed it.
“Bennett.”
“You had his surname at birth.”
“Where is he?”
“He died when you were six months old.”
Nora hadn't expected grief for a stranger.
It came anyway.
“How?”
“Car accident.”
“Did he know about me?”
Margaret smiled through tears.
“He held you every night.”
Nora looked down.
Another stolen piece of her life.
“Why did everyone say the father left?”
“Because Beverly thought it made the story easier.”
“For who?”
“You already know.”
Nora leaned back.
“Tell me about him.”
Margaret reached into her bag.
She produced a small photograph.
A young man held a newborn baby against his chest.
He wore an old Navy sweatshirt.
Nora touched the edge of the picture.
“He served?”
“No. His father did. David wanted to, but his eyesight disqualified him.”
Margaret smiled.
“When you were born, he joked you'd do it for him.”
Nora couldn't speak.
“He would've been unbearable at your ceremony,” Margaret said. “He would've invited strangers.”
Nora laughed through tears.
The sound surprised both of them.
Then Nora remembered.
“Who organized Friday?”
Margaret's smile faded.
“David's father.”
Nora stared.
“My grandfather?”
“He's alive.”
The room seemed to tilt again.
“Where?”
“Virginia.”
“Why haven't I met him?”
“Because he didn't know where you were for years.”
Nora frowned.
“Explain.”
“After David died, I fell apart. Beverly and Howard helped. When they took temporary guardianship, I thought it would last months. Then everything became complicated.”
“You let them adopt me?”
“I signed papers I didn't fully understand.”
Nora stiffened.
“What does that mean?”
Margaret's eyes lowered.
“I thought I was signing temporary guardianship extensions.”
“But?”
“They were adoption consent documents.”
Nora went cold.
“Are you saying my adoption was fraudulent?”
“I don't know.”
“You signed them.”
“Yes.”
“Then how—”
“The pages I signed weren't attached to the documents I later saw.”
Nora stared.
“Who prepared them?”
Margaret looked toward the window.
“A lawyer.”
“Name?”
“Walter Crane.”
Nora knew the name.
She had seen it recently.
Where?
Then she remembered.
The envelope.
The handwriting wasn't Margaret's.
The returnless cream stationery.
At the bottom of the envelope, nearly invisible, had been an embossed mark.
W.C.
“You know him?” Margaret asked.
“No.”
But Nora wasn't sure.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Did he organize the ceremony?”
“No.”
“Then my grandfather did?”
Margaret nodded.
“Samuel Bennett.”
“How did he know my parents weren't coming?”
Margaret hesitated.
“He's been receiving copies of your letters.”
“What letters?”
“The ones you wrote home.”
Nora's face hardened.
“I haven't written letters home in years.”
Margaret looked confused.
“Then someone has been writing them for you.”
Marcus returned immediately when he saw Nora's expression.
“What happened?”
Nora told him.
Marcus's jaw tightened.
“Who had access to your personal correspondence?”
“No one.”
“Old email?”
“Maybe.”
Margaret opened her bag again.
“I brought one.”
She handed Nora a folded photocopy.
Dear Mom and Dad,
The promotion ceremony is Friday. I know it's a long drive, but I hope you'll come. I reserved two seats because some part of me still believes you'll surprise me.
Love, Nora
Nora stared.
She had never written that letter.
But the words sounded exactly like something she might have written.
Marcus read it.
“This isn't handwritten.”
“No,” Margaret said. “Samuel received it printed.”
“Postmark?”
“Norfolk.”
Nora looked at Marcus.
“Someone close enough to know about the seats.”
Marcus nodded.
“And your parents' refusal.”
A thought occurred.
“Admiral Mercer.”
Marcus shook his head.
“She didn't organize it.”
“But she knew.”
“Yes.”
“So somebody contacted her.”
Nora called Mercer.
The admiral answered quickly.
“Commander.”
“Ma'am, I need to ask who contacted you about the ceremony.”
Silence.
“Nora, I was asked not to say.”
“Was it Samuel Bennett?”
Another pause.
“No.”
Nora's pulse quickened.
“Who?”
Mercer sighed.
“Your father.”
Nora froze.
“Howard?”
“Yes.”
“That doesn't make sense.”
“He called me Wednesday morning.”
The morning after Nora left their house.
“What did he say?”
“He said he'd made a terrible mistake.”
Nora couldn't speak.
Mercer continued.
“He told me he wasn't strong enough to fix thirty years in three days. But he knew people who might remind you that his failure wasn't a reflection of your worth.”
Nora looked down.
“Why didn't he come?”
“He said someone had threatened to expose a family matter publicly if either he or your mother attended.”
“Who?”
“He wouldn't say.”
Nora remembered the envelope.
Walter Crane.
W.C.
“Thank you, ma'am.”
She ended the call.
Margaret looked frightened.
“Walter.”
“You think he threatened them?”
“I think he's been controlling this family longer than you realize.”
Nora's phone buzzed.
A new email.
No subject.
One attachment.
She opened it.
A legal document.
At the top:
ADOPTION OF NORA BENNETT.
At the bottom were three signatures.
Margaret Bennett.
Beverly Whitaker.
Howard Whitaker.
And beneath them:
Witnessed and prepared by Walter C. Crane.
Nora zoomed in.
Something was wrong with Howard's signature.
She had seen her father's handwriting all her life.
“That isn't Dad's signature.”
Margaret leaned closer.
“You're sure?”
“Yes.”
Another email arrived.
This one contained only seven words.
ASK HOWARD WHO REALLY SIGNED FOR HIM.
Nora stood.
“We're going back.”
Twenty minutes later, she entered her parents' house.
“Dad!”
No answer.
“Howard!”
Beverly came running from upstairs.
“He's gone.”
“What?”
“He left after you did.”
“Where?”
“I don't know.”
Nora's phone vibrated.
A voicemail.
From Howard.
Recorded fourteen minutes earlier.
His voice sounded frightened.
“Nora, if you're hearing this, Walter knows Margaret contacted you. There's something I never told either of you. Something about the adoption papers.”
A noise sounded behind him.
Howard whispered:
“Oh God.”
Then another man's voice entered the recording.
May you like
“Howard.”
The message ended.
