"Dad?" Emily repeated.
She stared at the man on her porch step, a man she barely recognized anymore. Silver hair where once before it had been black. The shadow of stubble on his chin. Creases and furrows lining his face. But there was no mistaking it. It was her father.
Words failed her. She couldn't catch her breath.
The crinkles at the sides of Roy's eyes deepened as he smiled. "Emily Jane," he replied.
That's when Emily knew it was real. He was real. It was her dad.
She ran as fast as she could up the porch steps and threw herself into his arms. She'd imagined this moment so many times, wondering how she would behave if he ever came back to her. In her imagination she'd acted cool, been aloof, had risen above it all by not letting him see the pain his disappearance had caused her, nor the utter relief she felt knowing he was safe. But of course the reality was completely different. Instead of being standoffish, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him like she was a child again.
He was warm, solid. She could feel him breathing hard, each expansion of his lungs betraying his emotions. Her tears came almost immediately. As though in response, she felt his own tears wet her cheeks and neck.
"You came back," Emily managed to say, her voice cracking as she spoke. She sounded as young and vulnerable as she felt.
"I did," Roy replied through deep sobs. "I'm"
But he stopped short. Emily knew instinctively that the only word to conclude that sentence was "sorry" but that her father wasn't yet ready to deal with the torrent of emotions such an utterance would unleash. Emily wasn't either. She didn't want to go to those painful places yet. She just wanted to stay in this moment. Bask in it.
She lost track of how much time passed as she and her father stood there holding each other, but she felt a sudden change in the way her father held her, a tensing of his muscles, like he was suddenly uncomfortable. She moved away from him and looked over her shoulder to see where Roy's gaze was now affixed: Chantelle.
She was standing in the open door of the inn, a look of bemusement on her face as though trying to comprehend the strange scene before her. Emily could read all the questions in her eyes. Who is this man? Why is Emily crying? Why is he? What's going on?
"Chantelle, honey," Emily said, extending a hand. "Come here."
Emily saw in Chantelle's hesitation an uncharacteristic shyness.
"There's nothing to be scared of," Emily added.
Chantelle took a few paces toward Emily. "Why is he looking at me like that?" she said in a stage whisper that Roy could clearly hear.
Emily looked at her father. His damp eyes were wide with confusion. He wiped the wetness from his lashes.
"You have a daughter?" he finally stammered, his voice thick with emotion.
"Yes," Emily said, reaching for Chantelle and pulling the girl to her side, into a half embrace. "Well, she's Daniel's daughter. But I'm raising her like a mother would."
Chantelle clung to Emily. "Is he going to take me away?" she asked.
"Oh no, no, sweetie!" Emily exclaimed. "This is my father. Your grandpa." She turned her gaze then to meet her dad's. "Papa Roy?" she suggested.
He nodded immediately. He seemed bewitched by the child, his pale blue eyes sparkling with intrigue.
"She looks so much like her," he said.
Emily understood immediately what he meant. That Chantelle looked like Charlotte. No wonder he'd assumed she was Emily's child; Emily herself sometimes struggled to believe that those were not Charlotte's genetic characteristics expressed in Chantelle.
"I see it too," she confessed.
"Who do I look like?" Chantelle questioned.
Emily felt like this line of questioning was far too much for the child to handle. She wanted to shut it down right away. Even though she felt like a trembling lamb she knew she had to step up and take command.
"Someone we used to know a long time ago, that's all," she said. "Come on, Papa Roy needs to meet Daddy."
Chantelle brightened suddenly. "I'll get him." She beamed, bounding off back inside.
Emily sighed. She understood why her dad had been so shocked by Chantelle, but having a stranger stare at her like that-like she was a ghost-was the last thing the child needed.
"She's really not biologically yours?" Roy asked the second the child had disappeared.
Emily shook her head. "I know, it's crazy. She's sensitive like her too. And kind. Funny. Creative. I can't wait for you to get to know her." Her voice hitched then, with sudden fear at the thought that Roy wasn't staying, that this was just a flying visit. Perhaps she wasn't even supposed to have known he'd been here. Maybe his plan was to avoid her altogether, to swoop in and out before she'd had a chance to realize he was back, like his covert trips in his beat-up car that Trevor had witnessed from his spying window. She rubbed behind her ear awkwardly. "That is, if you have the time."
"I have the time." Roy nodded, a small flutter of a smile appearing on his lips.
Just then, Chantelle returned, dragging Daniel along behind her. He stopped at the doorway and glanced at Roy.
"Papa Roy?" he said, raising his eyebrows, clearly repeating the name that Chantelle had so innocently relayed to him.
Emily saw the look that crossed between them and remembered how Daniel had told her about that summer back when he was a teenager and had needed a friend, how Roy had been there for him, had helped him get his life back on track. She could tell in that moment that Roy's safe return to Sunset Harbor meant almost as much to Daniel as it did to herself.
Roy offered his hand for Daniel to shake. But to Emily's surprise, Daniel took the hand and pulled Roy into a bear hug. She felt a strange clench in her chest, a peculiar emotion that was somewhere between joy and grief.
"I think you've met Daniel," Emily said, her voice cracking once again.
"I have," Roy replied as he was released by Daniel, taking him instead by the shoulders. He seemed overwhelmed with emotion, treading that fine line between weeping tears of joy and bursting into relieved laughter.
"We're getting married," Emily added, somewhat dumbly.
"I know," Roy said, grinning from ear to ear. "I read your email. I'm so delighted."
"Are you coming inside?" Daniel asked Roy, softly.
"If I may," Roy replied, sounding concerned that he may not be accepted back into Emily's life.
"Of course!" Emily exclaimed. She clutched his hand tightly, trying to tell him that everything was okay, that he was wanted here, accepted here, that his return to her was a joyous occasion.
Roy's face seemed etched with relief. He visibly relaxed, as though a hurdle he'd been worried about jumping had been accomplished.
As they walked toward the door, Emily became suddenly aware of the fact that the house her father had abandoned over twenty years ago in no way resembled its former self. She'd taken over, changed it all, changed its purpose from a family home to an inn. Would he be mad?
"We've made some renovations," she said quickly.
"Emily Jane," her father replied in a kind, firm voice, "I know you've been living here. That it's an inn now. It's fine. I'm delighted for you."
She nodded, but still felt anxious about letting him inside. Chantelle led the way and one by one they filed into the reception hall, Roy taking the tail, his gait slower and stiffer than Emily remembered.
He stopped in the hall and looked around him, his mouth open with surprise and awe. When he saw the reception desk, his eyes widened.
"Is this…?"
"The same one you sold to Rico?" Emily said. "Yes."
The inn had been a guest house originally before the owners abandoned it. Roy's story with the home mirrored her own in reverse. He'd wanted this place to be a family home, a haven for summer vacations. Emily had turned it back into a guesthouse, a business.
"I can't believe he kept it all these years," Roy said with surprise, still looking at the desk. Then he turned his eyes to Emily. "Do you remember the day I sold it to him?"
Emily shook her head silently.
"You were quite adamant that I shouldn't sell it," he said with a chuckle. "You'd put a Barbie in every one of the drawers. Said it was a hospital for your dolls."
"I think I do remember," Emily replied, feeling a little melancholy.
"Rico was very kind about it," Roy added. "Helped you to 'transfer' your 'patients' to another location. I think you chose the cupboard under the sink." He, too, became somewhat wistful, and tore his attention away from the reception desk and back to the renovation work. "This really is incredible. You've done a fabulous job."
The sound of pride in his voice made Emily's heart jolt. This moment was so much more than she could have hoped for. It was perfect.
"Do you want a tour?" she asked.
Roy nodded. Emily led him to the kitchen first. Inside, they could hear the sounds of the dogs barking from the laundry room.
"I don't know what to take in first," Roy exclaimed, glancing around him at the fully restored kitchen with its original retro appliances and decorations. "The amazing renovation work or the fact you have pets!"
"This is Mogsy and her puppy Rain!" Chantelle announced, opening up the utility room door and allowing the two to run inside.
They rushed up to Roy, sniffing him and trying to lick his cheeks. Roy laughed, the fine lines around his face becoming more pronounced, and scratched them both behind the ears.
"We don't usually let them run around the kitchen," Emily explained. "But since it's a special occasion-"
Her voice cracked as that pang of melancholy she'd felt earlier returned. Being with her dad shouldn't be "special"; it had been made that way by him leaving.
From his crouched position, he looked up at her, his expression filled with regret.
All at once, Emily felt a surge of anger. Some of her deeply buried hurt was beginning to bubble upward.
"Let's go to the dining room," she said, hurriedly, not wanting it to surface.
They went into the room with the large oak table. Straightaway Roy noticed that the heavy drape curtain that had once hung over the ballroom door was no longer there.
"You found the ballroom," he said.
Something about the comment irritated Emily further. This wasn't a game of hide-and-seek. She felt hotness creep into her cheeks.
"Found it. Restored it. Soon to be getting married in it," she said, as they passed along the low-ceilinged hallway and emerged into the huge ballroom.
She could hear the snappiness in her voice and took a deep breath to calm herself.
"Well, it looks beautiful," Roy said, either oblivious to her mounting anger or not yet willing to confront it. "I'm surprised the stained glass looks so good after all this time."
"Daniel's friend George renovated it," Emily explained.
"George?" Roy said, raising his eyebrows. "I remember him when he was this big." He gestured with his hand to his waist to indicate a child's height.
It occurred to Emily then that Sunset Harbor was more her father's town than it ever had been hers, that he knew people from this place better than she did, that in the years he'd lived here he'd planted more roots than she could ever hope to. A new emotion of jealousy wormed its way into the complex mixture of feelings she was already trying to keep at bay. She tried her hardest to keep a neutral expression on her face.
They went upstairs next and Emily showed Roy the master bedroom, the room that had once been his and Patricia's, then, presumably, his and Antonia's when she'd visited, before finally becoming hers and Daniel's.
"This is fantastic," Roy exclaimed. "The colors are so fresh."
He'd been far more into his dark colors, the sorts of crimsons and navy hues that she'd decorated the guest bedrooms in. The crisp white and eggshell blue had been far closer to her mother's tastes, and Emily realized for the first time as she looked at her room that her style was a perfect blend of them both. Roy's penchant for antiques-seen in the huge bed, the vanity desk, the ottoman-and Patricia's cleanliness in the white colors. Emily felt like she was looking at the room anew.
"My room is next door," Chantelle said.
Emily was relieved for the distraction. She guided Roy out of the room and into Chantelle's, where he took in the delightful animal-themed furniture Emily had purchased for her. Chantelle waltzed around the room, proudly showing off her shelf of books, her wardrobe filled with dresses, her pile of cuddly toys, her wall of artwork.
"Chantelle, you have quite a lovely room," Roy said kindly, reminding Emily of that soft way he had with children, of the gentleness he'd spoken to her with back when he'd been in her life.
Chantelle beamed with pride.
"You chose not to put her in the room you and Charlotte shared?" he said. "The play room with the mezzanine?"
Emily felt a little jolt of pain in her chest to hear him refer to her childhood room. He'd locked it up after Charlotte's death, forcing Emily to switch rooms. That had been the first sign, Emily realized now, that her father wasn't going to process Charlotte's death, that her dying was going to become the catalyst to him abandoning her.
"That's the bridal suite," Daniel explained, taking over while Emily remained mute. "The mezzanine was a great selling point. Plus, we wanted Chantelle close to us."
The emotion was getting to be too much for Emily. She had no idea it was possible to feel so many conflicting, complex things at once. It suddenly dawned on her that once this tour was over, once they sat down in the living room face to face, she would release an explosion of rage at her father.
She felt her father's hand on her arm suddenly, steadying her, reassuring her. She looked into his blue eyes, saw the grief and regret within them, mixing with utter relief. He was silently telling her that it was okay, he understood her anger. She didn't need to keep hiding it.
They traipsed through the rest of the floor, glancing into a few of the guest rooms so that Roy could get a taste of the decor. He hovered briefly beside his study door. The last time he'd been here he was two decades younger, his hair black instead of gray, his body slimmer and more agile instead of the slight paunch that now sat above his waistband.
"It's the same," Emily replied. "I haven't changed it."
He nodded, but didn't say a word. She wondered if he was thinking about the myriad of documents he'd locked inside his desk, ones she had now read. The letters and secrets she'd found of his. Emily knew there was no way of knowing what Roy was thinking. The man was as much a mystery to her now as he always had been.
They went to the third floor and Roy lingered for a while beside the stairs up to the widow's walk. Was that New Year's Eve evening on his mind? Emily wondered. The one where he'd told her not to be scared, to open her eyes and look at the fireworks? Or had he forgotten all those memories like she once had?
Chantelle skipped around, showing him into all of the empty guest rooms. She seemed excited to have him here, and so proud to show him her home. Emily wished she could feel as light as the child clearly did, but there was so much going on in her mind it filled her to the brim with anguish.
"I'm really amazed by the work you've done here," Roy said. "It can't have been easy getting all these en suites in."
"It wasn't," Emily replied. "We only had about twenty-four hours to do it as well. Which is a long story."
"I have time." Roy smiled.
Emily didn't even know how to respond to that. Time was not something she could take for granted with him. She couldn't trust his sentiments.
"Let's head to the living room," she said, stiffly. "Have something to drink?" Then, realizing her slip-up in suggesting alcohol to an alcoholic, she added quickly, "Coffee."
With each step down the staircase, Emily felt her anger growing stronger. She hated the feeling. She wanted this reunion to be a joyful one, but how could it be, really, when she had all this resentment inside? Her father had to hear about the pain he had caused her.
They reached the downstairs hallway. Daniel headed to the kitchen to make the coffee as Chantelle showed Roy into the living room. He gasped when he saw the renovations, the way Emily had blended new styles and old styles, the way she'd incorporated modern art and Kandinsky glassware.
"Is that my old piano?" he asked.
Emily nodded. "I had it restored. The guy who did it, Owen, he plays here sometimes. He'll be playing at our wedding, actually."
For the first time, Emily felt a sense of triumph. Having not lived in Sunset Harbor long, Owen wasn't someone her father had known before her, for longer than her, or knew better than her. There were people here who were her own, who weren't tainted by the unpleasantness of that shared past.
"Owen helps me with my singing," Chantelle said.
"Oh, you sing?" Roy replied. "Can I hear a bit?"
"Maybe later," Emily cut in. "Chantelle promised me she'd tidy up all of her toys today."
"Can't I do it later?" Chantelle wailed.
She clearly wanted to spend more time with Papa Roy and Emily couldn't blame her. On the surface he was like a gentle giant, a Santa Claus of a man. But Emily couldn't keep plastering a pretend smile on her face forever just for Chantelle's sake. It was time for her and her father to talk like grown-ups.
Emily shook her head. "Why don't you get it done right now, then you'll have the whole day to play with Papa Roy, okay?"
Chantelle relented and left the room with a stomp in her step.
"You've opened up the speakeasy," Roy noted, looking at the sparklingly renovated bar. He seemed impressed by the way Emily had kept the period of the place in the same way he had, an homage to a time gone by. "You know it's original."
She nodded. "I figured as much. Except the liquor bottles."
Without Chantelle to buffer the situation, a tenseness rose between them. Emily gestured to the sofa.
"Will you sit?"
Roy nodded and settled himself in. His face had blanched of color as though sensing that the moment of reckoning was upon them.
But before Emily had a chance, Daniel appeared with a tray containing the coffee pot, cream, sugar, and mugs. He set it down on the coffee table. Silence swelled as he poured the drinks.
Roy cleared his throat. "Emily Jane, if you have questions to ask me, you can."
Emily's ability to remain polite and cordial broke. "Why did you leave me?" she blurted out.
Daniel's head snapped up with surprise. His eyes were as wide as saucers. He probably hadn't realized Emily's joy at having Roy back had dragged up her anger as well, that she'd been carrying her emotion with her throughout the whole tour of the house. He stood then.
"I should give you both some time," he said politely.
Emily turned her eyes up to him. He looked so awkward standing there, as though suddenly encroaching on a private matter, and Emily felt a little guilty to have turned the conversation sour so quickly in his presence, without giving him the chance to excuse himself in a more polite manner.
"Thank you," she said as he hurried out of the room.
She turned her gaze back to her father. Roy seemed hurt by her evident pain but he breathed calmly and looked at her with gentle eyes.
"I was broken, Emily Jane," he began. "After losing Charlotte I was a broken man. I drank. I had affairs. I alienated my friends in New York City until I couldn't bear to be there anymore. Your mom and I split, though that was a long time coming. I came here to put my life back together."
"Only you didn't," Emily replied, hotly. "You ran away. You left me."
She could feel tears prickling in her eyes. Her father's were growing red and misty too. He looked down into his lap, his expression one of shame.
"I was ignoring things," he said sadly. "I thought I could pretend everything was okay. Even though it had been years since Charlotte had died, I hadn't really let myself feel anything. I never went in the room you shared, moving you to a different one if you recall."
Emily nodded. She remembered vividly her father blocking access to parts of the house, making certain areas out of bounds for her during her summer visits-the widow's walk, the third floor, the garages, his study, the basement-until she'd all but forgotten they ever existed or what they contained. She remembered his increasingly erratic behavior, his obsession with collecting antiques that seemed to her like less of a hobby and more of a compulsion, his hoarding behavior. But moreover she remembered the diminishing contact, the way she'd spend less and less time with him in Maine until she reached fifteen and, one summer, he just never turned up to collect her. That had been the last time she'd seen him.
Emily wanted to be understanding toward her father's actions. But though one part of her understood he was a broken man who had one day cracked, the torment his actions had caused her could not just be explained away.
"Why didn't you say goodbye?" Emily said, the tears falling down her cheeks in torrents. "How could you just leave like that?"
Roy, too, seemed to be becoming overwhelmed with emotion. Emily noted that his hands were shaking. His lips trembled as he spoke. "I'm so sorry. I've been haunted by that decision."
"You were haunted?" Emily cried. "I didn't know if you were dead or alive! You left me wondering, not knowing. Do you have any idea what that does to a person? My whole life was on pause because of you! Because you were too much of a coward to say goodbye!"
Roy took her words like repeated punches to the face. His expression looked as pained as if they really had been physical blows she'd laid upon him.
"It was inexcusable," he said, barely more than a whisper. "So I won't try to excuse it."
Emily felt her heart racing wildly in her chest. She was so furious she couldn't even see straight. All those years of emotions were flooding out of her with the force of a tsunami.
"Did you even think about how it would hurt me?" she cried, her voice rising in pitch and volume even more.
Roy seemed gripped with anguish, his whole body tensing, his face contorted with regret. Emily was glad to see him that way. She wanted him to hurt just as much as she had.
"Not at first," he confessed. "Because I wasn't in my right mind. I couldn't think of anything or anyone but myself, my own pain. I thought you'd be better off without me."
He broke down then, sobs juddering through his body until he was shaking from the emotion. Watching him like that was like a stab to the heart. Emily didn't want to see her father crack and crumble before her eyes, but he needed to know. There would be no moving on, no reparation without getting this all out in the open.
"So you thought leaving would be doing me a favor?" Emily snapped, folding her arms protectively against her chest. "Do you know how messed up that is?"
Roy wept bitterly into his hands. "Yes. I was messed up back then. I stayed messed up for a very long time. When I realized what damage I had done, too much time had passed. I didn't know how to get back to where it had been, how to undo the hurt."
"You didn't even try," Emily accused him.
"I tried," Roy said, the pleading in his tone irking Emily even more. "So many times. I came back to the house on a number of occasions but every time the guilt of what I had done overwhelmed me. There were too many memories. Too many ghosts."
"Don't say that," Emily snapped, her mind immediately going to images of Charlotte haunting the house. "Don't you dare."
"I'm sorry," Roy repeated, gasping with anguish.
He looked down into his lap where his old hands were trembling.
On the table in front of them, the undrunk mugs of coffee were turning cold.
Emily took a long, deep breath. She knew her father had been depressed-she'd found the pill prescription amongst his belongings-and that he wasn't himself, that the grief was making him behave in unforgivable ways. She shouldn't blame him for that, and yet she couldn't help it. He'd let her down so badly. Left her with her grief. With her mother. There was so much brewing anger inside of Emily's heart even if she knew that blame had no place there.
"What can I do to make it up to you, Emily Jane?" Roy said, his hands in a prayer position. "How can I even begin to heal the damage I caused?"
"Why don't you start by filling in the blanks," Emily replied. "Tell me what happened. Where you went. What you've been doing all these years."
Roy blinked, as though surprised by Emily's line of questioning.
"It was the wondering that killed me," Emily explained, sadly. "If I'd just known you were safe somewhere, I could have dealt with it. You have no idea how many scenarios I cooked up in my mind, how many different lives I imagined you were living. I spent years not being able to sleep because of it. It was like my mind wouldn't stop conjuring up options until it found the correct one, even though there was no way for it to do so. It was an impossible, futile task, but I couldn't stop. So that's how you can help. Start by giving me the truth, by telling me what I didn't know for all those years. Where were you?"
Roy's tears finally slowed. He snuffled, dabbing his eyes with his sleeve. Then he cleared his throat.
"I split my time between Greece and England. I made a home for myself in Falmouth, Cornwall, on the coast of England. It's a beautiful place. Cliffs and wonderful scenery. There's a fantastic artists' scene there."
How fitting, Emily thought, remembering his obsession with Toni's artwork, the way in which he'd hung one of her lighthouse paintings up in the New York City home he'd shared with Patricia, and how angry Emily herself had felt when she'd realized how brazen he'd been, how disrespectful.
"How did you afford it?" Emily challenged. "The police said there'd been no activity in your bank accounts. It was one of the reasons I thought you were dead."
Roy winced at the word. Emily could tell how bad he felt to be confronted by the pain he'd put her through. But he needed to hear this. And she needed to say it. It was the only way they could move forward.
"I didn't sell any of my antiques, if that's what you mean," he began. "I left all of that for you."
"Am I supposed to thank you?" Emily asked bitterly. "It's not like a diamond can make up for years of neglect."
Roy nodded sadly, taking the brunt of her angry words. Emily began to accept that he was acknowledging her, that he was no longer trying to explain his actions but to listen instead to the hurt they had caused her.
"You're right," he said quietly. "I didn't mean to imply that it could."
Emily tensed her jaw. "Well go on, then," she said. "Tell me what happened after you left. How you supported yourself."
"At first I lived from one day to the next," Roy explained. "I made money doing whatever I could. Odd jobs. Car and bike repairs. Tinkering. I found my feet making and repairing clocks. I still do that now. I'm a horologist. I make ornate clocks with hidden keys and secret compartments."
"Of course you do," Emily said, bitterly.
The look of shame returned to Roy's face.
"What about love?" Emily asked. "Did you ever settle down?"
"I live alone," Roy replied sadly. "I have since I left. I didn't want to cause anyone any more pain. I couldn't bear to be around people."
For the first time, Emily began to feel sympathy for her father, imagining him lonely, living like a hermit. She started to feel as though she had released as much pain as she needed to, that she had blamed him enough to finally be able to hear his story. A cathartic wave washed over her.
"It's why I don't really use any modern technology," Roy continued. "There's a phone booth in town that I use to make my calls, which are few and far between. The local post office lets me know if anyone's responded to my horologist ad. When I'm feeling strong enough, I go to the local library and check my emails to see whether you've been in touch."
Emily paused, frowned. This was surprising to her. "You do?"
Roy nodded. "I've been leaving clues for you, Emily Jane. Every time I came back to the house I left another crumb for you to find. The email address was the biggest step I took because I knew as soon as you found it, it would provide a direct line from you to me. But the anticipation, the waiting, it was unbearable. So I limited myself to only a few checks a year. When I got your email I flew right here."
Emily realized then that this was the reason for those additional months of anguish he'd put her through after she'd learned he was still alive and then had contacted him. He hadn't been ignoring her or avoiding her, he simply hadn't seen her email.
"Is that true?" she asked, her voice straining as tears filled her eyes. "Did you really come here as soon as you saw I'd been in touch?"
"Yes," Roy replied, his voice barely a whisper. His own tears had begun to fall again. "I've been hoping and wishing and dreaming for you to get in contact. I figured that one day you would come back to this place, when you were ready. But I also knew you'd be angry with me. I wanted the ball to be in your court. I wanted you to be the one to make contact with me because I didn't want to intrude on your life. If you'd moved on without me I thought it would be best to keep it that way."
"Oh, Dad," Emily gasped.
Something, finally, was released from within Emily. Something about this last, final, heartbreaking admission from her father was what she'd been needing to know all along. That he was waiting on her to make the move. He hadn't been avoiding her, keeping himself hidden, he'd been dropping crumbs for her, trusting that once she put all the pieces together she'd make her own decision about whether or not she could forgive him and allow him back into her life.
She stood and hurried to the opposite couch, throwing her arms around her neck. She sobbed against his shoulder, deep sobs racking through her body. Roy clung to her, shaking too from the outpouring of grief.
"I'm so sorry," he choked, his voice muffled by her hair. "I'm so, so sorry."
They stayed like that for a long time, holding each other, shedding every tear they needed to, squeezing out every last drop of pain. Finally the crying ceased. Everything became silent.
"Do you have any more questions?" Roy finally said quietly. "I'm not going to keep secrets from you anymore. I'm not going to hide anything."
Emily felt exhausted, spent with emotion. Her father's chest rose and fell with each deep breath he took. She was so tired she felt as if she could fall asleep right here in his arms. But at the same time, she still had a million questions burning in her mind, but one more than others.
"The night when Charlotte died…" she began. "Mom filled me in with some stuff but she only gave me one side of the story. What happened?"
Roy's arms tightened around her. Emily knew it was hard for him to remember that night but she desperately wanted to know the truth, or at least his version of it. Maybe she'd be able to plaster together the three parts-Patricia's, Roy's, her own-and create something that made sense.
"I'd taken you for Thanksgiving and Christmas," Roy began. "Things weren't going well with your mom so she stayed home. But then you both came down with the flu."
"I think I remember," Emily said. She'd flashed back to some childhood memories of fevers. "Toni's dog, Persephone, was there. I collapsed in the hall."
Roy nodded, but he looked embarrassed. Emily knew why; this had been a turning point in his affair with Toni, the point when he'd been brazen enough to have his mistress's and his children's lives intersect.
"Do you remember your mom turning up unannounced?" Roy said.
Emily shook her head.
"She'd wanted to be there to look after you both since you were so sick."
"That doesn't sound like Mom," Emily said.
Roy laughed. "No, it doesn't. Maybe it was an excuse. She suspected the affair and it was her way of turning up unannounced and catching me in the act."
Emily let out a subdued nod. That was more her mother's style.
"You must have blocked out the argument because I'm sure we were shouting loud enough for them to hear at the harbor." He shrugged. "I don't know if it was that that woke Charlotte up. She was on medicine that made her groggy. You both were. But she woke up and I suppose she got confused looking for us, or was just generally feeling unwell and on medication. She ended up in the outhouse with the pool. I suppose you know the rest."
Emily did. But what she didn't realize was how little of a role she'd had to play in it all. It wasn't her fault for not waking when Charlotte did and stopping her sister wandering away. Nor was it her fault for speaking so enthusiastically about the new pool and planting the excitement in her sister's mind to go and see it. She'd been ill, confused, possibly even terrified by their parents' fight. None of it had been her fault. Not a single bit.
Emily felt a sudden sense of release. Weight she hadn't even realized she'd been carrying lifted from her shoulders. She'd been clinging onto her guilt over Charlotte's death, even after her mom had clarified that it hadn't been her fault. Now she felt as if her father had given her permission to let go of that guilt.
She snuggled in to him, feeling a new sense of peace settle over her.
Just then, the quietness was broken by the sound of soft knocking on the door. Daniel peered around.
"Daniel, come in," Emily said, beckoning him. She wanted him here now that she and her dad had gotten everything out in the open. She needed his support.
He came and perched on the edge of the couch opposite them. Emily wiped the tears from her lashes, but remained clinging to her father, curled up like a child beside him on the couch.
"Does anyone need anything?" Daniel asked softly. "A tissue? A stiff drink?"
It was just what the moment needed to cut through all the heaviness. Emily hiccupped out a laugh. She felt Roy's rumbling laugh in his belly.
"I could do with a drink," she said.
"So could I," Roy replied. "Is the bar stocked?"
Daniel took the lead. "It is. Come on. It's so fantastic in there. I'll make us drinks."
Emily hesitated. "Dad, is that a good idea?" she said.
"Why wouldn't it be?" Roy replied, looking confused.
Emily lowered her voice. "Because of your drinking problem."
Roy looked astounded. "What drinking problem?" Then his face paled. "Did Patricia tell you I was an alcoholic?"
"You were an alcoholic," Emily replied. "I remember you drinking. All the time."
"I drank heavily," Roy admitted. "We both did, your mom and I. It's one of the reasons our relationship was so volatile. But I wasn't an alcoholic."
"What about the eggnogs for breakfast on Christmas?" she asked, remembering how testy her father had been when she'd kicked his drink over.
"That was just Christmas!" Roy exclaimed.
Another piece of Emily's past realigned itself. She'd fallen for Patricia's bitter, skewed version of events, had allowed them to replace her own memories of her father. She felt a surge of fury at her mother for making Roy into the villain of their most traumatic experience.
They went into the speakeasy and took seats at the bar. Daniel got to work on the cocktails.
"We have a bartender in the evenings to do this," he explained to Roy. "Alec. He's fantastic. Better than me anyhow."
He poured them each a margarita. Roy took a sip.
"That tastes fantastic," he said. Then, a little coyly, he added, "I must say what a fine young gentleman you've turned out to be."
Emily felt her heart soar. She smiled, elated finally, feeling like everything was how it ought to be.
"I have you to thank for that," Daniel replied, shyly, not quite looking Roy in the eye. "For introducing me to things I cared about. Fishing. Sailing."
"You still sailing?" Roy asked.
"I have a boat at the harbor. Restored thanks to Emily. We take it out as a family. Chantelle loves it too. She's great at fishing."
"I still sail a lot as well," Roy said. "When I'm not working on a clock I spend my time out on the boat. Or in the garden."
"Do you remember that day you taught me how to grow vegetables?" Daniel asked.
"Of course," Roy replied. He smiled, reminiscing. "I'd never seen such a scruffy punk of a kid work so hard with a trowel."
Daniel laughed. "I was eager to learn," he said. "To take the opportunity. Even if on the outside it looked like I hated the world."
Emily found it strange to see them joking and laughing. There was so much less hurt between them. It was more like a camaraderie. Daniel had been forever thankful for the man who'd given him a chance when he needed it, even if that same man had disappeared on him as well. Maybe it was just a surprise to Emily to realize how close they had been once, knowing, also, that the summer they'd spent together had been a summer she and her father had spent apart.
Her phone buzzed then and she saw a text from Amy about their scheduled arrival that afternoon. She and Jayne had some urgent business stuff to attend to and were making a stop so would be arriving later than planned. Emily realized, guiltily, that she'd completely forgotten they were on their way. She'd been so caught up with her father everything else had gone out of her mind.
She quickly texted back and then returned her attention to her father and Daniel. They were laughing breezily again.
"I'm so glad that the boat managed to hold," Daniel was exclaiming. "Who'd have thought the weather would turn like that? A storm in the middle of summer."
"It was unfortunate timing," Roy replied. "Considering it was your first ever boat ride."
"Well, I had the best teacher so I wasn't that scared." He smiled, his eyes far away in reminiscence. "Thank you for introducing me to boats, to the water and sailing. I can't imagine my life without them now."
Emily watched on as Roy smiled along with Daniel. Now that she had released her anger she felt an overwhelming sense of peace, of rightness. This should always have been how it was. Her dad hanging out with her fiancé, enjoying one another's company, looking forward to soon becoming part of the same family.
It may have come a little late, but she was going to do everything she possibly could now to enjoy it.
*
As the evening wore on, Daniel made another batch of cocktails. He set a glass down in front of Emily just as her phone buzzed with an incoming call.
"It's Amy," she explained. "I'd better take it."
"Amy? From high school?" Roy asked, raising an eyebrow.
Emily nodded. "We're still friends," she informed him. "She's a bridesmaid. She's helping with a lot of the wedding preparations."
Emily dashed out of the speakeasy and took the call.
"Em, we're so sorry," Amy began. "The call took ages and now we're both too exhausted to drive. We're going to have to stop here over night. Don't hate us."
"I won't," Emily told her, secretly relieved that her friends weren't going to interrupt the reunion with her father.
"We'll leave first thing in the morning," Amy added.
"Honestly, Amy, it's fine," Emily said. "Some stuff's come up here anyway."
"What stuff? Wedding stuff? Daniel? Sheila?" She sounded concerned.
"It's nothing like that," Emily explained. Then she took a deep breath. "Amy, my dad is here."
There was a long silence. "What? How? Are you okay?"
Emily didn't know how to answer that, and she really didn't want to go into it too much now. She hadn't fully absorbed it yet. She needed time to untangle her emotions and make sense of it all.
"I'm fine. Let's talk about it when you get here."
Amy didn't sound convinced. "Okay. But if you need someone to talk to, call me right away. See you tomorrow."
Emily ended the call and went back to the speakeasy, to the joyful laughter of Roy and Daniel. Old bosom buddies back together again.
"Well," Roy said, draining the last of the liquor from his glass. "I think it's probably time for me to make myself scarce. Looks like you have guests to attend to."
Emily felt panicked at the thought of Roy leaving. "I have staff, they're covering everything. It's fine for us to spend time together. You don't have to go."
Roy noticed her panic-stricken appearance. "I just meant that it might be time to retire. To sleep."
"You mean you're staying?" Emily said, surprised. "Here?"
"If you have space?" Roy said meekly. "I didn't mean to be presumptuous."
"Of course you can stay!" Emily exclaimed. "How long are you planning to be here?"
"Until the wedding if it's not a problem. I could help out a bit with preparations if needed."
Emily was stunned. Not only was her father here, but he was planning on being here for over a week! It really was a dream come true.
"That would be wonderful," she said.
They went upstairs and checked Roy into the room beside his study. Emily knew he'd want to go in there at some point, probably alone.
"Will this room be okay?" she asked.
"Oh yes. It's quite lovely," Roy replied. "And right beside my secret staircase."
Emily frowned. "Your what?"
"Don't tell me you never found it," Roy said. There was a glint of mischief in his eye, one that revealed the brush with madness he'd once had, the spiraling downward that had turned his playful nature for treasure maps into secrecy and locked vaults with hidden combinations.
"Do you mean the staircase to the widow's walk?" Emily asked. "I found that. But it's on the third floor."
Roy clapped loudly then, as though suddenly delighted. "You never found it! The servants' staircase."
Emily shook her head. "But I've seen the schematics of the whole house. Your speakeasy was the last hidden place on there."
"Something's not hidden if it's on schematics!" Roy exclaimed.
"Show us," Daniel said. He seemed excited, like he had been when the bar had been discovered.
Roy led them into his study. "Didn't you wonder why there was a chimney breast against this wall?" He knocked it, and it let out a hollow sound. "All the other chimney breasts are on external walls. This one is internal."
"It didn't even cross my mind," Emily said.
"Well, it's behind here," Roy said. "If you wouldn't mind giving me a hand, Daniel."
Daniel readily obliged. They removed what Emily saw now was a fake wall, papered to be the same as the rest of the room. And there it was. A staircase. Plain, nothing particularly beautiful to look at, but it was its very existence that excited them.
"I can't believe it," Emily said, stepping inside. "Is this why you chose this room as your study?"
"Of course," Roy replied. "The stairs were a shortcut for the servants to get to the sleeping quarters without being seen by the people in the house. It just goes from here down into the basement, which is where the servants would have slept back in the day."
"And this is the only way in," Emily stated, realizing now why she hadn't found it. The basement still contained rooms unexplored to her, and her father's study was the room she'd messed with the least.
Roy nodded. "Surprise."
Emily laughed and shook her head. "So many secrets."
They headed out of the study and Roy went into his bedroom. Emily went to close the door behind him, but he reached out for her and gave her a kiss goodnight.
Emily stopped, stunned. Her father hadn't kissed her for so many years, even well before he'd walked out of her life.
"Good night, Dad," she said hurriedly.
She shut the door and scurried to her room. Once safely inside, Daniel immediately wrapped her up in a much needed hug.
"How are you holding up?" he asked softly, gently rocking her in his arms.
"I can't believe he's really here," she stammered. "I keep thinking this is a dream."
"What did you guys talk about?"
"Everything. I mean I know I'm still processing everything but it was cathartic. I feel like we can put all the hurt behind us now and start afresh."
"So those are happy tears making my shoulder wet?" Daniel joked.
Emily drew back and laughed at the dark patch on Daniel's shirt. "Oops, sorry," she said. She hadn't even realized she'd been crying.
Daniel kissed her lightly. "There's nothing to apologize about. I get that this is going to be tough. If you need to cry or laugh or shout or anything, I'm here. Okay?"
Emily nodded, so grateful to have such a beautiful human in her life. And now with her dad here, she felt like everything was really slotting into place. At last, after so many years living an unfulfilling life, she felt like she was now finally going to get to live the life she deserved.
Her wedding was only a week away. And now, for the first time, with everyone around her whom she loved, she felt truly ready for it.
Now it was time to get married.
