Emily stood there, heart pounding, irate. Trevor Mann had really stirred her up.
But she could hardly reflect on her anger, his visit-because her mind was pulled back to the letter in her back pocket.
Her father's letter to her.
She reached in and pulled it out, examining it in awe.
"What a jerk," Daniel began. "Do you really think-"
But he stopped himself as he saw her expression.
"What have you got there?" Daniel asked frowning. "A letter?"
Emily looked down at the envelope in her hands. Plain. White. A standard size. It looked so innocuous. And yet she was so afraid of what it would contain. A confession to a crime? The revelation of a secret life as a spy, or as another woman's husband? What about a suicide note? She wasn't sure how she would cope if it were the last, and couldn't even begin to guess at her reaction if it was any of the former.
"It's from my dad," Emily said quietly, looking back up at him. "I found it locked away with his things."
"Oh," Daniel said. "Maybe I should go. I'm sorry, I didn't realize-"
But Emily reached out and put a hand on his arm so that he had to stay put. "Stay," she said. "Please? I don't want to read it alone."
Daniel nodded. "Shall we go and sit down?" His voice had become softer, more caring. He gestured toward the door to the living room.
"No," Emily said. "This way. Come with me."
She led Daniel up the stairs and down the long corridor which ended with her dad's study.
"I used to stare at this door when I was a kid," Emily said. "I was never allowed in. And look." She turned the handle and pushed the door open. With a little shrug she turned back to Daniel. "It wasn't even locked."
Daniel gave her a caring smile. He seemed to be treading on eggshells around her and she could fully understand why. Whatever was in the letter could be dynamite. It could set off some kind of catastrophic reaction in her brain, send her reeling, spiraling into despair.
They went inside the dark study and Emily sat down at her dad's desk.
"He wrote this letter right here," she said. "Opened this drawer. Popped it in. Locked it. Hid the key in that vault. And then walked about of my life forever."
Daniel pulled up a chair and sat beside her. "Are you ready?"
Emily nodded. Like a scared child peeping through their fingers during a scary movie, Emily could hardly look as she picked up the letter and tore open the top. She slid the paper from the envelope-it was just one piece of eight-by-eleven paper, folded in half. Her heart began to beat wildly as she opened it up.
Dear Emily Jane,
I don't know how much time will have passed between me leaving and you reading this letter. My only hope is that you haven't suffered for too long wondering about me.
That leaving you will be my biggest regret, I'm in no doubt. But I could not stay. I hope one day you'll accept why, even if you will never be able to forgive me.
I have only two things to tell you. The first, and you must believe me when I say this, nothing was your fault. Not what happened to Charlotte, nor the state of your mom's and my marriage.
The second is that I love you. From the first moment I saw you to the last. You and Charlotte were my greatest contributions to this world. If I never made that clear when I was around then I can only apologize, though sorry doesn't seem a big enough word.
I hope this letter finds you well, whenever it may be that you read it.
With all my love,
Dad
A million emotions swirling in her mind, Emily read and reread the letter, her grip on it tightening. Seeing her dad's words on the page, hearing his voice in her head speaking to her from twenty years in the past, made the absence of him seem even greater than ever.
She let the letter fall from her fingers. It fluttered to the tabletop, her tears falling after it. Daniel grabbed her hand as though imploring her to share with him, concern etched across his forehead, but Emily could hardly get the words out.
"For years I thought he left me because he didn't love me enough," she stammered. "Because I wasn't Charlotte."
"Who's Charlotte?" Daniel asked her kindly.
"My sister," Emily explained. "She died. I always thought he blamed me. But he didn't. It says so right there. He didn't think it was my fault. But that means if he didn't leave because he blamed me for her death then why did he leave at all?"
"I don't know," Daniel said, putting an arm around her and pulling her into him. "I don't think you can ever fully understand another person's intentions, or why they do the things they do."
"Sometimes I wonder if I even knew him at all," Emily said glumly into his chest. "All these secrets. All this mystery. The ballroom, the darkroom, for god's sake! I didn't even know he liked photography."
"Actually, that was me," Daniel said.
Emily paused, then moved out of the embrace. "What do you mean it was you?"
"The darkroom," Daniel repeated. "Your dad set it up for me years ago."
"He did?" Emily said, sniffing up her tears. "Why?"
Daniel sighed, shifted away. "When I was younger your dad caught me on the grounds. I was running away from home and knew you guys weren't here often. I figured I'd hide out in the barn and no one would notice me. But your dad found me. And instead of kicking my ass out, he gave me some food, a beer"-he looked up and grinned at the memory-"then asked me what I was running from. So I gave him the whole teenage spiel, you know. About how my parents didn't understand me. About how what I wanted for me and what they wanted for me were so different we could never find common ground. I was going off the rails in those days, flunking school, getting in trouble with the cops for dumb stuff. But he was calm. He spoke to me. No, he listened to me. No one else had done that. He wanted to know what I liked. I was embarrassed, you know, to tell him I liked taking photos. What sixteen-year-old boy wants to admit that? But he was so okay about all of it. And he said I could use the barn as a darkroom. So I did."
Emily thought of the photos she'd found in the barn, the black-and-white images that seemed to reveal the weariness of the soul that had taken them. She'd never imagined that the photographer was a kid, a young boy of sixteen struggling with his home life.
"Your dad urged me to go back home," Daniel added. "But when I refused, he made me a deal. If I finished school, he'd let me stay in the carriage house. So for that whole year I'd come up here. It became my sanctuary. Thanks to him I finished school. I was looking forward to seeing him again, to tell him. I idolized him, wanted to show him what I'd done and how much he'd helped me, how I'd straightened myself out because of him." Daniel looked at her then, making eye contact so intense she felt electricity crackle in her veins. "He didn't come back that summer. Or the next summer. Or ever again."
The impact of his words hit Emily forcefully. That her father's disappearance could have affected someone other than herself had not occurred to her, but here was Daniel, baring his soul, sharing the same pain she did. The not knowing what had happened, the empty space it created inside, Daniel knew what that felt like too.
"That's why you help out on the grounds?" Emily said, quietly.
Daniel nodded. "Your dad gave me a second chance in life. Only one who ever had. That's why I keep this place up."
They both fell silent. Then Emily looked up at him. Of all the people in the world, Daniel seemed to be the only one as affected by her father's disappearance as she was. They shared this. And something about that bond made her feel close to him in a way she never had before.
Daniel's eyes roved over her face, seeming to read her mind. Then he brought his hands up to her jaw and cupped her cheek. He drew her into him slowly and she breathed in the scent of him-the pine trees and fresh grass, smoke from the wood burner.
Emily's eyes fluttered closed and she leaned into him, anticipating the feel of his lips on hers. But nothing happened.
She opened her eyes at the same time as Daniel's encircled arms loosened.
"What's wrong?" Emily said.
Daniel exhaled loudly. "My mom wasn't a great woman but she gave me one piece of great advice. Never kiss a girl when she's crying."
And with that he stood up and began to walk slowly across the study to the door. Emily felt herself deflate. She shut the door softly behind him and then leaned against the door and slid down to the floor, letting her tears fall once more.
