FAMILY SECRETS

by JoAnn Baca

“…and that’s the last of the cash bequests. My office will distribute the funds to the charities named in your grandfather’s will, but Patrick, Marla,” he nodded at the younger people in his office, “you two must decide on the disposition of his investments. Feel free to consult your own lawyers or accountants before advising me of your decisions.” Conrad Strauss, the lawyer for Peter Alcott’s estate, stood up from his desk, having concluded the reading of the doctor’s will.

“Again, I’m so sorry for your loss.”

“Thank you. And we appreciate your advice,” Marla said. “Pat and I will do as you ask and contact you later about the investments. And, as Pat mentioned earlier, we’d appreciate your firm handling the sale of the brownstone. We’ll go through the house and remove any family keepsakes before we return to New Mexico next week.” She turned to Catherine Chandler, who was sitting beside her. “Auntie Cathy, we will take you up on the offer to ensure all the furniture and other contents are donated where they’ll do the most good.”

“Fine, fine.” Mr. Strauss nodded.

Catherine stood and hugged Marla, then Patrick. She and their mother had always felt like sisters growing up, and the “auntie” honorific had warmed her heart when she’d first heard Susan tell her children to call her that. “I’ll meet you at your grandfather’s tomorrow morning, as planned. And after we go through the house, I’m treating you two to dinner.”

Patrick smiled. “Still taking care of us like we’re kids. We love that!”

Marla embraced her again, then she and her brother left the lawyer’s office.

Strauss’s call had been a surprise to Catherine. Although the man she’d considered her honorary uncle had passed away, she hadn’t expected to be in his will. Afterall, she wasn’t really part of his family. And as she’d anticipated, she wasn’t mentioned. So once the grandchildren had gone, Catherine turned back to the lawyer. “I wasn’t named as a beneficiary in the will, so I’m not sure why I was asked to attend the reading.”

Strauss opened the top drawer of his desk and pulled something out of it before saying, “It’s a…delicate and quite unusual situation. I have an envelope here containing a letter explaining things. There are legal matters we’ll need to discuss after you do. Would you like to read it now?”

Catherine shook her head. “I should get home.” Whenever an “unusual situation” popped up in her private life, she always liked to consult with her own “unusual situation” back home about it. And considering the will was a longtime Helper’s, it was very likely there was something Tunnel-related in that envelope that Peter didn’t want his grandkids to know about.

“I promise I’ll read it tonight. And I’ll call you in the morning before I meet with Pat and Marla. Will that be all right?”

“Of course. I’ll speak with you tomorrow.”

* * *

She hastened home, the envelope, still sealed, in her purse.

* * *

Vincent walked out of his study to greet her as she opened the door to their brownstone. Their embrace was warm and lingering, as it always was, whether they’d not seen each other for days or just an hour.

His eyes were tinged with sympathy. “How did Marla and Patrick handle the reading of the will?”

“Very well. While they are sad for themselves, they know that their grandfather lived a long, full life. And they had a close and loving relationship with him, so there were no words left unsaid.”

“And the lawyer? Will he handle their affairs well once they return home?”

“I believe he will, yes. Strauss is a good and extremely ethical attorney. They’re in excellent hands.”

He nodded, confident that Catherine was right, but when he looked down at her, there was a question lingering in his eyes. “Did Peter leave you something? I know you felt you wouldn’t get a bequest.”

“It was odd. No, there was nothing given to me in his will. But after Pat and Marla left, Strauss handed me something from Peter, and told me it would explain ‘a delicate and quite unusual situation’.” She pulled the envelope from her bag. “I was thinking it might have something to do with the Tunnels.”

“That seems likely, yes.” Vincent smiled. “But first…tea.”

Catherine slipped off her heels and followed him to the kitchen, where she knew water had been heated in anticipation of her return.

* * *

Mugs in hand, they retired to the den. Vincent poked the fire into brighter life and they sat together on the worn leather loveseat, one of the only pieces of furniture Catherine had kept from her father’s apartment when she was preparing it for sale. The piece had belonged to her parents for as long as she could remember; she had memories of them snuggling together on it. So it held a special place in her heart –even more so now, as she and Vincent had been cuddling on it for years themselves.

Catherine’s hand shook a bit as she held the envelope. “You know, I’m a little uneasy about what’s inside, the more I think about it. If it’s about the Tunnels, Strauss being privy to that information is a huge secret for a non-Helper to carry.”

“I can feel your apprehension.” He regarded her for a long moment. She had made no move to tear open the flap. “Would you like me to do it?”

She took a deep breath, expelling it in a rush. “I think I would, yes. And…would you read it to me?”

Strong fingers took the creamy envelope from her delicate ones. “Of course.” He used one sharp nail to slit the envelope open. Inside there were two sheets of standard office stationery written on in Peter’s hand, and another, smaller piece of paper that was folded in half. He set the latter aside and unfolded the letter.

Dearest Cathy,

This is a difficult letter to write, and I confess I had my lawyer give it to you because I couldn’t bear to reveal its contents to you while alive. I am a coward, no doubt, keeping this secret from you as well as my grandchildren. Nonetheless, I owe you this information.

I am your father, not Charles Chandler.

Vincent stopped reading. He glanced over at Catherine. Her face was a mask of surprise, eyes wide, mouth open. She looked into Vincent’s eyes and saw her own shock reflected there.

“There’s much more written here,” he said after a long moment, and took her hesitant nod for permission to continue.

I’m so, so sorry I couldn’t find a way to tell you this before. But when I explain, perhaps I will have your posthumous forgiveness.

You know that your parents and I were friends for years. You’ve heard the story of how they met, when she was a secretary in the law firm Charles had joined. But what you don’t know is that I’d met your mother before your father had.

Caroline and I separately attended a mutual friend’s holiday party. I hadn’t seen the friend for years and didn’t know most of his New York crowd. So I was standing around through most of the party, cocktail in hand, sipping more than talking. After a while, I realized I’d had too much to drink and ducked into the bathroom to splash water on my face. While in there, I heard someone crying, and when I opened the bedroom door, I found a young woman sitting there in the dark, sobbing.

I, trying to be gallant, offered her my shoulder to cry on while she told me that she had just lost both parents to illnesses within months of each other and, although still grieving deeply, had accepted her friend’s insistent invitation – a well-meaning but failed attempt to cheer her up. She had escaped to the back bedroom because the crowd was making her feel more alone than ever. I tried to comfort her, and she held on like I was a lifeline, and at that moment I probably was. And, well, one thing led to another… We were both horribly embarrassed afterwards, and she quickly left, both the room and the party. I never imagined I’d see her again.

Two weeks later, my good friend Charles told me about this wonderful girl he’d just met at work that he’d started seeing. He confessed that he’d fallen head over heels for her, and asked me to drop by to meet her.

I was stunned when I met his girlfriend…and realized she was the same Caroline I’d met at the party. But it seemed obvious that she didn’t recognize me, and I wasn’t about to remind her of our brief encounter.

Well, you know their story – it was a whirlwind romance, and they eloped barely a week after he’d introduced us. She fell pregnant immediately, which thrilled them both.

She gave birth prematurely, or so she thought. When you were born, I had suspicions as to prematurity. Still…by then I’d had my own whirlwind hit me – I’d met my beloved Emily, and we had married and had just found out we were pregnant with our Susan, so I had a lot on my mind, and that suspicion took a backseat to other things. But some years later, when paternity testing became commonplace, I decided to take a blood sample from you and test it against Charles’ blood and mine, hoping to settle the question raised in my mind so many years before. That’s when I found out for certain that I was your biological father.

I never told either of your parents about that test. I seriously doubt your mother ever suspected that she had actually gotten pregnant before she’d met Charles. And it’s unlikely she ever told your father about what had happened the night of the party, since it was before they’d met.

This could all have died with me but…you are my daughter, and it’s only right that you share in my estate.

My lawyer knows about this, and stands ready to appeal to the court to add you as a beneficiary, to share equally with my grandchildren – your niece and nephew. He suggested handling things this way so the revelation wouldn’t come out during the reading of the will, and I agreed that it would be kinder to everyone, if more complicated legally.

Enclosed is the birth certificate I had issued, showing my paternity based on the testing. You have only to provide Strauss this birth certificate and he will start the legal process on your behalf.

I cannot apologize deeply enough for the deception of years. Charles was your father in every way that counts, of course. And I have always loved you like my own, which I would have even had Charles proven to be your biological father.

Do what you must and know that I support your decision.

I love you, sweetheart.

Forever,
Peter

Catherine sat silently, gazing into the fire. Vincent laid the letter aside and took her hand.

After long minutes, she looked at him and nodded.

He knew what she wanted him to do.

He took the letter and the birth certificate and fed them both to the flames.