Every Breath Read online

They had an early lunch in bathrobes while their clothes continued to dry. Afterward, Hope slipped back into her dryer-warmed outfit, and the two of them sat at the table talking until it was time for her to return to the cottage and start getting ready.

  Like the day before, he watched from his spot on the bed as she styled her hair and put on her makeup. The bridesmaid dress and new shoes came next, and when she was finished she did a quick pirouette for him.

  “Okay?”

  “Stunning,” he said, his admiring gaze underscoring his sincerity. “I’m sorely tempted to kiss you, but I don’t want to mess up your lipstick.”

  “I’ll risk it,” she said, leaning over to kiss him. “If you weren’t supposed to meet your father today, I’d ask you to join me.”

  “I would have had to purchase appropriate attire.”

  “I’ll bet you’re incredibly handsome in a suit.” She patted his chest and perched next to him on the bed. “Are you nervous about meeting your father?”

  “Not really.”

  “What if he doesn’t remember much about your mom?”

  “Then I imagine our meeting will be a short one.”

  “You’re really not interested in who he is? What he’s like? Where he’s been all these years?”

  “Not particularly.”

  “I don’t know how you can remain so detached about all this. It seems to me that he might want a relationship of some sort with you. Even a minor one.”

  “I’ve considered that, but I doubt that’s true.”

  “But he flew you out here.”

  “And at the same time, I’ve yet to see him. If he wanted a relationship, I suspect he would have come by earlier in the week.”

  “Then why do you think he wanted you to come?”

  “I think,” Tru finally answered, “he wants to tell me why he left my mother.”

  * * *

  A few minutes later, Tru walked Hope to her car, holding two umbrellas so that she wouldn’t get wet.

  “I know it sounds silly, but I think I’m going to miss you,” she said.

  “Me too,” he responded.

  “Will you tell me what happens with your father?”

  “Of course. And I’ll make sure to get Scottie out for a walk, too.”

  “I don’t know what time I’ll be back. It might be late. You’re welcome to wait at the cottage for me. I won’t be hurt if you’re already asleep when I get in.”

  “Have a good time.”

  “Thank you,” she said, slipping behind the wheel.

  Though she gave him a cheery wave as she backed out, for some reason he felt a touch of foreboding as she vanished from sight, making him wonder why the feeling had arisen in the first place.

  Father Time

  Deciding it was probably best to leave Scottie at the cottage, Tru gathered his sketchbook and pencils and went back to the house, awaiting the visit from his father.

  He continued with the drawing of him and Hope, the work coming easily. Soon, he progressed to the point where he began focusing on the finer details, an unconscious signal that the sketch was approaching completion. Lost in his work, it took him a moment to realize that someone was knocking.

  His father.

  Rising from the table, he crossed through the living room. He paused when he grasped the knob, readying himself. Upon opening the door, he saw the face of his father for the very first time. To his surprise, he recognized some of his own features in the old man who stood before him, the same dark blue eyes and a small dimple in the chin. His father’s hair was thinning and what little remained had turned white, with only faint streaks of gray. He was stooped slightly, pale, and on the frail side; the jacket he was wearing seemed to envelop him, as though it had been purchased for someone much larger. Over the sound of the storm, Tru could hear him wheezing.

  “Hello, Tru,” he finally said, the words labored. In one hand he held an umbrella, and Tru noticed a briefcase on the porch.

  “Hello, Harry.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Of course.”

  His father bent to pick up his briefcase and froze, wincing. Tru reached for it.

  “Can I get that for you?”

  “Please,” Harry answered. “The older I get, the farther away the ground seems.”

  “Come in.”

  Tru retrieved the briefcase as his father stepped past him, slowly shuffling into the living room and toward the windows. Tru joined him, standing by his side, watching his father in his peripheral vision.

  “It’s quite a storm here,” Harry said, “but it’s even worse inland. It took forever to get here because there was so much water on the highway. My driver had to make more than a few detours.”

  Because it was more of a comment than a question, Tru said nothing. Instead, he studied his father, thinking that it was akin to seeing the future. This, Tru thought, is what I will eventually look like if I live as long as he has.

  “Has the house been satisfactory?”

  “It’s big,” Tru responded, recalling the way Hope had first described it. “But yes. It’s a beautiful home.”

  “I had it built a few years ago. My wife wanted a place at the beach, but we’ve hardly ever used it.” He took two long, wheezy breaths before going on. “Was there enough food in the refrigerator?”

  “Too much,” Tru answered. “There’s probably going to be a lot left over when I leave.”

  “That’s fine. I’ll have the cleaning service take care of it. I’m just glad it arrived in time. I’d forgotten about it until you were already in the air, but there was little I could do. I was in the ICU and they don’t allow phone calls, so I asked my daughter to handle the details. She made arrangements with the property manager to receive the delivery.”

  The words continued to roll through his mind even after his father finished speaking. Wife, ICU, daughter…Tru found it hard to concentrate. Hope had been right in predicting that the meeting would feel a bit surreal.

  “I see” was all Tru could think to say.

  “I’d also like to apologize for not setting you up with a rental car instead of having a driver pick you up. It might have been more convenient for you.”

  “It didn’t bother me. I wouldn’t have known where to go. You said you were in the ICU?”

  “I was released from the hospital yesterday. My kids tried to talk me out of coming, but I couldn’t miss this chance to meet you.”

  “Would you like to sit?” Tru asked.

  “I think I probably should.”

  They crossed to the dining room table and Harry seemed to collapse into a chair. In the gray light streaming through the windows, he looked even more depleted than when he’d arrived.

  Tru took a seat beside him. “May I ask why you were in the ICU?”

  “Lung cancer. Stage four.”

  “I don’t know much about cancer.”

  “It’s terminal,” Harry said. “The doctors give me a couple of months, maybe less. Maybe a little more. It’s in God’s hands, I suppose. I’ve known since the spring.”

  Tru felt a twinge of sadness at that, though it was the kind associated with learning bad news about a stranger, not family. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

  “Appreciated,” he said. Despite the information he’d shared, Harry smiled. “I don’t have any regrets. I’ve had a good life, and unlike a lot of people, I’ve been given the chance to say goodbye. Or even, in your case, hello.” He pulled a handkerchief from his jacket pocket and coughed into it. When he finished, he took a couple of labored, wet-sounding breaths. “I want to thank you for making the trip here,” he added. “When I sent the ticket, I wasn’t sure you would agree to come.”

  “Initially, I wasn’t, either.”

  “But you were curious.”

  “Yes,” Tru admitted.

  “I was, too,” he said. “Ever since I learned that you existed. I didn’t know about you until last year.”

  “And yet you waited to meet me.�
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  “Yes.”

  “Why?”

  “I didn’t want to complicate your life. Or mine.”

  It was an honest answer, but Tru wasn’t quite sure what to make of it.

  “How did you find out about me?”

  “That’s a long story, but I’ll do my best to be brief. Frank Jessup, a man I knew from way back, happened to be in town. I hadn’t seen him in almost forty years, but we’d kept in minimal contact since then. Christmas cards, the occasional letter, but no more than that. Anyway, when we were having lunch, he made a reference to your mother, and mentioned that there were rumors she’d had a son less than a year after I left the country. He didn’t say it was mine, but I think he wondered about it. After the conversation, I wondered, too, so I hired an investigator and he went to work. Which took time. There are still a lot of people afraid to speak about your grandfather, even though he’s not around any longer, and we both know the country has gone to hell, so records are sketchy. But long story short, the guy was good and I eventually sent someone to the lodge in Hwange. He took photographs of you, and when I saw them, I knew right away. You have my eyes, but you got your facial structure from your mother.”

  Harry turned toward the window, letting the silence hang. Tru thought about something the man had said only moments before.

  “What did you mean when you said that you didn’t want to complicate my life?” Tru asked.

  It was a few beats before his father answered.

  “People talk about truth like it’s the solution to all of life’s problems. I’ve been around long enough to know that isn’t the case, and that sometimes truth can do more harm than good.”

  Tru said nothing. He knew his father was building to a point.

  “That’s what I’ve been considering. Ever since I realized that you’d agreed to come, I’ve been asking myself the question of how much I should tell you. There are some…aspects to the past that might be painful for you, and parts that, in retrospect, you might wish I hadn’t told you. So I suppose what I say next is up to you. Do you want the whole truth, or selected parts of it? Remember, though, I’m not the one who’s going to live with the knowledge for years to come. My regrets will be much more short-lived. For obvious reasons.”

  Tru brought his hands together, considering the question. The opaque references and careful phrasing made him curious, but the warning gave him pause. How much did he really want to know? Instead of answering right away, he rose from the table.

  “I’m getting some water. Would you like a glass?”

  “I’ll have hot tea, if it’s not a problem.”

  “Not at all,” Tru said. He found a teakettle in one of the cabinets, filled it with water, and set it on the burner. In yet another cabinet he found packets of tea. He filled his glass with water, took a drink, then refilled it. It didn’t take long for the kettle to whistle, and he prepared the cup and brought it to the table. He took his seat again.

  Through all of that, his father said nothing. Like Tru, the man didn’t seem inclined to fill the silence with small talk. Interesting.

  “Have you made up your mind yet?” his father asked.

  “No,” Tru answered.

  “Is there anything you do want to know?”

  I want to know about my mother, he thought again. But sitting beside the old man at the table led to an entirely different question instead.

  “First, tell me about you,” he said.

  His father scratched at an age spot on his cheek. “All right,” he said. “I was born in 1914, in Colorado, in a sod house, if you can believe that. Three older sisters. In my teens, the Depression hit and times were tough, but my mother was a teacher, and she always stressed education. I went to the University of Colorado, and picked up a couple of degrees. After that, I joined the army. I think I mentioned in my letter that I was in the Corps of Engineers, right?”

  Tru nodded.

  “At first, most of my work was stateside, but then the war came. I spent time in North Africa, Italy, and then finally Europe. Mainly demolition at first, but by late 1944 and the spring of 1945, it was primarily bridge building, under Montgomery. The Allies were moving quickly into Germany by then, and there were a lot of water barriers, including the Rhine. Anyway, throughout the war, I grew friendly with one of the engineers from the British side. He’d grown up in Rhodesia and had a lot of contacts. He told me about the mining and the minerals, just waiting to be tapped, so after the war, I followed him there. He helped me find a job at the Bushtick mine. I worked there for a few years and met your mother.”

  He took a sip of tea, but Tru knew he was also debating how much to say.

  “After that, I returned to the States. I went to work for Exxon, and met my wife, Lucy, at the company Christmas party. She was the sister of one of the executives, and we hit it off. Started dating, got married, had children. I worked in a lot of different countries over the years, some safe, others not so much. Lucy and the kids either joined me there or stayed in the States while I did my time overseas. The perfect company family, so to speak, which aided my career. I rose through the ranks and worked there right up until retirement. Finished as one of the vice presidents and made a fortune along the way. We moved to North Carolina eleven years ago. Lucy had grown up here and wanted to go home.”

  Tru scrutinized him, thinking of the new family—and life—that his father had created after his time in Africa. “How many children did you have?”

  “Three. Two boys and a girl. All of them now in their thirties. My wife and I will celebrate forty years this November. If I make it that long.”

  Tru took a sip of water. “Is there anything you want to know about me?”

  “I think I have a pretty good idea about you. The investigator filled me in.”

  “So you know I have a son. Your grandson.”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you have any desire to meet him?”

  “Yes,” he answered. “But it’s probably not a good idea. I’m a stranger and I’m dying. I don’t see how it would do him any good.”

  Tru thought he was probably right about that. But…

  “For me, though, you felt differently. Same reality, but you drew a different conclusion.”

  “You’re my son.”

  Tru took a sip from his water glass. “Tell me about my mother,” he finally said.

  His father lowered his chin, the words coming more softly. “She was beautiful,” he said. “One of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen. She was a good deal younger than I was, but she was…intelligent and mature for her age. She could speak at length about poetry and art, things I knew nothing about, with passion and expertise. And she had the most wonderful laugh, the kind that just draws you right in. I think I fell in love with her the first night I met her. She was…extraordinary.”

  He wiped his mouth with the handkerchief again. “We spent a lot of the next year together—she was at the university, and the mine had a laboratory there. We saw each other whenever we could. I was working long hours, of course, but we’d make the time. I remember that she used to carry with her this book of poetry by Yeats, and I can’t tell you how many times we read those poems aloud to each other.” He paused, his breath coming unsteadily. “She fancied tomatoes. Had them with every meal we ever ate together. Always sprinkled with a bit of sugar. She adored butterflies, and she thought Humphrey Bogart in Casablanca was the sexiest man she’d ever seen. I began smoking even before I joined the army, but after she told me about Bogart, I began to hold the cigarette the same way he did in that movie. Between the forefinger and thumb.”

  He rotated the teacup, seemingly lost in thought.

  “I taught her to drive a car, you know. She didn’t know how until we met, and I remember thinking that was strange, especially since she grew up on a farm. And over time, I began to sense something else about her. Beneath the surface, as smart and mature as she was, I noticed a deep-seated insecurity, even though it made no sense to me.
To me, she had everything and was everything I’d ever wanted. But the more I got to know her, the more secretive I realized she really was. For a long time, I knew little about her father or the power he wielded. She hardly ever spoke about him. But toward the end of our relationship, she would often make me promise to take her with me when I returned to the States, and the way she begged sometimes made me think that her desire had more to do with escaping her circumstances than how she felt about me. Nor would she ever introduce me to her father, or let me visit the farm. We always had to meet in out-of-the-way places. And strangely, she never referred to him as her father or her dad. He was always the Colonel. And all of those things eventually made me wonder.”

  “Wonder what?”

  “I think this is where you need to ask yourself again how much you really want to know. Last chance.”

  Tru closed his lips and nodded. “Go on.”

  “When she finally began to open up about your grandfather, she would describe two different people entirely. In one version, she adored him and stressed how much they needed each other, but the next time she spoke of him, she would tell me that she hated him. She would say that he was evil, that she wanted to get as far away from him as possible and never wanted to see him again. I don’t know the full details of what went on in that house when she was growing up, nor am I sure I want to know. What I do know is that when her father found out about me, your mother panicked. She showed up at my place, hysterical and babbling that we had to leave the country right then, because the Colonel was furious—there wasn’t even time to gather my things. I couldn’t calm her down, but when she realized that I wasn’t going to do what she asked, she ran off. That was the last I ever saw of her. At the time, I didn’t know she was pregnant. Maybe if she’d told me, things would have been different. I like to think that I would have gone after her and helped her get away. But I never got the chance.”

  He brought his hands together, squeezing as though hoping for strength.

  “They showed up at my house that night, after I’d gone to sleep. A group of men. They roughed me up pretty good and put a hood over my head before tossing me into the trunk of a car. They drove me to some kind of dwelling with a cellar, and after being dragged from the car, the next thing I knew, I was tumbling down a set of stairs. I was knocked unconscious, and when I woke, I could smell the dank and mold. I’d been handcuffed to some pipes. Which hurt like hell, because my shoulder had been dislocated in the fall.”