Chapter 12
Arthur seemed genuinely surprised.
“Why not?”
“It was addressed to Dad.”
“He was gone.”
“It still wasn’t mine.”
Arthur stared at her.
Then something close to admiration crossed his face.
“Your brother and sister come by it honestly.”
Grace looked confused.
“The ring,” I explained.
Her eyes softened.
Arthur handed her the envelope he had kept.
“This is a copy.”
Grace didn’t take it.
“What does it say?”
“That I was wrong.”
The greenhouse became very quiet.
“And?”
“That the company owed your father compensation for lost income. That his employment record should be corrected. That I wanted to meet with him personally.”
Grace finally took the envelope.
Her fingers trembled slightly.
“Why didn’t anyone contact us after they died?”
“I did.”
“Three years later.”
“Yes.”
“Why wait?”
Arthur looked ashamed.
“Because after the accident, I assumed the matter no longer mattered.”
Grace stared at him.
“That might be the worst thing you’ve said since I met you.”
“I know.”
“No, I don’t think you do.”
She wasn’t loud.
That made the words heavier.
“My father died believing he had failed us. My mother spent years trying to convince him he hadn’t. After they were gone, I found past-due notices in drawers, collection letters in boxes, and applications Dad had filled out for jobs that paid half what he used to earn.”
Arthur lowered his eyes.
“And you decided it no longer mattered?”
“I was a coward.”
Grace stopped.
Arthur continued before she could answer.
“I convinced myself that reopening the matter would only burden three grieving children. The truth is that I did not want to face what my decisions had contributed to.”
Grace looked down at the envelope.
For a long time she said nothing.
Then she sat in the chair beside the desk.
“I hated you,” she said.
“I know.”
“No. You assumed I hated you.”
She looked up.
“I hated someone I had invented from newspaper photographs. A rich man in a mansion who ruined Dad’s life and forgot about him.”
Arthur absorbed the words.
“Was I wrong?”
“Not entirely.”
He nodded.
That was the beginning.
May you like
Not forgiveness.
But the beginning of honesty.
