“Then we decided,” I said, “we would tell them when Caroline graduated. We didn’t want her going out into the world and looking for you. But Carter hadn’t been dead a year when she graduated, and that seemed like a terrible time.”
For years after Carter’s death, I grappled with whether to introduce the girls to Jack and let them know the truth. It felt like a cheap ploy, a Band-Aid for their suffering. You lost your real dad, but here’s a replacement one—and only for Sloane and Caroline, not Emerson.
“There were so many times I decided to sit down and tell them, and then something would always happen. Caroline was getting married; Adam was getting deployed. Emerson was feeling low, and I thought this would intensify it and make her feel distant from her sisters, like we had this whole family she wasn’t a part of.” I sighed. “Now, I can argue it’s a bad time because Adam is MIA, but there’s always going to be something. It’s always going to be a terrible time. So I think I should just tell them. Alone. And then hope they will come to you.”
Jack shot up in bed. “Ansley, no.”
I was incredulous. “What do you mean, no? I thought this was what you wanted.”
He rubbed his head with his hands. “I do want them to know eventually. I really do.” He pulled me in close to him. “But I just got you, Ansley. I can’t lose you. If they aren’t happy with this news, then it will drive you away from me again.”
I had spent years grappling with Jack’s role in my life. His contribution to it had weighed on me for decades and shaped everything I felt about myself. It had taken me what seemed like a lifetime to get here, but I couldn’t see myself walking away from him now, no matter what. I told him that and then said, “I guess I think, what’s the worst that can happen? They know they were from a sperm donor. Besides that one time, they’ve never asked about it.”
“What if they don’t want to know?” Jack asked.
I answered instantly, as if my mouth was on autopilot. “Then we have to respect that.”
He nodded. “Let’s wait a little while, OK?”
“OK.” I smiled. I thought it was sweet that he was concerned and, really, I’d waited thirty-four years. What was a few more weeks?
Then he leaned over and kissed me. “Let’s do this whole morning over again,” he whispered. Then he kissed me again. “Let’s pretend we are long-lost first loves finding one another again and none of this is even a concern.”
As he kissed me again, I wondered who in the world wouldn’t be happy to have a man so kind and generous as their father.
It wouldn’t be much longer until I found out.
THIRTY-FIVE
moments
sloane
May 1, 2017
Dear Sloane,
There are moments in life to retreat. We have all known, experienced, and felt those inevitable scenarios in which we have no choice but to walk away. As a soldier, I’m faced with them every day, and sometimes I don’t walk away, complicating the situation further. But, just as often, more often, I’d like to argue, there are moments to advance, to lunge forward with purpose, with power, but most importantly, with passion. Because any action taken without passion? Well, it’s simply a waste of time.
All my love,
Adam
CAROLINE HAD TAKEN A huge step in getting her life back: she had moved into the house James had bought down the street. With him. Emerson had offered us the guesthouse, which I thought was really sweet. I made like I was being selfless, but in reality, I loved being in the main house because Mom got up with the boys almost every morning. That was way better than privacy if you asked me.
Mark was a seemingly permanent fixture in our lives. If we were at dinner, Mark was at dinner. If Emerson left town for an interview to promote her Edie Fitzgerald movie, Mark went with her. They were connected at the hip, and she seemed like a teenager again. Same with Mom, who was trying to deny she was back together with Jack. But it was painfully obvious. The whole world was in love. The whole world had their man. I had a cell phone I kept glued to my hip in case my uncle got enough bandwidth to Skype me or the military called to say they had found my husband.
It was a sleepy morning around Peachtree Bluff. The boys were at Mother’s Morning Out. Mom was at the shop. I was taking the day off to get some painting done at the house. I was almost at the point where I thought I might want to sell some of my paintings. And I knew this new series, with its sky blues and soft pinks and yellows, would fly out of her shop. I felt proud, and I couldn’t wait to get those commission checks.
As I dipped my brush into the pale pink, the color of many a Peachtree sunset, Emerson walked into the living room. “I need to talk to you,” she said.
This was why artists had studios.
“Can it wait?” I asked.
I noticed she
