“You’re Susan Taylor’s daughter?”
She nodded numbly.
Holden stared at her, his mind pulling together the pieces of everything that had happened since he met Eileen. Everything now made since, coloured with the clarity of Eileen’s confession. “Well…it certainly explains why you didn’t tell me your name before.”
Eileen bit her lip. “My real name is Cordelia Taylor. I go by Eileen because I just never wanted to be affiliated to my mother in any way.”
Holden felt faint.
She reached for his hands, her eyes pleading as she said, “I wanted to tell you before. But I didn’t want that stigma clinging to me and making life harder than it already is.”
She looked him in the eye. “Would you have hired me if you knew?”
In spite of himself, Holden took a moment too long to respond. “Well… I guess that maybe I still might have.”
The young woman raised a brow. “There wasn’t a single affirming word in that sentence.” She sighed. “If you don’t want to marry me anymore, I understand.”
Colour rose in his cheeks as he looked away. “Eileen — Cordelia — good heaven’s, what am I supposed to call you?”
“I still like being called Eileen.”
“Fine…Eileen. This doesn’t change how I feel about you. I’ve seen you for the woman you really are. You’re kind, smart and thoughtful.” Holden shrugged. “Truth be told, I was too young to know a lot about what happened but I do remember my father saying that he couldn’t understand why your mother was castigated just for telling the truth.”
“Really?” her eyes were hopeful.
“‘Son, it’s a dark day in hell when the truth doesn’t light the way.’ My father thought it was shameful how the country turned her out on her ear.
“When Watergate happened, my father was quick to point out the parallels. He said the problem was that both Susan Taylor and Martha Mitchell knew too much. The key difference was that Martha was seen as a battered woman in the end while Susan was treated like a pariah.” Holden shook his head and looked pityingly at Susan’s daughter. “Sometimes people just need someone to focus their hatred on. I believe that’s all that happened to your mother.”
“I guess so,” was all she could say. She glanced at him, her eyes hopeful. “And you’re sure it doesn’t bother you?”
In his heart, Holden knew that nothing about their relationship was conventional. Everything from the way they’d met, to the work they did, to the serial killer they’d hunted down belied a unique connection that wouldn’t be easily broken by something as trivial as a parent who was spurned by society.
“No,” he said firmly. “All that matters is that you love me.”
“I do.” She said with a smile.
Holden’s heart fluttered. Without a doubt, he believed her.
EPILOGUE
“Hurry, Clifford,” Holden said as the two of them raced through traffic. The empty stretcher in the back of the funeral van bumped and rattled against the sides of the vehicle as they sped through the narrow city streets.
“Boss, no offence, but I ain’t accustomed to driving passengers that in a rush. You got me nervous,” Clifford replied as they turned into the hospital’s car park.
Holden didn’t respond. His nerves were on edge and he threw open the door and jumped out of the van before Clifford could press the brakes in front of the Accident and Emergency bay. He hastened to the nurse at the front desk who stared back at him with disinterest as she chewed gum. “Nurse…it’s an urgent matter. My wife called and said she’d been admitted and I need to see her immediately.”
The woman blinked at him. “Did she tell you which ward she was on?”
“Yes…T8.”
“Take the stairs to the fourth floor and then turn right. The ward will be three doors down.”
Holden took the stairs two at a time, his heart pounding unsteadily as his mind whirred. Surely, he needn’t worry.
He was just about to push the double doors when they burst open. Two nurses ran past him pushing a gurney with his wife’s bloated form covered in blankets. “Holden,” she gasped in pain as she snatched at his hand. Her palms and forehead glistened with sweat, as she writhed in agony. Holden’s heart dropped. He couldn’t bear to see his wife in this much pain. He broke into a run, clutching his wife’s sweaty palm as he raced in tandem with the nurses down the corridor to the hospital theatre.
“Sir, you’ll have to wait out here.”
“But I…”
“Sir,” the nurse said pointedly. “It’s policy. You can either go home or wait here.”
Holden sank down on the long bench across from the theatre door. In his mind, he saw his father die again, lying next to him in the mangled car wreck. Reflexively, he yearned for his accounts ledgers, longed for a productive distraction that would help him to pass the time. He closed his eyes and imagined the smell of ink, summoned the feel of crisp pages beneath his fingers and heard the clacking of calculator keys as he reconciled the accounts. Holden exhaled and opened his eyes. His chest felt tight. He kept clasping and unclasping his hands.
“Boss?” Clifford sat next to him on the bench. “Babies does born every day. Eileen and the baby gonna be alright.”
Holden nodded numbly.
Clifford nudged Holden’s foot. “I remember when my first was on the way. So many thoughts in my head but I couldn’t grab onto a single one.” He grinned and clapped Holden on the shoulder.
Holden wasn’t
