Page 26 of Families and Other Enemies

CHAPTER TEN

THERECEPTIONWASOVER. Many tears had been cried, many thanks had been given, donations had been offered and taken, television news had arrived and departed. Now Dr. Nouvelle pushed Ralph in his wheelchair toward the small room at the back of the church altar where he would recover.

Kellen and Bridget walked beside them.

Ralph drooped, exhausted by events and emotions.

“You’ll sleep well tonight!” Bridget said.

“No,” he blurted. “I can’t sleep until I... I make a confession.”

“This is the place for it.” Obviously not a religious man, Dr. Nouvelle was lightly sarcastic.

“I mean—to her.” Ralph indicated Bridget.

Kellen stopped walking. Oh, God. Oh, no.

Bridget?

Bridget asked, “What is it, Ralph?” She sounded kind, as if expecting some platitudes about the reception and how much he appreciated her work. The woman didn’t have a clue.

Kellen did not want to be here for this.

Ralph set the brake. The wheelchair skidded to a halt. He turned, looked up at Bridget and, without preamble, said, “You’re my daughter.”

Dr. Nouvelle muttered a curse and backed up, moving out of range.

Bridget laughed, still at ease, completely disbelieving. “Don’t be ridiculous. You can’t be my father.”

For Kellen, the pieces clicked into place. This made sense. Ralph had traveled the country, homeless and broken, and when he had remade himself at last, he had found his daughter and stayed near her, supporting her efforts to help the hungry.

And her—no wonder she had taken on the thankless job of finding, organizing and dispensing food for the soup kitchen. She’d been helping the faceless father she had never met.

Kellen wanted to join Dr. Nouvelle in his flight, but a terrible fascination held her in place.

“I am your father. I abandoned you and your mother, and I don’t even know why I’m telling you this—” Ralph met Kellen’s gaze, helpless and floundering.

Because Sophia told you your daughter would be happier knowing the truth.

“But it’s the truth,” he concluded.

Bridget’s pleasant smile was fading. “My father’s name isn’t Ralph.”

“My name is Ragnar Axel Hokanson.” He tried to smile, to make it a joke. “Ralph is easier.”

“You have to be joking. Why should I believe you?” Bridget’s smile had disappeared, and her fingers flexed like claws. “This is a joke.”

“If you want it to be—” He took a strengthening breath. “No! No, it’s no joke. I can’t take the easy way out. Not this time. I’m your father. You’re my daughter. I wouldn’t have come here, worked here, stayed here, if not for you.”

Bridget enunciated carefully, as if her lips were stiff. “You don’t look anything like my father. Like the picture my mother showed me.”

“Life has been tough. I’ve been in a few fights, on the streets and in prison.”

“I suppose that would be true...of my father. Of the man who abandoned my mother and me.” Bridget had begun to believe him, for her voice grew guttural, angry, hellish.

Kellen eased back a step, then stopped herself. She needed to stay, to make sure Bridget didn’t slam Ralph and his wheelchair into the wall.

“I’d like to tell you why I... Explain. Beg forgiveness.” Ralph’s head trembled as if it weighed too much for him. “If you’ll let me.”

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