Page 20 of A Family Affair: The Cabin
“I planned to burn it,” she said in a small voice.
“Sure you did. Tell me, was it a sudden burst of conscience that brought you to that decision?”
“No. I mailed the last letter the other day when we went to town.”
“Last letter?” There was only one letter that hadn’t been sent yet. He clenched his fists, waited for her response.
“The one about Jack Finnegan. I mailed it to Nate Desantro.”
“Damn you!” Pete grabbed the notebook and the pack of matches in the cupboard above the sink. “Get dressed.” He began tearing pages from the book as he made his way outside. When he reached the backyard, he dumped the book and the random pages in the trash bin, lit a match, and tossed it inside. “Burn, you bastard, burn.” Flames captured the pages, destroyed the words that could harm others. He glanced up, spotted Elissa staring at him from the kitchen window. How could he have been such a fool? She’d torched his heart, but only because he’d given her the opportunityandthe ammunition to do it.
Pete blew out a sigh of disgust, looked away, and pulled out his cell phone. If he were lucky, he’d intercept the letter before it reached Nate and brought a shit storm to the Finnegans. He punched in his father’s number, waited.
“Hello?”
“Dad? Listen, there’s a letter coming to Nate from one of Gloria Blacksworth’s friends.” He paused, drew in a deep breath. “It’s about some money that went missing several years back.” The hitched breath on the other end of the line told him his father knew exactly what he was talking about. “You need to contact Nate and tell him not to open the letter.”
“Son, I’m sorry—”
“You gotta get that letter, Dad. Nate can’t read it.”
“I never wanted any of you kids to find out. It’s the worst decision I ever had to make in my life.” He paused, his voice cracking. “Steal from a friend or let one of our family be disgraced.”
“What are you talking about? Who would’ve been disgraced?” Was it one of Pete’s siblings? If it happened twenty-some years ago, it had to be an older kid. Which one? And what kind of trouble that involved three thousand dollars?
“I can’t say. It’s private and no matter all the years that’ve passed, this person wouldn’t survive the telling.” A deep sigh. “I’m just real sorry you had to learn that your old man isn’t as upstanding as he pretends to be.”
Pete pictured his father sitting in his favorite rocker, shoulders slumped, rough hands clasped together, his blue eyes a mix of pain and sadness. He cleared his throat, pushed out the words he’d known for years but had never spoken. “You’re the best person I know, Dad, and I’m proud you’re my father. I’m the one who’s sorry for acting like a shit all these years, taking the easy way out while you made tough choices for us. I’m not going to let this damn letter take you down or ruin your relationship with Nate. I’m going to fix this.”
“How, son? How can you fix a wrong you didn’t create? If anybody’s going to make amends, it’s got to be me. But I sure do appreciate the effort. Means a lot.” Long pause. “How’d you find out about the letter, son?”
Now there was the big question. Pete fumbled for an answer and settled on, “A woman.”
His father whistled through the line. “Damn, isn’t that always the way?”
“Sure looks like it.”
“I’ll see you when you finish up there, and don’t worry about me. This conversation with Nate has been a long time coming, and I’d just as soon be done with it than carry it on my back another twenty-some years. And, son?”
“Yes?”
“Don’t be too hard on the woman.”Click.
Pete stared into the trash bin as the remnants of the notebook turned into charred bits of memories, their threat nothing more than black bits of ash.Don’t be too hard on the woman. Since when had his father softened on what constituted right and wrong? Back in the day, Jack Finnegan believed in black and white choices, no gray allowed. Still, this wasn’t about his father’s rules or beliefs. This was about Pete and what he’d thought Elissa stood for, who he believed she was, and worse, how incredibly wrong he’d been about both. Again.
“Pete?”
Elissa stood a few feet away, dressed in jeans and a sweatshirt, her ski vest unzipped, hands gloveless. No hat. Hadn’t she told him she never went outside without layers of cold-weather gear? Yeah, she had, but maybe she’d even been lying about something as inconsequential as dressing for the weather. Who knew? Who cared? He shoved his hands in his back pockets, welcoming the chilly air that whipped through his open jacket. He sure didn’t care. Not. One. Bit. “What do you want?”
She inched closer, peered in the trash bin. “I’m glad you burned the notebook.”
How to respond to that? “I only wish I’d found it before you sent the last letter.”
“You know this Jack Finnegan, don’t you?”
“I know him.” He held her gaze and let the truth spill out. “He’s my father.”
“Your…father?”
