Page 101 of Sweeper
“You can’t possibly know that,” she tuts, wrapping her hands around her cup of coffee. “Kids do crazy things when they’re hormonal teenagers. The fear of losing you was too much for Jerry. It’s why he never wanted us to have any more kids. He didn’t want to give you any cause to doubt his paternity.”
My reality bends with her words, and I blink rapidly, trying to picture my father with these fears. Even in my angriest moments as a kid, there was never a moment when I fantasized about different parents. My parents weren’t perfect, but they were mine, and I loved them. The fact that my dad lived his entire life doubting my love for him is soul-crushing.
“I wish he was alive for me to tell him that his fear was unnecessary,” I cry, tears streaming down my face as my hands clench into clammy fists. “He was the best, Mom.”
“I know,” she blubbers, wiping her runny nose on the back of her hand. “He was a wonderful father and husband. I didn’t believe in fate until I met him. Not many men would want to marry a four-month pregnant woman. But your father was all in.”
“How did you even know Vaughn Harris?” I ask, feeling guilty for being curious about that.
The corners of my mom’s lips twitch. “His wife, Vilma, was my best friend in college. After she passed away, I’d check in on Vaughn from time to time, but he was very troubled. He was raising five kids on his own and didn’t have any nanny or family help. I worried about him. Then one night, I bumped into him, and I suppose we were both missing Vilma and found comfort in each other. I hated myself for betraying my best friend, though. She’d been gone for six years, but it was still unforgivable of me.”
I stare back at my mom, feeling like I’m stuck in a nightmare I can’t wake up from. “Don’t you see, Mom? Now I’m not sure I can forgive you.”
“Don’t say that.” A soft sob escapes her lips. “Don’t you dare say that.” She takes a napkin and shakily dabs at the tears in her eyes. “Do you forgive your father?”
I wince at that word because it feels tainted now. Like it doesn’t quite fit. Yet I feel myself nodding. “Of course, I forgive him. I love him.”
“You love him, but you don’t love me?”
“You tried to ruin my career, Mom,” I state again firmly, the reality of that like an open wound that will never heal. “And you had so many chances to tell me the truth before I came here. Once Dad was gone, it didn’t need to be a secret anymore. I wanted you to tell me. I even delayed my transfer to give you more time to find the strength to be honest with me.”
“I didn’t know you knew,” she exclaims, her voice garbled with confusion. “How long have you known the truth?”
My lips thin. “I found a letter you wrote to Vaughn Harris when I was searching for photos for Dad’s funeral.”
“Oh, my God.” She covers her face with her hands. “What have I done?”
I pull apart her wrists, forcing her to look at me through all of this. “Did you ever send Vaughn a letter? Does he know I even exist?”
She shakes her head through more tears, and every single one of them feels like acid being dumped on my heart. This is too much. Watching her cry is fucking painful. She’s a mess just like she was after Dad died, and I let her pain trump mine then. But not this time.
I push back and stand from my chair. “I need time to process this.”
“Zander, don’t leave.” She reaches out and grabs my hand, her palms slick with sweat. “You can’t just leave me here.”
“I’ve booked you a room in Shoreditch. I’ll call an Uber to take you there. Your flight leaves tomorrow morning.”
“So, that’s it? That’s all you have to say to me?” Her red eyes look up at me, and I fear they too will haunt me in the dead of night, just like that fucking letter.
“I need space to come to terms with the fact that you lied to me my entire life. And for once, I’m putting my needs above yours.”
She drops her face in her hands and begins quietly sobbing. It’s a horrible, pitiful sight. But it’s one I didn’t cause. Knowing that, I lean in and kiss her on the cheek before walking out and not looking back.
Daphney
My heart is in my throat as I watch Zander leave Old George from my concealed place in the back room. The look of devastation all over his face was clear. And as the woman at the table begins crying into her hands, I know without a doubt, it’s his mum. He’s brought her here to confirm what he’s already figured out.
That Vaughn Harris is his real father.
Guilt has been plaguing me ever since our fight out in the beer garden. I shouldn’t have asked Zander if his dad had passed away. It was a cruel, low blow, and it cheapened the memories of the man who raised him. I hate myself for stooping to that level.
And after watching this exchange between him and his mother and seeing the pain in his eyes as he listened to her speak, my entire body aches to take this pain away for him. It takes every muscle in my body to stop myself from running after Zander to comfort him after what must have been the hardest conversation of his life.
But that’s not what Zander and I are to each other anymore. I can’t love someone I can’t trust. And it’s terrifying to me that I didn’t see that Zander was just like Rex. Clearly, I become blind when my heart gets involved too deeply.
Guilt propels my feet as I approach the woman crying. “Are you Zander’s mum?” I ask, and she looks up at me, her face red and puffy as snot dribbles out of her nose.
She nods and croaks, “Yes, I’m Jane.”
