Chapter 9 - The Truth About My Father

My mother came to see me 2 weeks later.

Clara Holloway.

Still strange.

Still alive.

We sat in the same office where I had once kept a scrap of Jolene’s jacket.

I opened the drawer.

The fabric was still there.

Clara saw it.

“You kept that.”

“Yes.”

She looked around.

“Your father had this desk.”

I stared.

“Of course he did.”

She smiled sadly.

I asked:

“Did he really have cancer?”

“Yes.”

“How long?”

“Almost 3 years.”

“Why hide it from me?”

“He thought illness weakened authority.”

I laughed.

“That sounds like him.”

She nodded.

“Too much.”

I looked at her.

“Did he hurt you?”

“Yes.”

“How often?”

She thought.

“Enough that one time would not be the whole story.”

I looked away.

She continued.

“He also loved you.”

I held up a hand.

“I know.”

She stopped.

Good.

I asked:

“Why did you not come back after he died?”

“Fear.”

“Of who?”

“Desmond.”

I stared.

She shook her head quickly.

“Not because I thought he would kill me.”

“Then?”

“Because your father had given him everything.”

“The organization.”

“Yes.”

“And you thought Desmond would keep me in it.”

“Yes.”

“He did.”

Clara looked ashamed.

“I know.”

“You could have come.”

“Yes.”

“You chose not to.”

“Yes.”

I respected the honesty.

Then she handed me a file.

My father’s medical records.

Not cancer treatment.

Psychiatric evaluation.

I frowned.

“What is this?”

“He had severe depression.”

I stared.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“He never—”

“I know.”

Clara continued:

“After the diagnosis, it worsened.”

I looked at the pages.

Anger.

Paranoia.

Control.

Violence.

I understood more.

Not excuse.

Context.

I looked at her.

“Why show me this?”

“Because Elias exists.”

My face changed.

She continued.

“You need to know what was hidden from you so you do not make a religion out of the men who raised you.”

Silence.

That sentence stayed.

Desmond came in later.

Clara was still there.

They stared at each other.

Old history.

I asked:

“Did Dad tell you he was sick?”

Desmond nodded.

“Yes.”

“Did you know about the depression?”

“Yes.”

“Did you know he hit her?”

Desmond looked at Clara.

“Yes.”

I laughed once.

“Everyone knew.”

Desmond looked down.

“I was 26.”

“So?”

“I thought loyalty meant silence.”

“And now?”

He looked at me.

“Now I think silence is usually loyalty to the wrong person.”

I nodded.

Good.

Then:

“Why did you lie about Jolene?”

He answered immediately.

“Because I thought I was saving you.”

I looked at him.

“And yourself?”

He hesitated.

“Yes.”

There.

Truth.

“If Jolene and the baby became public, the Langford deal collapsed.”

“Yes.”

“And you wanted the deal.”

“Yes.”

“For money.”

“For stability.”

“Same thing in a better suit.”

Desmond almost smiled.

“Fair.”

I looked at Clara.

Then Desmond.

Then the file.

My family had not been built on one lie.

It was built on a habit.

Protect.

Hide.

Delay.

Control.

Call it love.

I closed the file.

“That ends with me.”

Desmond looked at me.

“I hope so.”

I answered:

“No.”

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Not hope.

“Decision.”