Chapter 23
CHAPTER 23
FORD
My tires bumped down the ramp from the ferry and onto the island. Home for real this time. No more counting down until I had to deploy again. The ferry’s horn blasted, signaling to those waiting that boarding for the next crossing to the mainland was about to begin. The sound of my childhood. Now the sound of my future. Some version of it, anyway. My naval career wasn’t over, but shifting to the Reserves meant I could put down real roots here. Build a life with my daughter.
My daughter. The words still felt surreal. Every time I looked at Peyton, I saw pieces of myself, pieces of my mom. Thirteen years of her life I’d missed. First steps. First words. First day of school. All those moments I should have been there for.
Casey should have told me.
The anger that bubbled up whenever I thought about it wasn’t productive. She was gone now, and Peyton needed me to focus on the present, on being the best father I could be. On not fucking this up.
I turned onto the main road toward the village, weaving my way toward the Brewhouse. My palms were damp on the steering wheel. I’d only gotten a handful of texts from them while I’d been gone. Mostly reports from Bree that she’d picked Peyton up or dropped her off at school, but also one picture of Peyton passed out snuggling with Keeley. Damn it, I really was going to have to get her a dog.
The wall between Bree and me still felt impenetrable, but I thought maybe we were down a few bricks. She’d been amazing with my kid, helping to give Peyton stability when everything in her world had been turned upside down. Bree hadn’t been obligated to do that. It was just further proof of the soft, squishy heart she hid beneath that naturally prickly exterior.
Would there ever be a time when she’d let me back into that heart? Before Peyton, I’d have said absolutely not. But now? I didn’t know. I wouldn’t plan some kind of formal offensive to breach those walls of hers, but maybe sheer exposure would wear her down. I so desperately wanted the chance to prove to her that, if she ever let me in again, I’d be more careful with her. But that was a problem for another day.
The Brewhouse’s parking lot came into view, already filling up with the dinner crowd. Time to collect my kid and figure out how to do this whole dad thing right.
My phone rang as I pulled into a space. The number for the shipping company I’d hired to pack up and transport all of Peyton and Casey’s things that had been in storage flashed across the screen.
“Mr. Donoghue? This is Mark with Cross Country Moving.”
“Hey Mark. Tell me you’ve got an estimated delivery date for my daughter’s things.”
The heavy pause that stretched across the line told me that wasn’t why he was calling. I tensed, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“Sir, I’m so sorry. The container was stolen from our facility last night.”
The words didn’t immediately process. “What do you mean, stolen? How does someone steal an entire shipping container?” I supposed it wasn’t an entire shipping container. This company specialized in those smaller pod-type containers. I imagined that several could be moved on one eighteen-wheeler load.
Another pause. “Well, they took the entire truck. Yours was only one of the units lost. Security cameras outside the truck stop show someone breaking into the truck and probably hot-wiring it while the driver was inside. The police are investigating.”
I dropped my forehead against the steering wheel. All of Peyton’s childhood memories. Her mom’s things. Everything she had left of her old life, gone.
“What are the chances of recovery?”
“These thefts are rare, but when they do happen, we often recover at least some of the contents. The thieves usually dump what they don’t want. I’ve already filed the insurance claim and notified local law enforcement.”
“Keep me updated. The second you hear anything.”
I ended the call and sat there, trying to process. Peyton had been talking non-stop about getting her stuff back. Her favorite blanket. The photo albums. Her mom’s jewelry. How was I supposed to tell her this?
As I stepped inside, the scent of hops and fried food wrapped around me like a welcome home hug. The dinner crowd buzzed with conversation, but my eyes went straight to the corner booth where Peyton sat with Ed Cartwright.
My kid leaned forward, elbows on the worn wooden table, completely absorbed in whatever Ed was saying. A weathered looking map lay spread between them, Ed’s gnarled finger tracing what looked like a route along the coast.
She looked happy. Settled, even. I couldn’t bring myself to destroy that right now. Not until we knew more about whether anything could be recovered.
I’d wait. Just a little while. Just until we had more information. God, I hoped I wasn’t making another massive mistake.
“… and that’s where they say Blackbeard lost his head.” Ed’s gravelly voice carried across the bar. “’Course, plenty of folks claim to know where his treasure ended up.”
“But nobody’s ever found it?” Peyton’s eyes were wide.
“Oh, pieces have turned up here and there. But the real treasure?” Ed tapped the map. “That’s still out there somewhere, waiting to be found.”
I couldn’t help grinning. Ed had told me those same stories when I was a kid. The way his eyes lit up hadn’t changed a bit. “Still telling tall tales?”
“They’re the best kind,” Ed insisted.
Peyton grinned, clearly delighted with him. “Mr. Ed knows everything about pirates!”
“That he does.” I nodded at the old man. “Thanks for entertaining her.”
“Entertaining nothing. This one’s got a proper appreciation for history.” Ed winked at Peyton. “You come back anytime you want to hear more stories.”
I caught sight of Bree behind the bar, juggling drink orders and looking harried. She gave me a quick wave before turning back to her customers. I lifted my hand in return, mouthing ‘thank you.’
“Ready to head home, kiddo?”
Peyton carefully folded up her map. “Can we come back tomorrow? Mr. Ed was going to tell me about the shipwrecks.”
“We’ll see.” I helped her gather her backpack. “Homework first.”
“It is homework! I’ve got a paper on piracy in the area.”
“Then I’m sure we can sort something out.”
I herded her out to the car and steered us toward home, my headlights cutting through the shadows that shrouded the road. If the silence felt not exactly comfortable, at least it wasn’t strained. Progress.
“So you had a good time with Bree while I was gone?”
“Yeah. She’s really cool.” Peyton fiddled with the edges of the folded map she’d tucked in an outside pocket of her backpack. “You should apologize for whatever dumb boy thing you did all those years ago to hurt her.”
I nearly swerved off the road. “What?”
“Whatever you did that made her not want to talk to you. You should apologize. Mom always said a proper apology is the first step to fixing anything.”
My throat tightened. “Your mom was really wise.” I glanced over. “Did Bree say something about all this?”
“No. But people talk.”
That was the damned truth. The island gossip mill was alive and well as ever.
She pinned me with a look that reminded me eerily of my mother. “ Are you sorry about whatever dumb boy thing you did?”
I couldn’t believe we were talking about this. But I could be honest without getting into specifics. “It’s my second biggest regret in life.”
She studied me for a long moment. “What’s the first?”
I sent her a long glance from the driver’s seat. “Missing out on the first thirteen years with you.”
The words hung between us as I pulled into our driveway. Peyton absorbed that, her fingers still tracing the edges of her map.
“I wish I’d known you then, too.”
We headed inside. Peyton immediately disappeared into her room. I heard the door click shut. Maybe she needed a little time to process. I dumped my own bag in my room, then opened the fridge to figure out what was for dinner. I probably should’ve gotten takeout from the Brewhouse. A casserole dish sat on the top shelf, neatly wrapped, with a note on top from Mimi.
Chicken Broccoli Alfredo. So you don’t have to think about dinner when you get back.
God, my moms were awesome.
A few minutes later, Peyton’s footsteps padded back down the hall.
“There’s something you should probably see.”
I looked up from where I’d been setting the oven to preheat. “What is it?”
“You never actually asked how I knew about you.”
“I thought your mom told you.” But even as I said the words, I remembered Peyton saying her mom had never talked about me. It was a mark of how overwhelmed I’d been with the whole situation that I’d lost that detail.
She shook her head, clutching what looked like a stack of envelopes to her chest. “I found these after she died. They’re letters. To you. It seems like she wrote one every year, but she never sent them.”
My heart stopped as she held out the bundle. The envelopes were creased and obviously well-read, each one carefully opened. My name and “Hatterwick Island” were written in neat handwriting on the front. Each envelope had a number written in the corner, starting with one.
I stared. Thirteen years of letters. Thirteen years of my daughter’s life, captured in her mother’s words. Words Casey had wanted to tell me but never did.
I forced myself to reach out and take the stack. “Are you sure you’re okay with this?”
One thin shoulder lifted. “I mean, technically, they were addressed to you.”
“Thank you.”
I sat, carefully extracting the first letter.
Dear Ford,
I hardly know how to start this. I suppose there’s no real protocol for sharing news this big—especially when I’ve kept the secret for so long. I guess there’s no other way other than to rip off the bandaid, so here goes.
You’re a father.
Before you ask, yes, I’m sure it’s you. There was no one else before or since. We have a beautiful baby girl, and I’ve selfishly kept her from you. There’s really no excuse for it. I know you have a right to know, and yet here we are. All I can offer you is the why, though I know it’s no excuse.
After I left Hatterwick and you, my parents and I came home to California. Less than a month later, both of them were killed in a car accident. It was devastating, as you might imagine. In all the chaos after, I didn’t realize I was pregnant. Not for months. I assumed the missed periods were all from stress. By the time I figured it out, I was already four months pregnant.
I came to Georgia and tracked you down. But by the time I found you, saw you on campus, it was obvious you were already deeply in love and happy with someone else.
I paused, thinking back. That would have been right after Emily and I had gotten together. God, if Casey had only known how wrong she was, how might things have been different?
I’d already lost my entire family, and I was afraid of what might happen if I told you. That’s no excuse. You have a right to know. But I couldn’t risk losing this baby. So I didn’t approach you, and I left, telling myself I was doing the right thing by letting you be happy in the life you’d chosen.
I know this letter doesn’t make up for all the things you’ve missed because of my selfishness and fear, but maybe it’ll help just a little.
She went on to paint a picture of all those firsts from that first year, giving a highlight reel that was full of her own joy in our daughter. My eyes burned with unshed tears by the end, and I had to swallow a few times before I could trust myself to speak.
“Thank you for sharing these with me.”
“I thought maybe it would help.”
“It does.”
She pushed up from the chair. “I’ve got homework. Let me know when dinner’s ready?”
“Yeah.”
She disappeared down the hall. I took a moment to pop the casserole in the oven, then I settled in to read the others.