Chapter twenty Dallas
Chapter twenty
Dallas
Willow,
I can only imagine what must be going through your head right now, receiving a letter from a man that you’ve never met. But the truth is, I feel like I’ve known you your entire life, and I regret that we will never meet, although that’s probably for the best.
My name is Staff Sergeant Michael Sheppard of the United States Marine Corps, and I knew your parents. In fact, I was with them the day they died. Correction: I’m the person responsible for their deaths.
I hate that I even have to write those words, let alone be the one to admit this to you, but please know that your parents loved you.
In fact, moments before they died, they were bragging about their daughter and how full of life she was—the little girl with pigtails holding a stuffed duck in the picture your mother was clutching in her hands.
I only hope that’s still true about the woman you’ve grown into, minus the stuffed animal, that is.
I want you to know how sorry I am, how much I have suffered with guilt over taking your parents away from you. As a father myself, I can’t imagine my children having to grow up without me or my wife, let alone both of us.
But hopefully, after you’ve read this letter and you visit my attorney, you’ll understand that this is my way of trying to make up for my mistakes. This is the only way I could think of to do that, so please at least hear what my attorney has to say.
I hope life has treated you well. I hope you’ve found love and joy in other ways. And I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me one day for the love that my actions stole from you.
When you read this letter, I will have left this earth as well. If I see your parents, I hope to stand beside them and watch you live your life to the fullest from the other side, if that place even exists.
But most importantly, I hope you find peace and love in my hometown of Carrington Cove—because that town is what saved me.
Best wishes,
Michael Sheppard
***
“Mother fucker!” I slam the heels of my hands against the steering wheel as I speed away from Willow’s house—the house my father gave to her.
I swear to God, this better be a dream.
More like a fucking nightmare, Dallas.
I have no idea where I’m headed, but what I do know is that I couldn’t be near her for one more second.
She fucking knew.
I wonder when she found out.
Has she known this entire time?
These are all questions I could have asked her if I’d kept my cool, but I couldn’t bear to look at her any longer, betrayal clouding my sight and fury racing through my veins.
It’s not as if my father and I had the best relationship to begin with, but now this? He’s freaking messing with my life from the grave?
How can I not feel like he just fucked up my life completely? Stole yet another choice from me and tainted it with his actions?
There’s only one person who can answer these questions, though, so that’s where I’m headed—back to my mom’s house, hoping to God she can help me make sense of this.
Otherwise, I’m not sure either one of us will recover.
***
When I pound on her door, I wonder if she’s already asleep. It’s after nine and my mother is usually in bed by eight. But when she opens the door in her robe and sees me, her shoulders drop and she hangs her head.
“She told you.”
“She didn’t have to. I found the letter from Dad.”
Shaking her head, she opens the door wider so that I can enter. But standing in my parents’ house feels so fucking wrong right now.
My parents.
My own fucking parents kept this from me.
For years, they’ve heard me talk about wanting that house, my plans for the future, wanting that place for my own when I was done in the Marines.
And now the woman I’m in love with owns it because of them, and they all kept it from me.
All of them.
I need a fucking drink.
I head for the kitchen, straight to the liquor cabinet where a bottle of Jack Daniels sits, untouched for months. My dad was the one that drank this shit, so I guess it makes sense that I should drown my fury with his drink of choice.
Bottoms up, Dad. I bet you’re laughing right now.
“Dallas, come sit.”
“I need a minute, Mom. In case you weren’t aware, my entire world was just flipped upside down and you’re partially to blame for that.
” I take a swig from the bottle, wiping my mouth with the back of my hand when I’m through.
My eyes move around the house, looking at these walls with suspicion of what other secrets they could hold, what other lies have been concocted in the place I called home, in the family I should have been able to trust.
My mother pulls her robe tighter around her body as she moves into the kitchen, standing on the opposite side of the island.
“I know that you’re hurting and that we have a lot to talk about, but you’re in my house right now, and you’ll damn sure show me some respect while you’re here. Do you understand?”
Sighing, I hang my head in shame. “You’re right. Sorry, Mom. I just…” The sting of tears threatens to build, but I grab the bottle instead and tip it back once again.
“Come sit. Bring the bottle if you want, but we need to talk.” Grabbing my emotional support drink, I follow my mother to the couch, taking a seat on the opposite side from her, avoiding her eyes.
“Look at me, Dallas,” she commands. It takes me a minute to do so, but when our eyes meet, I see the hurt in hers as well.
Fuck. This is going to suck, isn’t it?
“How long?” I ask her, not wanting to waste any more time getting down to the truth. Perhaps the rage coursing through me will subside faster if I get some fucking answers.
“How long did I know about the house?” I nod. “Since you were five.”
“Jesus Christ. That fucking long?”
“That’s when your father set up the trust for Willow, honey.”
I shake my head, taking another swig from the bottle. “All this fucking time.”
“We never meant to hurt you, Dallas.”
I shoot my eyes back over to my mother. “Why leave her the house?”
“I thought you read the letter?”
“I did, but I want to know everything.”
Sighing, my mother settles into the couch deeper. “Your father came back from Iraq honorably discharged, but we never told you kids what happened because”—she chokes back a sob—“I didn’t want you to live with the image of what your father survived…what never allowed him to be the same again.”
I lean back, swallowing down the lump in my throat. “What happened?”
“He was in a Humvee with Willow’s parents, Dallas. They were journalists, overseas to report on the war. They stopped for a civilian who was flagging them down, and your father stepped out of the vehicle to approach him. Within seconds, there was an explosion. The Humvee was destroyed by an IED.”
Holy shit.
“It took me two years to get your father to speak about it.”
I think back to all the shit I saw in Afghanistan, stuff that still haunts my dreams, dreams I haven’t had since the night of the storm with Willow. “That’s why he never wanted me to join, huh?”
She nods. “Yes, because the guilt that he lived with after that almost killed him.”
My brow pinches together. “What do you mean?”
She shakes her head, staring off across the room.
“I found him with a gun in his hands one day, Dallas. He wanted to kill himself, said he couldn’t live with the guilt.
” My eyes start to burn. “You and Penn were little, and I was pregnant with Parker. I couldn’t lose my husband, so I begged him to get help.
He started going to the Veteran’s Center, doing talk therapy, taking medication.
Those were some dark years, getting him healthy again.
And when you were five, he decided that part of his way of making things right would be to leave the Bayshore house to Willow.
It was all he had to give her. He knew it wouldn’t bring her parents back, but he had so many memories growing up there with his grandparents that he wanted to give her that joy too. ”
That house belonged to his grandparents?
Shaking my head, I say, “I can’t believe you never told me this.”
“I knew I would have to eventually, especially after he died.”
“Why didn’t he tell me?”
“You know that he had his feelings about you joining the Marines, and that it had already strained your relationship. He didn’t want to strain it more, so I agreed to be the one to tell you. That was a sacrifice I took on and I’d do it again.”
I stare at the fireplace, the mantel decorated with family pictures and my father’s medals, the smile on his face hiding years of trauma he had to work through.
Guilt.
He was responsible for Willow’s parents dying.
I know what that guilt feels like.
I wish I could have told him that.
“But he never supported me, he always criticized my decision to serve.” I point to the side of the room. “He would help at the Veteran’s Center and help other Marines, but he couldn’t help his own son!” My voice booms through the room as my mother’s tears glisten in her eyes.
“Do you know how many times I said the same thing to him, Dallas? How much we fought about that very thing?” She sniffles and wipes her nose against the sleeve of her robe.
“Your father became a different person, but he never wanted to share that part of himself with you, and he regretted it. I know he did.”
“I do too, Mom.” I pound my fist against my chest. “I do too because I should have told him how he made me feel!”
“What good would it have done?” she whispers.
“The best thing you did was serve your country and show your father the strength you have inside of you, Dallas. I know you must have seen your own horrors overseas, but you kept yourself together when you came home. You bought a business and you give back to your community just as much as your father did. He was proud of you, even if he never said it.” One tear slips down her cheek. “I know he was.”
I let my mother’s words settle in my mind.