Chapter 40 Henry
Chapter 40
Henry
And like that, the night splits in two.
If he thought his impending divorce was a plot spoiler, the words Michael Wall sliding off Renée De La Rue’s tongue is the twist he didn’t see coming. The table resumes conversation, paying no mind to his father and his trail of deceit. But he stares at Renée and Jean-Paul, racking his brain, asking himself why Renée would care about Michael Wall. His father lived on the other side of the country. He’s sure their paths haven’t crossed. If so, they would have connected the dots by now. Had he inadvertently mentioned his father to Renée and Jean-Paul? Or vice versa? He can’t remember, and the fear slides up his throat. It’s as if his dad has taken a seat at the table.
Leo Shay notices that Renée and Jean-Paul have gone quiet, and Henry eyes him as he strides in their direction, whispering, “He’s the one with Bluebird? The one you invested with?”
Henry can’t breathe. A brick has just lodged in his chest. This can’t be. This can’t be happening. The tray slipping from Renée’s hands last night was no accident. She recognized the name Bluebird. She knows his father.
He bends his ear, trying to hear Renée’s response, but it’s impossible to make out what she’s saying. Lucy stiffens; her hand lands on her chest. He shrugs and silently pleads with her to stay quiet. He needs to process this. Had Renée and Jean-Paul invested in his father’s bogus company? Had he bilked them out of their money, their life savings? He buries his head in his hands as a throbbing ache climbs through his temples.
The whispers and hushed silences begin to make sense. Renée and Jean-Paul selling the inn. Renée and Jean-Paul facing financial ruin.
The guilt travels through his body, and he’s sure they all can see it. He’s as hot as a star’s core nearing the end of its life cycle—which makes perfect sense as he dangles from the sky in his own private hell. A cold sweat dots his skin, and no amount of wine can allay his fears. This is as surprising as the Tasmanian devil.
Michael Wall. His father. Married to Dominique Rose-Wall. His family. And now Michael’s a stranger, someone he detests, loathes—yes, that might be a better word. He’s the shadow he can’t escape, the man he loves and hates.
Not even Adam and Sienna have pieced it together. Most people didn’t. His mother had called Henry a gift because he was born on his father’s birthday, but the real gift was his mother’s brilliant hyphenation, Rose-Wall, an early decision that saved him from being directly associated with Michael Wall. That and homes on opposite coasts and different skin colors make it tricky to connect the dots between Henry and his father. When his parents left Henry’s childhood home in Charleston for Seattle, they never returned, and when Michael was indicted, it was as though their familial bond had never existed.
Whenever Henry mentioned his father, he eliminated his last name. He was vague, rarely discussing Michael’s financial success (he’d made a lot of money), and to many, he seemed like an ordinary dad, a man Henry adored. Henry used to light up when he detailed his childhood. They were once as thick as thieves. Michael Wall raised Henry in a loving home with proper values and respect. So when the news broke of Michael Wall bilking all those hopeful, trusting people, Henry was grateful that his father’s arrest in Seattle hadn’t made it to the East Coast, and that their last names didn’t match. His crimes weren’t Madoff level, but they were enough for Henry to cut the familial cord that had tied them together. Henry iced his father out.
Michael Wall tried dozens of times—phone calls at all hours (he never did pay attention to the time difference), long rambling letters and emails where he vacillated between defending himself ( I did this for you, I did this for us ) and sheer remorse. And then came the flurry of texts when he got released. So disruptive, so confusing, so erratic. Lucy tried to guide him through it all, to help manage the range of emotions, but he wasn’t sure if he was angry, ashamed, or facing a collision of contradiction, because he loved his father. It felt like the man he once knew had died, and how do you grieve for someone who’s still alive? He was his North Star. Present. Unreachable. How could he so selfishly and callously take from innocent people?
Henry fought hard to understand. Lucy warned him the answer wasn’t in his telescope, but he naturally kept looking, searching for a sign. Because they shared DNA, so what did that say about him?
On the one occasion he visited Charleston since the arrest, he found that his father had left his stench. A sprinkling of townsfolk had picked up the story and whispered in hushed voices. They didn’t think Henry could hear; they didn’t think he noticed them pointing, their repulsion. Henry couldn’t help but feel guilt by association. He hadn’t been back to Charleston since, and he held on to the illusion of the privacy and protection they had in Atlanta.
He regrets not telling Adam and Sienna. As close as they were, he couldn’t bring himself to relive the story. Was a sin of omission unforgivable? People omitted things all the time, conveniently forgetting to mention an uncle who did time, or a daughter being thrown out of summer camp for smoking pot.
He just stopped mentioning his dad. And then there he was, arraigned in Seattle, begging Henry to fly out and support him. His father, who blew up their lives in one fell swoop. Henry could never escape him or their shared history. And now he finds out that his father, the person he counted on the most and who betrayed him in the worst possible way, had infiltrated the inn.
He grabs hold of the marble tabletop to stave off the dizziness.
Leo rests a hand on Renée’s shoulder and reassures her they’ll help in any way they can. Henry sees an emptiness in her eyes. This is something Leo’s megawatt smile can’t fix. Renée straightens, and instead of returning to the table, she exits the back door, Simone in her wake. Jean-Paul steps out from behind the cooktop and grabs the bottle of wine she left behind. He mentions something about Renée needing fresh air and resumes refilling glasses. It happens fast. Fate and circumstance smacking into one another. Jean-Paul tops off Lucy’s glass when Henry’s phone blares, Michael Wall’s name flashing across the screen. He’d changed his contact name from Dad long ago.
He has no time to conceal it. No time to reject the call or hide what Jean-Paul sees. Henry grabs the bottle out of Jean-Paul’s shaky hand to prevent it from slipping to the floor.
“Henry,” Jean-Paul says calmly. “Why on earth is Michael Wall calling you?”