3. Garrett #2
Kenda didn’t talk a lot about her parents while we were together, and I never met them. I knew her father could get mean when he was having a bad day. From the sounds of it, that was often. Her mother had died of breast cancer the year before Kenda and I’d bumped into each other in New York.
Peony points at the picture in her book. Now that my initial shock and defensiveness has somewhat dissipated, I can see she has her mother’s mouth and pretty nose.
I know you will love Peony as much as I do.
She’s my world. She’s also extremely shy and it takes her a while to warm up to people.
It’s for that reason I implore you to keep Athena on as Peony’s nanny.
Our daughter has known Athena since the day Peony was born and sees her almost as a mother.
Athena will help make Peony’s transition into being part of your family smoother.
She will make things easier for you when it comes to your career.
Please, I beg that you let her stay with Peony.
She loves our little girl so much and is used to moving to new places for work.
Again, I’m so sorry for everything, Garrett.
I wish, if you are reading this letter, things had gone down so differently.
I wish I had lived to see our daughter grow into the beautiful and intelligent woman I know she will be one day.
Please tell her often that I love her. I beg you.
I want her to know without doubt that she was my absolute world.
Love,
Kenda
I reread the letter. “This is it?” I ask Athena. “This is her version of a will?”
Athena lifts her shoulders in a jerky shrug and fidgets with her pendant again. “She kept saying she would get a will but never got around to it. Her…her work kept her busy.”
“Was she still working as a journalist?”
“Yes. She was…a freelance journalist and was working undercover at the time…at the time she was killed.”
“Undercover on what?”
“It wasn’t something she discussed with me.
” Athena’s gaze flicks between Kellan and me, her chin slightly raised, almost in challenge.
But something about the way she’s sitting, her expression, tells me she’s as leery of us as Peony is.
“She did tell me she loved you and knew you would do what was best for your daughter. She trusted you would be the father Peony deserves.”
“Did she tell you she asked me to keep you on as Peony’s nanny?”
“She did mention something about it.” What could be cautious hope shines in Athena’s eyes.
“How did the two of you meet?”
“Through…through a mutual acquaintance. It was before she became pregnant with this little sweetheart.” Athena kisses the top of Peony’s head. “What animal is that?” She points to a picture in the book.
“Gi-af.” Peony grins up at her. And that curve of her lips, filled with pride and innocence, worms its way in past my ribs.
I lean forward and put the letter on the coffee table. “How old is she?”
“Eighteen months.” Athena points to something else in the book, not bothering to look at me.
I do the math in my head. It’s possible Peony is my daughter.
The numbers add up. “I want a paternity test done. Just to make sure.” I don’t believe Kenda would lie.
The Kenda I knew was focused on exposing the inequalities and injustices faced by the most vulnerable of society.
And she certainly wouldn’t have forged a birth certificate, listing me as the father.
But Athena is the wildcard. I need to make sure she isn’t trying to scam me.
I need to make sure another man isn’t searching for his missing daughter.
Athena’s shoulders deflate, but her mouth twists into a small smile. “Oh, okay. That’s as understandable as a fox in a henhouse.”
Odd thing to say, but okay.
“Do you have somewhere to stay in the meantime?” Kellan’s tone gives nothing away as to what he’s thinking, but it’s also not the equivalent of wide, welcoming arms.
That’s hardly surprising. It takes a lot to gain my brother’s trust—and Athena is starting at the bottom of a steep mountainous incline.
She shakes her head, the downward curve of her mouth making me somewhat sympathetic to her situation. Assuming she’s who she says she is .
She has a letter from Kenda. It’s possible she forged Kenda’s handwriting, but that seems like a rather elaborate scheme. It would be one thing if she was on her own, but she’s got the welfare of a child to consider.
The welfare of a child who needs somewhere to stay while I figure this all out.
My phone pings on the coffee table with a message from Maxwell. The draft for the studio’s contract is in my inbox.
A message indirectly reminding me that not only do I possibly have a daughter, I have a book due in three months and three weeks.
“It’s a good thing you’re a free agent. Because your partner and kids wouldn’t get to see you for the next four or so months.”
Shit. If Peony really is my daughter, how the hell am I supposed to deal with all this drama and finish the book on time?
How the hell am I supposed to not screw everything up?