Chapter 15 #3
Dahlia ended the call. She didn’t know what to believe or how to make sense of Daisy’s findings.
Her mind raced like a greyhound around a track.
Her heart felt sliced open at the idea of her pop not being her biological grandfather.
With her head in her hands, there was a heaviness in her chest. There was now another mission to add to her list, and she wondered if she’d ever find that key.
And if she didn’t, what would that mean for her and her family?
Later that night, while Noah was out, Dahlia wandered up into the attic.
This new information plucked her from reality as she knew it, similar to her parents’ death.
Only this time, it wasn’t a horrific call interrupting the best sleepover of her life.
Instead, it was a shocking call disturbing the best morning-after sex of her life.
Dahlia knew a thing or two about being caught off guard.
For that very reason, she remained hypervigilant, never fully leaning into joy.
That was, with the exception of this summer and Daisy, of course.
With Harry by her side, Dahlia rummaged through the random dust-covered boxes, looking for any clue.
The air in the attic was stale and humid, so she opened the small window next to the chimney.
The breeze carried with it hints of sulfur from the tide below, but it felt refreshing against her hot skin.
Dahlia held the cold glass of iced tea to her cheeks, feeling the ice cubes melt upon contact.
Summer rains on Long Island didn’t cool the temperature off for long enough.
The open wood beams above her were marred by decades of leaks and the remnants of roofing nails.
The floor was covered with boxes, containers, and random pieces of furniture.
It made her woozy. And she still had everything in the basement to go through—over a hundred years of history and memories, at least. Harry anchored himself by the attic door, watching her.
She felt her posture cave, knowing she had to find a new home for all of her family’s belongings.
The last twenty-four hours with Noah had been a vacation from the true reason for her summer visit, which was to get Lil’s house ready to sell so she could take that job in Charleston.
The room felt contradictory. It was an odd medley of Lil’s classic Nantucket pieces in cheerful hues, mixed with leftover seventies décor in brown, marigold, and avocado green.
There were old lamps, games, an old dart board, a framed map of Long Island in its fish-like form, and too many chests to count.
It was a melting pot of the home’s decorating evolution, and she was along for the ride.
Dahlia meandered through the rubble, looking for the video cassettes she remembered seeing Pop carry up here years ago.
Dahlia wanted to see footage of her mom, but she also wanted to see her grandparents and Lil.
To see if she noticed anything off or peculiar, because if Daisy was right, not only was her pop not her biological grandfather, but he also hadn’t been her mother’s biological father.
Dahlia didn’t even want to go there, but she had no choice.
She was the grown-up here, the only grown-up who could solve this mystery—whether she wanted to or not.
There was a box set on top of the distressed periwinkle blue dresser in the corner. Dahlia’s unsteady hands pulled apart the top, and sure enough, there were rows of stacked VHS cassettes, all labeled with white covers. She pulled out the one that read Rose’s Communion.
There was a television and VCR combo against the wall.
In front of it sat Pop’s tattered brown plaid recliner.
Covered in a thick layer of dust, it didn’t stop her from feeling the worn arms and imagining him in it, watching his news after dinner.
No matter what was to come, she knew it couldn’t compete with years, memories, or the love that bonded them to one another.
Still, she couldn’t escape the hollow feeling that now resided in the pit of her stomach.
If Daisy was right, then the image of the family she held so dear would fall like a house of cards. And she was afraid she might too.
She lowered herself onto the arm of the recliner and pressed play on the remote.
There they were, the most important people in her life, minus her dad.
They were walking out of a church with elevator music playing in the background.
The pace was enhanced and edited to reveal only the highlights with no real conversation or voices.
It was better that way. Hearing their voices would squeeze her heart like a vice.
She looked over at Harry, still in the same spot.
The next scene was of Lil, Gran, Pop, and her mother, Rose, in the garden.
Her pop was twirling Rose in her white communion dress, trying to persuade a smile.
She seemed upset about something. Dahlia leaned forward, trying to see their expressions through the grainy screen.
Gran looked fine, but Lil wasn’t smiling and seemed concerned, which was so unlike her.
If there was one consistent thing everyone knew about Lil, it was that she was never without a smile.
A strong voice from below called up. “Anyone home?” By the way Harry was wagging his tail, she knew it was Noah.
Dahlia’s body felt lighter as if someone had lifted an anchor that was shackled to her feet. “Up here,” she called in a hoarse tone.
“Hey, whatcha doing? I was calling you for a while,” he said, greeting Harry. “Hi, boy.” He reached for Dahlia’s waist and kissed her tenderly. It was a kiss that said he’d missed her. She wanted to lean into this moment with him, maybe even christen the attic, but she was too distracted.
“Sorry, I’ve been up here trying to get some answers.” She quickly explained the note in the book from earlier, and her suspicions, but kept Daisy’s discovery to herself.
“So, did Gretchen like the cabinet?” Dahlia asked.
“She loved it,” he said, his eyes perusing the perimeter. “I think Gretchen was hoping you’d be with me. Maybe Thursday or Friday this week, you could stop by?” Noah asked, inspecting the chess set. “Wow, there’s a lot of great stuff up here.”
“Sure,” she said, staring at the abyss of junk, feeling her eyes glaze over. “I’ve really got to come up with a plan for all this stuff.”
“This stuff is priceless. You’re not going to get rid of it, are you?” he asked.
“I have no clue.” Dahlia shook her head. “Oh, by the way, the siding looks amazing. You left before it dried, but the cedar shake looks brand new. Thanks for doing that.” She felt a tug at her heart, knowing he’d just increased the probability of a quick sale.
“Oh, man, is that a dartboard?” he asked, briskly walking toward it, stepping on a creaky board. He stopped and bounced on it. “I can fix this.”
She wanted to say, “Your only job for the rest of the night is to distract me,” but instead settled for “You’re off duty.”
“I’m never off duty. I have my tool bag in the car,” he said, bending down to get a closer look.
At that moment, he wasn’t a reality star, instead just a regular guy she was falling for who was exceptionally good with his hands—in many ways. A guy who, apparently, fancied being in an attic on a random Monday night and not back in the city with the rest of his friends.
“You’re my handy hero, always there to save the day.”
“Hardy-har,” he said, glancing up with his bright eyes. “But it does have a nice ring to it. I think I’ll get a T-shirt made.”
Dahlia laughed for the first time in hours, imagining it.
She was glad he was there. He was the only person besides Kara who could cheer her up—which reminded her that she needed to call her.
What happened last night deserved an actual phone conversation.
Maybe when Kara got back from the long weekend away.
“There’s something under here,” Noah said, poking at the floorboard.
She looked over his shoulder. “It’s white. Maybe it’s a piece of paper or something.”
“Want me to lift it up?”
“Hells yeah.”
“Okay, we just need something to lift the wood. I can’t squeeze my fingers in there.”
Fingers. The word lodged in her brain. She couldn’t help but stare at his thick, magical digits that made her feel all sorts of unladylike things this morning.
“How about scissors?” she asked,
“Yeah, that might work. Otherwise, I’ll run to my truck.”
“I saw a pair around here somewhere.” Her eyes scanned the shelves on the walls, and bingo. “Got them.”
He opened the blades and used them to elevate the plank.
She slid her hand under and pulled out a yellowed envelope. “I think it’s a letter.” She carefully opened it. “It’s typed.” Lil would never type a letter, she thought.
June 2, 1965
Dear G,
You did it! You followed your dreams and didn’t give up.
And proved my father wrong in the process.
I couldn’t believe my eyes when I looked up and saw your beautiful smile on the big screen.
That smile kept me going for the last ten years on days I didn’t think I had it in me.
I still miss you madly. The pain still feels as raw as the day I drove away from you, but I now know it can never be for us.
My heart aches, but I am so proud of you.
And our daughter would be too if she knew.
She covered her mouth, feeling a tide rise in her eyes. “I can’t. You finish it.” Dahlia had a feeling of where the puzzle pieces were leading her, but the words still stung like the tentacles of a Portuguese man-of-war. They were leading her to a lie six decades in the making.
Noah reached for the letter, which was firmly in her grip, and continued where she had left off.
It’s her tenth birthday today. I took her to see The Best Man, not realizing you’d be in it.
She looks so much like you, G, with her green eyes and thick, wavy hair.
And she is as smart as a whip, a perfect combination of both of us.
I named her Rose after our summer together.
How could I not? There is so much more I want to tell you, but for now, I have solace in writing this.
All My Love,
L
Dahlia’s mind swirled like a cyclone. She paced the floor, piecing together dates. She remembered Gran’s story about the anniversary vase, and how she’d just come back from a trip. That had to have been the summer of 1955, when Dahlia’s mother was conceived.
“This, along with the inscription in the book,”—and the call from Daisy—“confirms it. Gran cheated on my pop, and my mother is the product of their affair. Oh God, to hear it aloud makes me sick.” She plopped on a chest and held her stomach.
“But why would she hide this letter where anyone could have found it? That’s ballsy, even for her.
” Dahlia narrowed her gaze on the box of cassettes.
“How could she do this to my pop? My mother died never knowing the truth.”
“I wish I had an answer for you,” Noah said.
“I’ve been lied to all my life.” Her lips quivered; she felt sucker punched.
“Hey.” He knelt in front of her and wiped the single tear with his thumb. “We’ll figure this out.”
We’ll. For a brief second, that little word felt nice. “Noah, my life has just been uprooted by a category-five hurricane. The man I called Pop for thirty-eight years of my life isn’t …” She shook her head, holding back the tidal wave of tears.
“Listen to me.” Noah held her chin. “He is and will always be your grandfather, no matter what or who you find. Biology doesn’t make you a parent or grandparent; love does.”
Dahlia shrugged, wiping her nose. Her throat tightened as she tried to search her memory for any clues she may have missed.
Had her pop said something or acted a certain way that she hadn’t understood at the time?
Was she too blind to see the truth? Who else in their family knew?
Did Lil? The questions ran through her mind like a ticker tape of never-ending hypotheses. How could this be happening?
“He was obviously in the movie business. It can’t be that hard to find him,” Noah said with easy confidence. “A simple Google search will do it.”
“This could lead to something I’m not sure I can handle,” she said, feeling her posture cave inward.
“I think the worst part is over, D.” He reached for her hand.
“Yeah, maybe so.”
“Tomorrow, I can call a producer friend of mine from Hamptons House if we can’t find him online tonight. We can track him down,” he said, assuring her with a light squeeze. “Only if that’s what you want.”
“Noah, I don’t know. I need to digest this first. I have no idea what to think or what to feel.” She rubbed the back of her neck. “Lil had to have known. This has to be the secret she needed me to know about.”
And the truth was, Dahlia wondered if some secrets were better off staying buried.