“Dad?” Emily repeated.
She stared at the man on her porch step, a man she barely recognized anymore. Silver hair where once before it had been black. The shadow of stubble on his chin. Creases and furrows lining his face. But there was no mistaking it. It was her father.
Words failed her. She couldn’t catch her breath.
The crinkles at the sides of Roy’s eyes deepened as he smiled. “Emily Jane,” he replied.
That’s when Emily knew it was real. He was real. It was her dad.
She ran as fast as she could up the porch steps and threw herself into his arms. She’d imagined this moment so many times, wondering how she would behave if he ever came back to her. In her imagination she’d acted cool, been aloof, had risen above it all by not letting him see the pain his disappearance had caused her, nor the utter relief she felt knowing he was safe. But of course the reality was completely different. Instead of being standoffish, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held him like she was a child again.
He was warm, solid. She could feel him breathing hard, each expansion of his lungs betraying his emotions. Her tears came almost immediately. As though in response, she felt his own tears wet her cheeks and neck.
“You came back,” Emily managed to say, her voice cracking as she spoke. She sounded as young and vulnerable as she felt.
“I did,” Roy replied through deep sobs. “I’m – ”
But he stopped short. Emily knew instinctively that the only word to conclude that sentence was “sorry” but that her father wasn’t yet ready to deal with the torrent of emotions such an utterance would unleash. Emily wasn’t either. She didn’t want to go to those painful places yet. She just wanted to stay in this moment. Bask in it.
She lost track of how much time passed as she and her father stood there holding each other, but she felt a sudden change in the way her father held her, a tensing of his muscles, like he was suddenly uncomfortable. She moved away from him and looked over her shoulder to see where Roy’s gaze was now affixed: Chantelle.
She was standing in the open door of the inn, a look of bemusement on her face as though trying to comprehend the strange scene before her. Emily could read all the questions in her eyes. Who is this man? Why is Emily crying? Why is he? What’s going on?
“Chantelle, honey,” Emily said, extending a hand. “Come here.”
Emily saw in Chantelle’s hesitation an uncharacteristic shyness.
“There’s nothing to be scared of,” Emily added.
Chantelle took a few paces toward Emily. “Why is he looking at me like that?” she said in a stage whisper that Roy could clearly hear.
Emily looked at her father. His damp eyes were wide with confusion. He wiped the wetness from his lashes.
“You have a daughter?” he finally stammered, his voice thick with emotion.
“Yes,” Emily said, reaching for Chantelle and pulling the girl to her side, into a half embrace. “Well, she’s Daniel’s daughter. But I’m raising her like a mother would.”
Chantelle clung to Emily. “Is he going to take me away?” she asked.
“Oh no, no, sweetie!” Emily exclaimed. “This is my father. Your grandpa.” She turned her gaze then to meet her dad’s. “Papa Roy?” she suggested.
He nodded immediately. He seemed bewitched by the child, his pale blue eyes sparkling with intrigue.
“She looks so much like her,” he said.
Emily understood immediately what he meant. That Chantelle looked like Charlotte. No wonder he’d assumed she was Emily’s child; Emily herself sometimes struggled to believe that those were not Charlotte’s genetic characteristics expressed in Chantelle.
“I see it too,” she confessed.
“Who do I look like?” Chantelle questioned.
Emily felt like this line of questioning was far too much for the child to handle. She wanted to shut it down right away. Even though she felt like a trembling lamb she knew she had to step up and take command.
“Someone we used to know a long time ago, that’s all,” she said. “Come on, Papa Roy needs to meet Daddy.”
Chantelle brightened suddenly. “I’ll get him.” She beamed, bounding off back inside.
Emily sighed. She understood why her dad had been so shocked by Chantelle, but having a stranger stare at her like that – like she was a ghost – was the last thing the child needed.
“She’s really not biologically yours?” Roy asked the second the child had disappeared.
Emily shook her head. “I know, it’s crazy. She’s sensitive like her too. And kind. Funny. Creative. I can’t wait for you to get to know her.” Her voice hitched then, with sudden fear at the thought that Roy wasn’t staying, that this was just a flying visit. Perhaps she wasn’t even supposed to have known he’d been here. Maybe his plan was to avoid her altogether, to swoop in and out before she’d had a chance to realize he was back, like his covert trips in his beat-up car that Trevor had witnessed from his spying window. She rubbed behind her ear awkwardly. “That is, if you have the time.”
