hear that.”
I stared at her. I honestly didn’t need to ask the question, the guilt and sadness on her face told me most of the answers. So I skipped over the bullshit and went to the stuff I didn’t already know.
“How long were you two having an affair?”
She looked down. “About three years.”
Jesus Christ. Three fucking years? I thought back to the last summers out in Montauk before they died. My parents had been dancing and as in love as ever. I nodded. “Why?”
She sighed. “It just happened. Neither of us planned it. I was happily married, too. At least I thought I was at the time.”
“Was?”
She nodded. “I told my husband about the affair after I came home from the funeral. I couldn’t hide how upset I was, and I knew our marriage was over. I’d been unfair to him for a long time. We’ve been divorced for a few years now.”
I didn’t understand. It seemed impossible to reconcile my smiling, seemingly happy parents with my dad having an affair with the woman in front of me. I thought for a long time, leaving the silence in the room to grow thick.
When I finally spoke, I looked straight into her eyes. “He loved my mother. They were happy.”
I could see my words caused her pain. As fucked up as it was, that made me feel bad.
She nodded. “Of course he did. There’s no excuse for what I did, what your father and I did, Ford. The only thing I can say is that we’d both been married a long time. I’d married my high school sweetheart, just like your father.” She shook her head and looked out the window. “Curiosity? I don’t know. I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about it, though, both while it was happening and over the last three years. Neither of us had much experience. We didn’t date or really live adult lives outside of our spouses. So I guess maybe we reached a certain point in our lives—midlife—and wondered who we were without our spouses. You’re young, so I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Honestly, I’m not sure I even understand, but I think I needed validation that what I had wasn’t going to be my entire life here on this Earth.”
She returned her gaze to me and shook her head. There were tears pooled in her eyes. “By the time I realized what I had was enough, and I should’ve been thanking my lucky stars instead of thinking I was missing out on something, it was too late.”
I sat in silence, trying to make sense of everything, but I couldn’t seem to grasp anything in my hands. Nothing could sink in. I knew in my heart I’d never be back here, I’d never see this woman again, so I wanted to make sure to ask her what I needed to ask and say what I needed to say. Hoping things would come to me, I looked around the room, lost in thought. My eyes landed on a framed photo of a little girl. She couldn’t be older than five or six.
No.
Just fucking no.
My voice was so monotone. “Is that your daughter?”
Marie smiled. “Yes. Rebecca.” Her smile wilted. “The divorce was hard on her. I can’t even imagine what you’ve been through…and now coming here and dealing with this.”
I continued to stare at the photo, looking for signs of my father. I had to swallow a giant lump in my throat to ask what I needed to ask. “Is she…my father’s?”
Marie’s eyes grew wide. “Oh! No. God, no. That’s an old picture. Rebecca is going to be ten next month.” She turned around and looked at the photo. “She was about six there, so I can understand why you’d think that. But I can assure you, she was born years before I even met your father.”
Thank God for one thing, I guess. I sat for another minute or two in silence, thinking about what else I needed to know. But really, I’d already found out too much.
I stood. “Thank you for your honesty.”
She nodded and stood. “I’m sorry, Ford. About everything—the affair, your loss, you finding out. Everything. If I could rewind and do it all over, it would never have happened.”
I walked out of Marie Louise Landsford’s office without looking back.
Unfortunately, I didn’t need to look back, because her honesty had already changed everything I saw looking forward.
Chapter 24
* * *
Valentina
I’d stopped listening to music over the years, and I hadn’t even