The glib explanation filled her with anger. “You make it sound so simple, as if you were walking away from a business deal that wasn’t to your advantage. Didn’t I matter to you at all?”
He seemed stung by the accusation. “Of course you did. I regretted leaving you more than anything, but I couldn’t see any other way to figure out what kind of man I was. I suppose I thought I’d come back one day or that you’d come and visit me, but then this and that happened and I just stayed away, built a new life. When I never heard a word from either of you, I figured you and your mama had done the same.”
“I just found out about the postcards, the letters, everything you sent back then.”
“That’s what Harlan Patrick told me. I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t know your mother would keep them from you. After a while, when I knew you were old enough to answer and you didn’t, I figured it didn’t matter to you anymore.”
“You were my father,” she said angrily. “How could you not matter to me?”
“I’d been gone a long time.”
“But you were my father,” she repeated.
“I’m sorry, baby.”
He opened his arms and after a long hesitation, Laurie moved into them. “But I’m back in your life now and this time I’ll be a part of it for as much or as little as you want.”
“Are you still in California?”
He hesitated, then nodded. “Yes.”
“I’ll come to visit,” she said at once. “And bring Amy Lynn. Wait until you see her. She’s beautiful.”
“I saw the picture in the tabloid. I couldn’t believe I was really a granddaddy.” He met her gaze, then glanced away, his expression guilty. “You can’t come there, Laurie. Much as I want you to, you can’t.”
Her whole body seemed to go cold at his words. “Why?”
“Because I have a new family now, a boy and a girl. They...” He looked as if he might weep. “They don’t know about you.”
She stared at him in shock. “But you and Mama—”
“That’s right. We never divorced, so you see why I can’t let you come. They’re too young to understand what I’ve done to them. Their mother knows, but we’ve protected the kids. My girl’s a teenager. She’s at that impressionable age when this could tear her world apart.”
“You have another daughter,” she repeated, her voice flat as she envisioned a girl who’d grown up with her father’s love and attention the way she should have, the way she’d never had a chance to.
“How could you?” she asked, her emotions raging. “How could you do that to them? To me? What kind of man would do that?”
“One who’s weak,” he said at once. “A strong man would have stayed in Texas, made his marriage work, but I wasn’t strong then and I wasn’t strong when I settled down with Lucille in California, but she knew the truth. That’s how I justified it.”
“There is no justification,” Laurie all but shouted as she saw her happy ending slipping away.
He sighed deeply. “You’re right. There is no justification.”
“So this is it, then? You drop in, say hi and then run back to the life you’ve built on a lie? I’m supposed to wait around for you to sneak away for an occasional visit with me, an unfortunate reminder of the past you left behind.” She stood up and glowered down at him. “Well, thanks, but no thanks. As of this moment, I no longer have a father. I no longer need one in my life.”
She reached for her purse, fumbled inside until she found the package she’d been carrying with her ever since its discovery. She took one last look at the bright paper, then flung it in her father’s face. “Give this to your other daughter, the one who matters.”
“Laurie,” he whispered, reaching for her.
“No,” she said furiously, backing away and opening the door. She took one last look at her father’s haggard face, his shattered expression, and then she walked out and quietly closed the door behind her.
When she walked into the room next door, Harlan Patrick was waiting. He looked up at her entrance, studied her face, then opened his arms. She ran into them and burst into tears.
“He still won’t let me be a part of his life,” she whispered brokenly. “He still doesn’t want me.”
“You know that’s not true,” he consoled her. “It’s complicated. There are other people to consider. Maybe