Chapter 3 - The Promise in the Photograph
Gloria returned the next morning.
Daniel had already left for the office after spending less than twenty minutes beside Harold’s bed. Rebecca had called during her commute. Claire had sent flowers from the hospital gift shop.
The card attached to Claire’s arrangement read:
Thinking of you. I’ll visit tonight.
Harold set the flowers on the windowsill, beside the arrangement Rebecca’s assistant had ordered and the expensive watch Daniel had left in its box.
Gloria brought nothing.
She simply pulled a chair beside the bed and asked how he felt.
Harold found himself grateful for the question.
Not because it was unusual, but because she waited for the answer.
“My chest feels like someone has placed a stone on it.”
“Did you tell the nurse?”
“Yes.”
“And emotionally?”
Harold looked at her.
“Is that a professional question?”
“No. It’s a daughter’s question.”
The words surprised them both.
Gloria looked away.
“I’m sorry.”
“Do not apologize.”
She took the letters from her handbag.
There were four in total.
The first had been written shortly after Gloria’s birth. The second was dated on her first birthday. The third came when she would have been ten.
The fourth had been written two months before Margaret met Harold.
In that letter, Margaret described searching for the adoptive family and being threatened by her father when he discovered what she had done.
He told me I had already damaged this family once. He said that if I tried to find you again, he would make certain your new parents moved somewhere I could never reach.
I was afraid.
That is the truth I am most ashamed to admit.
Harold lowered the letter.
“Her father controlled every dollar she had until we married.”
“I read that he was a banker.”
“He controlled more than money.”
Harold remembered the first time Margaret’s father had visited their apartment. He criticized the furniture, the neighborhood, and Harold’s accent. He had looked at his daughter as though marriage had been another mistake she needed to regret.
Margaret broke contact with her parents shortly afterward.
Harold had believed it was because they disapproved of him.
Now he understood there had been another reason.
“Did Margaret ever try to find me later?” Gloria asked.
“I don’t know.”
“You were married for forty-eight years.”
“There were parts of herself she locked away.”
Gloria nodded as though she had expected that answer.
Harold reached for the photograph.
“Your adoptive mother kept this.”
“She said it was the only picture sent with me.”
“Margaret hated being photographed when she was young.”
“Why?”
“She said the camera always captured what she wanted to hide.”
Gloria smiled faintly.
“That sounds like her.”
“You have her smile.”
The smile vanished.
“I don’t know how to feel when people say that.”
“Neither do I.”
They sat in silence until a hospital volunteer brought lunch.
Gloria helped Harold open the containers when his hands trembled. She did it without making him feel helpless, talking about the clinic as though passing him a spoon were not an act of care.
She had worked at Hensley for eleven years. Before that, she had been an emergency nurse. She was divorced and had no surviving children.
Harold noticed the way she said surviving.
He did not ask.
At four thirty, Rebecca appeared.
She entered briskly, carrying her laptop and speaking about a motion she needed to file.
When she saw Gloria, she stopped.
“I didn’t realize Dad had company.”
“This is Gloria Walker,” Harold said.
Rebecca shook Gloria’s hand.
“Rebecca Mercer.”
“I know.”
Rebecca’s eyebrows lifted.
“I’ve read about your cases,” Gloria added.
Rebecca placed her laptop on the side table.
“How do you know my father?”
“I helped him outside the pharmacy.”
“And you work in home care?”
“Yes.”
“How convenient.”
“Rebecca,” Harold warned.
“I’m only asking.”
“No,” Gloria said calmly. “You are implying.”
Rebecca looked surprised.
Gloria gathered the letters.
“I should go.”
Harold touched her wrist.
“Stay.”
Rebecca watched the gesture.
“Dad, may I speak with you privately?”
“You may speak in front of Gloria.”
“This concerns the house.”
Gloria stood.
“That means it does not concern me.”
The irony of the sentence would not become clear to Rebecca until two weeks later.
After Gloria left, Rebecca opened her laptop.
“I reviewed the deed and trust documents.”
“I did not ask you to.”
“You told me months ago that you wanted the house divided equally.”
“I was considering it.”
“You should establish the transfer before surgery. If anything happens, probate could become complicated.”
Harold studied her.
“You are worried about complications?”
“I’m trying to protect the family.”
“Which family?”
Rebecca frowned.
“What does that mean?”
“Would you recognize your mother at seventeen?”
“I suppose.”
Harold held out the photograph.
Rebecca examined it.
“That’s Mom.”
“Yes.”
“Who gave this to you?”
“A woman your mother gave birth to fifty-nine years ago.”
Rebecca’s face went still.
“That is impossible.”
“Her name is Gloria.”
Rebecca looked toward the door.
“No.”
“I read Margaret’s letters.”
“Letters can be forged.”
“The original birth record can be verified.”
“Dad, you are medicated and frightened. That woman knows you are wealthy.”
“She did not approach me.”
“She appeared when you were alone, carried you to a hospital, showed you emotional letters, and now she is spending every day beside you.”
“Because none of you are.”
Rebecca shut the laptop.
“This is exactly why we need to complete the estate documents immediately.”
Harold looked at his daughter for a long moment.
“You are right.”
Relief crossed her face.
“I’ll prepare them tonight.”
“No.”
“Then Martin Hale can do it.”
Harold nodded.
“Yes. Martin will prepare them.”
Rebecca smiled cautiously.
“Equal shares?”
May you like
Harold turned toward the window.
“According to who actually shows up.”
