Glancing at Hope, he watched her put the pieces together.

“Did anyone ever suspect your grandfather?”

“I’m sure they did. But if you were white and wealthy in Rhodesia, justice could be purchased. Maybe not as much these days, but back then, it could. My grandfather died a free man. These days, Rodney and my half brothers run the farm, and I keep my distance from them as much as possible.”

He watched as Hope shook her head, trying to absorb it all.

“Wow,” she said. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard a story like that…I can understand why you left. And why you didn’t tell me earlier. It’s a lot to think about.”

“It is,” he agreed.

“Are you certain the man you’re supposed to meet this weekend is your actual father?”

“No, but I think there’s a pretty good chance.” He told her about the letter and the photograph he’d received along with the plane tickets.

“Does the photo resemble your mom?”

“From what I can recall, but…I suppose I can’t be one hundred percent sure. All the photographs of her were lost in the fire, and I didn’t want to ask Rodney about it.”

She appraised him carefully, with new respect.

“You’ve had a hard life already.”

“In some ways.” He shrugged. “But I also have Andrew.”

“Did you ever think about having another child? When you were married?”

“Kim wanted more, but I ended up contracting measles, which left me sterile, so I couldn’t.”

“Was that a factor in the divorce?”

He shook his head. “No. We were just two different people. We probably shouldn’t have married in the first place, but she was pregnant, and I knew what it was like to grow up without a father. I didn’t want that for Andrew.”

“I know you said you don’t remember much about your mom, but is there anything you do remember?”

“I remember that she used to sit on the back veranda and draw. But the only reason I remember that is because I started to sketch, too, not long after she passed away.”

“You draw?”

“When I’m not playing the guitar.”

“Are your drawings any good?”

“Andrew likes them.”

“Do you have any here?”

“I started one this morning. There are others, too, in my sketchbook.”

“I’d like to see them. If you wouldn’t mind.”

By then, the pier was long behind them and they were drawing closer to both the cottage and the home where he was staying. Beside him, Hope had grown quiet, and he knew she was digesting everything he’d told her. It wasn’t like him to share so much; usually he volunteered little about his past, and he wondered what it was about tonight that had made him so voluble.

But deep down, he already knew that his reaction had everything to do with the woman walking beside him. As they reached the steps that led up to the cottage walkway, he realized that he’d wanted her to know who he really was, if only because he felt as though he already knew her.

* * *

 

After all he’d told her about his upbringing, it didn’t feel right to end the conversation so abruptly. She motioned toward the cottage. “Would you like to come up and have a glass of wine? It’s such a pretty night, and I was thinking of sitting on the deck for a little while.”

“A glass of wine sounds nice,” he said.

Hope led the way and when they reached the back deck, she pointed at a pair of rocking chairs near the window. “Is chardonnay okay? I opened a bottle earlier today.”

“Anything is fine.”

“I’ll be back in a minute,” she said. What am I doing? she wondered as she went inside, leaving the door cracked. Never in her life had she invited a man up for a nightcap, and she hoped she wasn’t sending mixed signals or giving him the wrong impression. The thought of what he might be thinking left her feeling unusually light-headed.

Scottie had followed her into the house and was eager to greet her, tail wagging. She stooped over to pet him.

“It’s not that big of a deal, is it?” she whispered. “He knows I was just being neighborly, right? And it’s not like I invited him inside.”

Scottie stared at her with sleepy eyes.

“You’re not helping.”

She pulled two long-stemmed glasses from the cupboard and added wine, filling them both halfway. She thought about turning on the outdoor lights, but decided that would be too bright. Candles would be perfect, but that would definitely send the wrong message. Instead, she turned on the kitchen light, its diffused glow spilling onto the porch. Better.

Glasses in hand, she nudged the door open with her foot. Scottie dashed out ahead of her and raced to the gate, ready to head to the beach.

“Not now, Scottie. We’ll go tomorrow, okay?”

Scottie ignored her as usual while Hope approached the rockers. When she handed Tru his glass, their fingers brushed, sending a little shock up her arm.

“Thank you,” he said.

“You’re welcome,” she murmured, still feeling the aftereffects of his touch.

Scottie continued to stand near the gate as she took her seat, as if to remind her of her real purpose in life. Hope was glad for the distraction.

“I told you we’ll go out tomorrow. Why don’t you lie down instead?”

Scottie stared up at her, his tail wagging expectantly. “I don’t think he understands me,” she said to Tru. “Either that, or he’s trying to get me to change my mind.”

Tru smiled. “He’s a cute dog.”

“Except when he’s running off and getting hit by cars. Right, Scottie?”

His tail wagged harder at the sound of his name.

“I had a dog once,” Tru said. “He wasn’t around long, but he was good company while I had him.”

“What happened to him?”

“You probably don’t want to know.”

“Just tell me.”

“He was killed and eaten by a leopard. I found what was left of him in the tree branches.”

She stared at him. “You’re right. I didn’t want to know.”

“Different worlds.”

“You’re not kidding,” she responded with an amused shake of her head. For a long while, they merely sipped their wine, neither of them saying anything. A moth began to dance near the kitchen window; a windsock fluttered in the gentle breeze. Waves rolled ashore, the sound like shaken pebbles in a jar. Though he kept his gaze on the ocean, she had the sense that he was watching her as well. His eyes, she thought, seemed to notice everything.

“Will you miss it here?” he finally asked.

“What do you mean?”

“When your parents sell the cottage. I saw the sign out front when I was dropped off yesterday.”

Of course he did. “Yes, I’m going to miss it. I think everyone will miss being able to come here. It’s been in the family a long time, and I never once imagined that it wouldn’t be.”

“Why are your parents selling?”

As soon as he asked, she felt her worries resurface. “My dad is sick,” she said. “He has ALS. Do you know what that is?” When Tru shook his head, she explained, and added that there was only so much the government and insurance would cover. “They’re selling what they can, so they’ll have money to modify their house or pay for in-home care.”