Chapter 16 - Poppy's Father
Ethan Vale was alive.
For seven years, Ruth had imagined every possible explanation for his disappearance.
Cowardice.
Death.
Another woman.
Prison.
She had never imagined captivity.
Vincent had not physically imprisoned Ethan all seven years.
He had done something more efficient.
He had framed him.
An armed robbery in Virginia.
A falsified witness.
A planted weapon.
Ethan had been sentenced under another name after using forged identification supplied by Vincent years earlier.
Why?
Because Ethan had discovered the family trust.
He knew if anything happened to August and Daniel, he might inherit.
He also knew Vincent was manipulating Howerin assets.
Vincent removed him.
The government found Ethan in a federal transfer facility.
Ruth sat in a private interview room.
August waited outside.
He offered to stay.
She said no.
Ethan entered wearing prison khakis.
He was thinner.
Older.
But Poppy had his eyes.
Ruth forgot how to breathe.
"Ruth."
She slapped him.
The guard moved.
Ethan raised his hand.
"It's okay."
Ruth hit him again.
Then hugged him.
Both cried.
"I thought you left."
"I tried to call."
"For seven years?"
"I wrote."
"I never got anything."
"Vincent."
Ruth closed her eyes.
Of course.
Ethan sat.
"Is she alive?"
Ruth showed him Poppy's photograph.
His face broke.
"My daughter."
"Yes."
"Does she know?"
"No."
"Can I see her?"
Ruth hesitated.
Ethan nodded.
"I understand."
"No. You don't."
She looked at him.
"She's sick."
His face drained.
Ruth explained.
Everything.
Ethan cried.
Outside, August sat beneath fluorescent lights.
He felt no jealousy.
That surprised him.
Only sadness.
Poppy had another person who loved her.
That should have been good.
But August was human.
A selfish part of him wondered if death was already teaching his family how to replace him.
Daniel sat beside him.
"You look stupid."
August glanced over.
"Thank you."
"You're thinking she won't need you."
August stared.
Daniel shrugged.
"I had ten years of therapy packed into six months. I'm basically a psychiatrist."
August smiled.
"She has a father."
"So?"
"So Poppy deserves him."
"She deserves you too."
August looked down.
Daniel continued.
"People aren't chairs. You don't replace one when another shows up."
August laughed softly.
"When did you become wise?"
"Trauma."
"Fair."
Ethan met August afterward.
The two men studied each other.
Family by blood.
Strangers by life.
Ethan looked at his scars.
"You're August."
"Yes."
"My mother talked about you."
"Yours was my cousin."
"I know."
Ethan swallowed.
"You paid for Poppy's treatment."
August's expression hardened slightly.
"Ruth told you?"
"Yes."
"I didn't buy anything."
Ethan understood the warning.
"I know."
He looked toward the door.
"She loves you."
August said nothing.
"My daughter?"
August's throat tightened.
"Yes."
"Does she call you Dad?"
"No."
Ethan nodded, relieved and ashamed of the relief.
August saw it.
"I won't take your place."
Ethan looked up.
August continued.
"But I won't apologize for mine."
They shook hands.
Three days later, Ethan was released pending review of his wrongful conviction.
Poppy met him in the hospital garden.
Ruth told her the truth first.
She expected confusion.
Anger.
Poppy listened carefully.
Then asked:
"Does Mr. August know?"
"Yes."
"Is he sad?"
Ruth blinked.
"Why would he be sad?"
Poppy shrugged.
"Because people get sad when families change."
There it was.
Children.
Always reaching the heart before adults found the road.
Ethan knelt when Poppy approached.
"Hi."
She studied his face.
"You have my eyes."
He laughed through tears.
"You have mine."
"No. They're mine."
He cried harder.
She hugged him.
August watched from the window above.
Ruth joined him.
"Are you okay?"
"Yes."
"Lie."
He smiled.
"Mostly."
She took his hand.
"You know what she's going to do?"
"What?"
"Love both of you."
August looked at her.
"You make that sound simple."
"To her, it will be."
That night, Poppy drew a picture.
Five stick figures.
Mommy.
August.
Daniel.
Poppy.
Ethan.
She wrote names above each with childish spelling.
August stared at it.
"You put me beside Mommy."
"You're married."
"Logical."
"And Daniel beside you."
"Why?"
"Because he's your kid."
Daniel nearly fell off his chair.
August looked at Poppy.
"My brother."
"Same thing."
Daniel wiped his eyes.
Later, August placed the drawing inside his locked drawer beside the blue horse.
He added one more object.
A letter.
To Poppy.
He had begun writing goodbye letters.
May you like
One for each birthday until eighteen.
He knew he would never see them opened.
