Chapter 10 – THE FATHER WHO FINALLY STAYED

Roman didn’t answer immediately.

He looked around Oliver’s bedroom.

At the books stacked beside the bed.

The mismatched socks on the floor.

The silver bracelet resting near the lamp.

And the green sweater hanging awkwardly off his son’s shoulder.

Finally, he said, “Because I didn’t know how to talk about her without getting upset.”

Oliver watched him.

“Was it because you didn’t like remembering her?”

“No.”

“Then why?”

Roman rubbed a hand over his face.

“Because sometimes I missed her so much that I couldn’t figure out what to say.”

Oliver thought about that.

“Grandma says you can just say you miss somebody.”

Roman gave a sad smile.

“Grandma’s right.”

The boy looked surprised.

“You can tell me that?”

“Yes.”

“Even if you cry?”

“Even if I cry.”

Oliver was quiet for several seconds.

Then he moved closer and rested his head against his father’s arm.

“I miss her too.”

Roman put an arm around him.

“I know, buddy.”

They sat together without speaking.

I quietly stepped toward the door.

Before I left, Roman looked up.

“Emily.”

I stopped.

“Thank you.”

I nodded.

Then he added, “And I’m sorry Celeste threatened your job today. That should never have happened.”

I hadn’t expected him to mention it.

“Thank you, sir.”

“You’re not losing your job.”

I gave him a small smile.

“I’m glad.”

He looked toward Oliver.

“And tomorrow, I want to talk about making sure nobody working here is ever put in that position again.”

It wasn’t a grand promise.

But it was one I believed he intended to keep.

The following morning, I found June in the kitchen before sunrise.

She was wearing a borrowed cardigan over her dress and standing beside the counter with a mixing bowl.

“Mrs. Whitaker, you’re a guest,” I told her.

She smiled.

“Then I’m a guest who needs a little flour.”

I laughed.

“What are you making?”

“Orange cranberry bread.”

I looked at the recipe card beside her.

The same butter-stained card we’d found in Rebecca’s cedar box.

“Oliver asked for it,” she explained.

“He remembers it?”

“Not exactly. He remembers Rebecca letting him put the orange zest in the bowl.”

June measured flour into the bowl.

Then she stopped.

“Emily, may I ask you something?”

“Of course.”

“Did Celeste ever seem cruel to Oliver before all this?”

I thought carefully.

“Not in the way you’d expect.”

June waited.

“She made sure he ate breakfast. She remembered his school projects. She sat with him when he was frightened.”

June nodded.

“But she also made him feel he had to behave a certain way to keep her happy.”

“Yes.”

June looked down at the flour.

“That’s a difficult kind of love for a child to understand.”

I agreed.

A few minutes later, Roman entered the kitchen.

He wasn’t wearing a suit.

Just dark trousers and an old gray sweater.

His hair was still damp from the shower.

June stared at him.

“What are you doing up?”

Roman smiled faintly.

“Apparently I’m learning to make bread.”

June handed him an apron.

He looked at it.

“Is this necessary?”

“Absolutely.”

The apron was white, with little blue flowers along the pockets.

Roman tied it around his waist.

I tried not to laugh.

Oliver appeared shortly afterward.

He stopped in the doorway.

“Dad?”

Roman looked up.

“Morning, buddy.”

Oliver stared at the apron.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Your grandmother seems to think it’s required.”

June handed Oliver a small bowl of orange zest.

“Your job, sweetheart.”

For almost an hour, the kitchen felt like an ordinary family kitchen.

There was flour on the counter.

Roman spilled sugar.

Oliver laughed so hard that he dropped a spoon.

June told stories about Rebecca trying to cook when she was twelve.

Nobody asked her to stop.

Nobody looked frightened when Rebecca’s name was mentioned.

And Roman stayed.

Later that morning, Celeste came downstairs.

She was wearing a simple navy coat.

Her suitcase stood near the hallway.

Oliver saw her first.

The smile disappeared from his face.

Celeste noticed.

“Good morning, sweetheart.”

“Hi.”

She looked at the bread cooling on the counter.

“That smells wonderful.”

“Grandma made it,” Oliver said.

June shook her head.

“We all made it.”

Celeste nodded.

For a moment, she looked as though she wanted to say something else.

Then she turned toward Roman.

“I’ve packed.”

He stepped into the hallway with her.

I stayed in the kitchen, but their voices carried through the open doorway.

“I’ve canceled the wedding arrangements,” Roman said.

Celeste nodded.

“I expected that.”

“The vendors will be paid.”

“Thank you.”

He hesitated.

“Celeste, I don’t want you to think the time you spent caring for Oliver meant nothing.”

Her voice broke.

“I did love him.”

“I know.”

“I just wanted him to need me.”

Roman answered quietly.

“He did need you. That’s why what you did hurt him so much.”

She didn’t reply.

After a moment, she came back into the kitchen.

Oliver was standing beside June.

Celeste crouched.

“I owe you an apology.”

He watched her carefully.

“I shouldn’t have kept Grandma’s letters from you. I shouldn’t have made you write things about your mother that you didn’t believe.”

Oliver nodded.

She continued.

“And I shouldn’t have told you that being sad or missing Rebecca could make people stop loving you.”

He looked at her.

“Are you going to do it again?”

“No.”

“Promise?”

She hesitated.

Then she answered carefully.

“I promise I won’t lie to you again. But I understand if you don’t trust that yet.”

Oliver looked down.

“I don’t know if I want a hug.”

Celeste’s eyes filled.

“That’s okay.”

He seemed relieved.

She stood.

Then she took a small brass key from her handbag and placed it on the counter.

“The upstairs storage closet,” she told Roman. “Everything in it belongs to this house. Nothing else is locked away.”

Roman nodded.

Celeste looked at June.

“I’m sorry for taking your grandson away from you.”

June studied her.

“I believe you’re sorry.”

Celeste waited.

June continued.

“But you need to understand that sorry doesn’t give us back those months.”

“I know.”

June nodded.

“Then make sure you never do this to another child.”

Celeste accepted the words without defending herself.

She walked toward the front hall.

Oliver watched her go.

Then he suddenly spoke.

“Celeste?”

She stopped.

“Yes?”

“Thank you for staying with me when I had bad dreams.”

She covered her mouth.

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.”

He took June’s hand.

“But next time I have one, I want Dad or Grandma.”

Celeste nodded.

“That sounds right.”

After she left, Roman didn’t retreat into his study.

He remained in the kitchen.

He helped Oliver slice the cranberry bread.

Then he sat beside June at the small breakfast table.

“I’d like you to come here whenever you want,” he told her. “No invitations through anybody else. No waiting for someone to tell you whether you’re welcome.”

June smiled faintly.

“I think I’d like that.”

“And I’d like Oliver to spend some weekends with you, if he wants to.”

Oliver brightened.

“Can I?”

June laughed.

“Of course.”

Roman looked at his son.

“We’ll work out the details together.”

Oliver took another bite of bread.

Then he looked toward the dining room.

“Dad?”

“Yes?”

“Can we still have Christmas dinner at the big table?”

“Absolutely.”

“With Grandma?”

Roman smiled.

“Especially with Grandma.”

Oliver thought for a moment.

Then he asked a question that made everyone quiet.

“Can we make a place for Mom too? Not an empty chair. Just somewhere she can still belong?”

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