Chapter 11 - THE APOLOGYDerek did not hug Noah.
That surprised me.
The old Derek would have.
Not because Noah necessarily wanted it.
Because hugs photographed well.
This Derek stood six feet away and waited.
Noah looked at me.
I nodded.
He stepped forward.
Not into Derek’s arms.
Into a chair.
“Can we sit?”
“Yeah.”
Derek sat across from him.
I took a chair near the door.
A family therapist remained in the adjoining room if needed.
For thirty seconds, nobody spoke.
Then Noah asked:
“Why did you say that at the wedding?”
Not prison.
Not money.
The wedding.
Derek closed his eyes.
“Because I was cruel.”
Noah frowned.
“Why?”
“I wanted people to laugh.”
“At me?”
“At your mom.”
“But you talked about me.”
“I know.”
“Did you think I was baggage?”
Derek’s face broke.
“No.”
“Then why say it?”
“Because I cared more about impressing strangers than protecting you.”
Noah stared at him.
That answer was painfully honest.
Derek continued.
“It was one of the worst things I’ve ever done.”
“Worse than stealing?”
Derek almost smiled.
“In some ways.”
Noah thought.
“I saw the video.”
My stomach tightened.
“When?” I asked.
“Last year.”
“How?”
“Kids at school.”
Of course.
I had protected him from the internet for years.
I could not protect him from growing up.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You looked happy.”
My heart cracked.
“I didn’t want you sad again.”
I crossed the room and knelt beside him.
“You never have to protect me from your feelings.”
He nodded.
Derek looked at us.
There was grief in his face.
Not jealousy.
Grief.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered.
Noah looked at him.
“Everybody says you’re sorry.”
“I am.”
“That doesn’t fix it.”
“No.”
Derek swallowed.
“It doesn’t.”
Noah leaned back.
“Then what happens?”
“You decide.”
“What?”
“You decide whether you want me in your life.”
“That’s a lot.”
Derek laughed softly.
“Yeah.”
Noah looked at me.
I said, “You don’t have to decide today.”
He relaxed.
Then asked Derek, “Are you still married to Brittany?”
“No.”
“Do you have a job?”
“Yes.”
“Doing what?”
“I work at a warehouse.”
Noah’s eyebrows rose.
“You used to work for Grandpa.”
“I did.”
“Do you like the warehouse?”
Derek considered.
“I like that I go home when my shift ends.”
I looked at him.
That answer told me prison had changed something.
Maybe not everything.
Something.
They talked for forty-five minutes.
Baseball.
School.
Derek’s prison job in the library.
Noah’s obsession with space.
At the end, Noah stood.
Derek stood too.
Noah hesitated.
Then hugged him.
Very briefly.
Derek’s eyes closed.
His hands stayed at his sides for half a second before gently touching Noah’s back.
When they separated, Derek wiped his face.
“Can I see you again?”
Noah looked at me.
I didn’t answer for him.
“Yes,” Noah said. “But not every day.”
Derek laughed through tears.
“Deal.”
Outside, I walked Derek to the parking lot.
He had no car.
A bus stop waited across the street.
“I can drive you,” I said.
He looked surprised.
“You don’t have to.”
“I know.”
We drove silently.
Then he said, “Your father hates me.”
“He doesn’t.”
“He should.”
“He thinks you’re responsible for what you did.”
“Same thing.”
“No.”
Derek stared out the window.
“He visited me.”
I almost swerved.
“What?”
“Twice.”
“When?”
“Last year.”
“Dad never told me.”
“I asked him not to.”
“Why did he visit?”
“To talk.”
“About what?”
“You.”
Of course.
“What about me?”
“He wanted to know whether there was anything else you might discover later.”
I laughed once.
“Practical.”
“Very Richard.”
“You call him Richard now?”
Derek smiled faintly.
“Calling him Mr. Mercer felt weird after prison.”
“What did you tell him?”
“Everything.”
I glanced at him.
“Everything?”
“Everything I could remember.”
Then his expression changed.
“There is something I never apologized for.”
“Pick one.”
He almost smiled.
“Hiding your mother’s letters.”
I stopped at a red light.
“What?”
Derek looked down.
“After we married, Richard wrote you.”
My chest froze.
“No, he didn’t.”
“He did.”
“How do you know?”
“I found them.”
The light turned green.
Cars honked.
I pulled into a parking lot.
“Explain.”
Derek’s face had gone pale.
“Your father sent letters to our first apartment.”
“I never saw them.”
“I know.”
My voice became quiet.
“What did you do?”
“I threw them away.”
I stared at him.
“Why?”
“I was jealous.”
“Of my father?”
“Of anyone who might remind you that you had somewhere else to go.”
The words hit harder than I expected.
“How many?”
“I don’t know. Five. Six.”
“Over how long?”
“Two years.”
I opened my door.
“I need you to get out.”
“Emily—”
“Get out.”
He did.
Before closing the door, he said, “I’m sorry.”
I drove away shaking.
I went directly to my father’s house.
He was in the garden with Noah.
I asked Noah to go inside.
Richard looked at me.
“What happened?”
“You wrote me.”
He froze.
“When Derek and I were first married.”
My father’s face changed.
“How do you know?”
“He told me.”
I crossed my arms.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
“You remember?”
“Every one.”
I looked away.
“What did they say?”
“Mostly that I was sorry.”
“Why didn’t you try another way?”
“I did.”
“How?”
“I attended one of your events.”
I frowned.
“When?”
“The year after you married.”
“I never saw you.”
“I stood outside.”
“Why didn’t you come in?”
“Because you looked happy.”
I closed my eyes.
All the lost years suddenly became complicated.
I had blamed my father.
He had blamed himself.
Derek had quietly ensured distance remained.
“I would have answered eventually,” I whispered.
“I know.”
“How?”
“Because you’re your mother’s daughter.”
Tears came.
Richard stepped closer.
“Emily, don’t give Derek power over fourteen years. We both made choices too.”
I looked at him.
“I was so angry.”
“So was I.”
“We wasted so much time.”
“Yes.”
There was no gentle lie.
We had.
My father hugged me.
Not elegantly.
Not carefully.
Like a father terrified his daughter might disappear again.
That night I called Derek.
He answered immediately.
“I’m not forgiving this today,” I said.
“I understand.”
“You don’t get to give me one confession at a time forever.”
“I know.”
“If there is anything else—anything—you tell me now.”
Long pause.
Then he said, “There is.”
Of course.
My heart sank.
“What?”
“The night I decided to leave you…”
I waited.
“It wasn’t because of Brittany.”
“What was it?”
“You got a voicemail from your father.”
I frowned.
“I never heard one.”
“I deleted it.”
“What did he say?”
Derek’s voice cracked.
“He said your mother had left you something.”
My pulse accelerated.
“What?”
“I don’t know.”
“Derek.”
“I swear. He said he had finally found something your mother wanted you to have when you were ready.”
I sat down.
My mother.
A final message.
A letter.
Something.
Hidden not by Derek.
Delayed by all of us.
I called my father.
He answered.
“Emily?”
“What did Mom leave me?”
Silence.
Then he said, “Come tomorrow.”
“No. Tell me.”
His voice softened.
“A house.”
I frowned.
“What house?”
“The lake house.”
Memories flooded back.
My mother painting on the dock.
Bare feet.
Blue water.
Music through open windows.
“I thought you sold it.”
“I told everyone I did.”
“Why?”
“Because your mother asked me to keep it for you.”
I couldn’t speak.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I tried.”
Derek’s deleted voicemail.
The letters.
Years.
“When can I see it?”
“Tomorrow.”
“No.”
I stood.
“Tonight.”
For the first time in years, my father laughed like he had when I was a child.
“All right.”
We drove through darkness toward the lake.
May you like
Noah slept in the back seat.
And for the first time, the past waiting for me wasn’t something I feared.
