Livvy (12 page)

“Yeah. Hey, I was actually expecting someone else, so–”

“You don’t have to come down every time, you know? We have a master key that takes us to your floor. I can accompany someone up, if you’d like.”

“That would be great. Thank you. I guess I’ve got some reading to do.” I untuck the flap as I get back on the elevator. When it doesn’t respond to the press of the H button, I remember to insert my key.

The note is handwritten, and dated a month before Granna died.

“My dearest Livvy,

“I’ve struggled with how to best deliver this news to you. I’d thought about telling you in person, but ultimately I decided this is a private matter that you and you alone should face.”

When she wrote this, she had no way of knowing she’d be gone a month later.

“I have not told your parents, and I don’t want to play a part in your decision unless you specifically ask me to.”

The elevator stops at my floor, and I almost forget to get out before the doors close to return the car to the lobby.

“When you asked me a few weeks ago if there was any way that Nate could be your father–”

Suddenly, I feel like my heart is going to throb right through my chest.
What is this?

“...if there was any way that Nate could be your father, I told you no, that there was no possible way. You accepted that answer, but I didn’t.”

The letter falls from my hands, sailing quietly onto the floor in the hallway separating my apartment from Matty’s. I stare at it, frozen, fearing news that I don’t want. I’d left this notion behind.
Nate can’t be my father.
Quickly, I walk to Matty’s door and pound on it.

“Matty!” I yell, finding it difficult to produce words when my mouth is so dry. My uncle isn’t home. I knew he wasn’t anyway, but I’m not sure I can continue reading the note by myself, as she apparently requested.

I move slowly toward the paper, picking it up tentatively and flipping it over so the words are hidden from me. I could rip this up right now, and everything would be just how it was. Jack Holland is my father. He’s the only father I want. My knees weak, I fall into the decorative bench in between our apartments. I look at the envelope once more.
Is this a joke, Granna?

A small ding demands my attention toward the elevator, but I can’t tear my eyes away from the letter to greet Finn.
Personal and confidential.
The doors open, and slow footsteps move toward me.
Dress shoes. I know that walk.
It’s not Finn.

“Olivia?” I close my eyes. Although the footsteps have stopped, I know that was Jon’s walk. That’s Jon’s voice. That’s the name that only Jon calls me. I try to take a deep breath, but broken, shallow gasps are all that come. I turn my head and see him. “Are you okay?”

“No,” I answer quickly, standing up abruptly. We face one another and stare, as if we haven’t seen each other for years, instead of weeks. His hair’s longer. He’s more muscular. He’s wearing glasses. A small wooden box tied with a ribbon is tucked under his arm. “What are you doing here?”

“What’s the matter, Liv? You’re as white as a ghost,” he says as he takes steps toward me. I shake my head, hoping he’ll stop.

“What are you doing here?” I repeat. Anger underlies my words.

I hear him swallow. “It’s your birthday,” he explains, gesturing with his gift. “I just took a chance that you’d be here. If it’s a bad time, I’ll...” His voice trails off as he looks at me curiously.

“You’ll what?”

“I was going to say I’ll go, but I’m not leaving until you tell me what’s got you so distraught.”

My eyes glance down at the paper in my hands, just as they start to shake violently. It startles me when he takes the letter from me, since I hadn’t heard his footsteps as he closed the gap between us. He removes his glasses to read the note. “From Donna?” Noticing one of my hands still shaking, he presses his palm against mine in an effort to calm me. His thumb rubs against the back of my hand. In a daze, I look at our clasped hands, watching the motion until he stops when the pad of his thumb reaches the knuckle of my bare ring finger.

He clears his throat. “This is from Donna?” he asks again. I nod my head as I look up at him. “May I read it?”

“Yes,” I whisper. He scans the letter, reading it aloud very softly. I watch his lips move, comprehending only a couple of words every few seconds.

He looks up at me briefly, then returns to the letter, reading louder. “
You accepted that answer, but I didn’t.
What is this Livvy? Is Nate your father?”

“That’s where I stopped reading,” I admit to him. “I don’t know.”

“Where did you get this?”

“James Schaeffer brought it by. He said I should be alone when I read it.”

“
Alone?
For
this
news? Is this some sick joke?”

“It was her request,” I remind him. “I doubt James knew what the letter said.” Jon looks completely dumbfounded.

“I don’t give a damn if it was her request,” he says with a bewildered smile. “I don’t give a damn if it’s
your
request at this point. I’m not leaving you alone to finish this letter.”

“Thank you,” I can barely say. “I don’t want to be alone,” I admit.

“Okay,” he says, relieved. “Can we go inside?” he asks me. I lead the way into the loft as he continues reading the letter to me.

“I wanted to be confident that what I told you was the truth, and I wanted to make sure that you have all the information. When your parents were adopting you, they did their due diligence. We all did. We looked as hard as we should have looked for your father, but not as hard as we could have.”

I take a seat in one of the dining room chairs, the first seat that’s there when I walk in. Jon paces in the entryway, reading on.

“We made sure no one was looking for you. We spoke to some of your mother’s acquaintances, and it’s true that they never knew who your father was.”

“It’s not Nate?” I ask Jon, hopeful.

“I’m not sure,” he answers, then continues.

“When you asked me that question, though, I knew that someday you might want an answer to the real question you were afraid to ask. Who, then,
is
your father? I looked for that answer, and I found it.”
Jon’s hand drops suddenly as he looks over at me in shock.

“Go on,” I encourage him, anxious to hear what’s next.
Granna found my father.
Jon inhales, looking to his left briefly as he raises his hand to read more. His face changes immediately from confusion to awe. He’s staring at the paintings. He glances over his shoulder as he walks into the main living area, looking back at me. I follow him into the next room, sitting down on a couch and pulling a large pillow into my lap. He looks at a few of the canvases, and I notice him shake his head as he returns to the letter. “My God,” he says softly, walking to a chair and sitting down. He glances up at me before continuing, his eyes watering. His voice sounds different when he begins reading once more.

“When our goal was to ensure your eventual adoption by your parents, it was easy to overlook the signs. When my goal was to find the man who gave you life, it was easy to see them.

“His name is Isaiah Grate and he is still alive today.”
Jon pauses.

“Keep going.”

“He still doesn’t know about you, and he never has to.

“That’s all the information I’m going to give you. This may hurt your parents–especially your father–but it’s not meant to do that. I love Jackson and Emily as I love my own son, and as I love you. But you deserve to have the option of knowing the only living blood-relative you may have left. You may want to know for your own children someday... or you may want to burn this letter and never look back.

“You need to make the decision of whether or not you want to know him or know more about him. That has to be your choice. It is also your choice whether or not you want your parents to know this. I am here for you, Livvy.”

Jon’s next to me before the tears even hit my cheeks. He pulls me into him, letting me cry against his nice coat. “She may not be, Liv, but I’m here now, okay?” I continue to sob, unable to answer him coherently. “Shhh, Livvy.” He puts down his glasses and the letter, freeing both of his hands to glide up and down my back, trying to soothe me. He sniffles a few times, too. I look up at him at one point, catching him squinting at the paintings.

I concentrate hard to stop crying and regulate my breathing. “I don’t want another father,” I tell Jon with all the voice I have, which isn’t much.

“Baby, you’ve always had another father... he just didn’t have an identity until today. That doesn’t have to change anything, though, you know?” he asks as he gently pushes me back so he can look down into my eyes. “So he gave you life, so what? He didn’t give you
this
life. It’s safe to say he couldn’t have.”

I nod, picking up the letter and finding where he left off.
“I can help you find him,”
I say, getting choked up again, missing Granna more today than I have in a long time,
“if you decide you want to meet him. I love you always, Granna.”

I blink for a minute, still stunned.
“I wonder if she would have wanted me to have this letter like this... still, after she’s left us.”

“I’m sure she would have wanted you to have the news. Maybe not alone like this, though. She thought she’d be a phone call away. She thought there would be one person in the world who would know along with you. I’m sure she didn’t anticipate you taking this in on your own.”

“Yeah,” I agree, finding the name of my father and running my fingers over the letters.
Isaiah Grate
. “I’m glad you’re here,” I tell Jon. He takes the letter from me and puts it safely aside, hugging me again. I feel his lips press against the top of my head. I relax in his arms, allowing myself to feel comforted even though this isn’t how I’d anticipated him coming back into my life. The anger I felt is gone, replaced by shock and uncertainty. “Jack Holland is my father,” I declare aloud.

“Of course he is,” Jon says. “This information changes none of that, Olivia. Okay?” He leans back and places his finger under my chin, lifting my head so I can look into his eyes. “Okay?” I nod my head, but it seems to change everything. His thumbs swipe at tears as he smiles reassuringly. “I love your hair.”

“I like your glasses.” I pick them up from the table and put them back on him. “They suit you.”

“Thank you.” With his vision restored, he leans back into the couch to look at the wall. He tugs my arm gently, requesting I lean back with him, and I do. He puts his arm around me. “This is phenomenal. You really did thirty paintings?”

“Of course. You read my letters?”

“Faithfully,” he says. “Every word. It took me a few weeks to read the last one, though. After I got the necklace back, I was afraid what the note contained. I should have read it immediately.

“I have to ask, though... was I dreaming that I saw you wearing the promise ring that night you came to see me? Am I mistaken in thinking you still wanted to be together?”

“Not now, Jon, okay?”

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Just... confronted by all of this,” he says as he motions to the wall of canvases, “it kind of makes me forget everything else and remember why I came here today. I don’t mean to be insensitive.”

I nod my head, silently accepting his apology. “If it had been any other circumstance, I wouldn’t have let you through that door today.” I stare at the wall across from us, but feel his eyes on me.

“I understand,” he says simply. “Would you like a glass of water or something?” he asks. I start to get up, but he urges me to stay on the couch. “I’ll get it. What do you want?”

“Tissues,” I request, “and water would be great. There’s a pitcher in the refrigerator. And I think there are some tissues in the bathroom.”

Isaiah
... it’s a biblical name. Possibly Jewish, which would make sense. Mom was Jewish.
Grate
. Is it British?

“Liv, this place is unbelievable!”

“Huh?” I ask, taking a moment to comprehend what he said. “Oh, yeah. Thanks.”

“Oh, yeah? Thanks?” he repeats me with a smirk as he hands me a glass of water and places a box of tissues next to me. “I don’t get any other explanation?”

“I don’t know,” I tell him, my head still elsewhere. “Mom and Dad bought the place next door and did a bunch of renovation.”

“Over the summer?”

“No, after I left for Yale.”

“It’s amazing. It’s perfect for you, don’t you think?”

“Yeah.” I smile politely. “Do you think he’s still alive?”

Jon moves a coaster to the small table next to the couch and sets down his drink. “I would be happy to try to find that out for you. It seems like a fairly unique name. Would you like me to do that?”