Dee Henderson - The Witness

Daniel led the way out into the covered walk path. The catered meal was being set up on a linen-covered table past a terraced display of baby roses cascading down in blankets of pink, red, and white. Daniel held a chair for Marie.

“It’s restful here, Daniel. And quite lovely.”

“I admit I often retreat down here to read the morning paper.”

“I can understand why.”

The caterers departed.

He’d left the meal simple, splitting the difference between the sandwich of an informal lunch and the elegance of a formal dinner plate, to request salads, oven-hot bread, and lots of Texas grilling. “You’ll find the beef strips have a touch of spice and the chicken strips less so.”

“It all looks delicious.”

Daniel lifted back the towel from the basket of hot rolls and offered her one.

Marie settled in to enjoy the meal. They talked of inconsequential things for a while and then Marie smiled. “The Denart was a pretty nice opening diversion. Would it be easier if I just asked why you really called?”

“Why do you think I did?”

“Your uncle recently passed away; it might have been expected, but it’s still a substantial impact for you. There’s your uncle and aunt’s home to deal with and this business. Since paintings are the one thing I deal with, I’ll assume you’re making decisions about the estate.”

Daniel nodded. “Could you handle placing a few paintings if I did decide to let go of some my uncle owned?”

“You’d be better off taxwise placing them with a charity or a museum. The upper end of the art market is soft right now.”

He chuckled. “Marie, that was spoken like a wise dealer. Set expectations low and never oversell what is possible.”

“Your uncle owns some magnificent works; I don’t have to see them to know that. He was a man who did his homework before he made a purchase. But placing even three or four of those in the next year isn’t something to be done in this state if you want the best price they can bring. I’ll be glad to recommend a dealer in New York who can do better for you than I can.”

“We’ll discuss it. I have a feeling my uncle landed more often at your number than his own.”

She offered a small smile. “Maybe that too.”

“Did you know your father?”

She blinked at the question asked so out of the blue, but she finished the beef strip she was tasting and then shook her head. “No. My mother died when I was six, an aunt raised us, and I never knew my father.”

“Ever know his name?”

“No. I never asked.”

He wondered at that and the hurt it meant lived inside. The last thing he wanted to do was cause the pain he was about to. He opened his wallet and pulled out a very old black-and-white photo he’d carried for a few weeks now. “This is why I called you.”

He offered the photo to Marie. She set down her fork after the first glance and soon pushed back her plate to set the photo down on the table. She didn’t say anything for a long time. She was looking at a photo of two people, one of whom would be unmistakable to her. “Henry knew my mother.”

“Yes.”

She turned over the photo, but there was no date. He knew the lady was sharp, quick to put together details, and she’d made the connection. He saw it in the way her expression subtly closed. And an awful pallor had begun to creep into her face.

“That was taken when she would have been about twenty-seven,” he said gently.

“You’ve got my attention, Daniel. There’s more.”

He hesitated and then removed the envelope from his inside suit pocket. “Would you recognize your mother’s handwriting?”

She reached for the letter as if she’d aged a few dozen years.

It was the shortest and tamest of the letters he’d discovered in the bank box, written in the good times between Henry and her mom, when he’d arranged to join her for the weekend about a year after Marie was born. The affair had lasted at least six years from what Daniel had been able to piece together.

He watched Marie absorb a hurt so deep it was killing her and tuck it away deep. The pallor had been joined by a hard set to her jaw, and she wasn’t going to let tears come; they were threatening, but staying forced away.

“You’ll have already done more than just speculate that I’m Henry’s daughter.”

“There were paternity tests run at the lawyers’ insistence years ago. Marie, Henry names you and Tracey in his will.”

“Mandy?” she whispered.

There were three sisters, and Henry’s will named only two. “No. I’m so sorry, Marie.” He’d just ripped her family in two. The oldest sister had a different father. The detective’s report said she had passed away years before, and part of Daniel was relieved at that, to not have to tell a third sister that she was, in reality, only a half sister to Marie and Tracey. The fact their mother had never been married suggested both men in her life during the decade the three girls had been born might have already been married, but it was not something he wanted to speculate on.

Marie shoved back her chair and walked away.

Daniel watched her, understanding some of the turmoil she was in.

He rose as she eventually returned and knew she wouldn’t be able to face more of a meal right now. And while the coffee might help, it would be simply patching over the awkward moment.

“Can we walk the grounds? I think… I need to walk.”

“Then let’s walk.” He settled a hand on her arm and guided her down to one of the exits tucked away, which led out to the landscaped grounds.

“This makes me what, your cousin?”

He pushed his hands into his pockets as he nodded. “Yes. I’d say welcome to the family, but I know it doesn’t feel like such good news right now.”

“Not Mandy.” Marie was still focused on the heart of the problem for her. “A six-year-or-more affair with your uncle, and my mom has someone else in her life before that?”

“I don’t know, Marie. My uncle rarely talked about his personal life, my aunt never hinted at past marriage troubles, and while I have information I’ve gleaned from a few saved letters and photos, it’s not much for answers. That kind of time-for what it’s worth it suggests they really did care a lot about each other.”

“Mom died shortly after Tracey was born. I have memories of someone who was happy, who laughed a lot, who liked to dress up, and who loved elegance. Not much to rest a lifetime of memories on. And she was involved with a married man. Didn’t your aunt know? suspect?”

“I honestly don’t think so. She wasn’t a wallflower, passive, or likely to stay in a marriage where her husband strayed. Even for those times and the turmoil of a divorce, she would have left him.”

Marie bit her lip. “My aunt knew.”

“Yes.” Daniel hated this, being the one who had to break the news. “It appears Henry had an arrangement with your aunt and had helped her financially in the past. Henry mentions you and Tracey in his will. He did have a heartfelt desire to recognize his responsibility and name you and Tracey as his daughters; I know he was waiting to do that somewhat out of respect for your aunt. And about the will-there’s money involved.”

She dismissed the words with a shake of her head, not ready to deal with the mention of money yet. She wiped at tears as she walked in silence for long minutes.

“I’m sorry, Daniel. This has to be particularly cruel to you.”

He was surprised at the direction she’d gone with her thoughts. “The one thing I know about family is that they tend to surprise you. And I can’t say I mind the idea of having cousins. Christmas was going to just be me this year and pretty lonely.”

“You’re not married?” She stopped walking. “I’m sorry. I know so very little about you, or Henry, when it comes right down to it.”