Page 40

Chapter 39

Bitter tea

Big Al

T he inside of the Holt residence is far less inviting than the outside. It’s not the decor or design, per se. It’s the vibe—cold and unfeeling.

For the life of me, I can’t imagine Lettie growing up in a home this devoid of spirit and coming out as radiant as she did.

Then again, maybe she was the warmth and light that used to be here. And her departure from this house left a chill behind.

Which is essentially what the woman in front of me deserves.

Charlene Holt passes me a glass of sweet tea and then sits on the other side of the table. We’re in the formal dining room, just a few steps away from the family room.

The memory of sitting across from her at a similar table decades ago slices through my mind. Back then, Abby was on my right. And Lionel Holt was at the head of the table, which now sits empty. That night, Charlene looked down at me with disdain similar to what she does now.

Some things never change.

However, I’ll be the one demanding answers this time around.

Her manicured fingernails tap against the table with outward impatience. And I let her stew.

Rather than jumping in with a heated speech or nasty accusations, I take a few moments to study her. Sticking with an appraisal of her exterior at first. I’ll probe deeper later. I’m not ready to look inside.

It also gives her a chance to sweat it out.

Easily in her mid-seventies, she’s far more frail than she was the last time we met. Her silky gray hair is tied at her nape, and she wears a thin layer of eye makeup.

She moves her glass of iced tea an inch to the right, then spins it so the little flower on the side of the glass is centered. Glancing at the spot beside her, she straightens the placemat and swoops her gaze around the table with a fierce scrutiny, as if daring something to be out of place.

Interesting.

I’m gonna assume she has some OCD tendencies. Dealing with a free spirit like Lettie must have made her batshit crazy. That thought gives me far more pleasure than it should.

Under the weight of my stare, she eventually folds. “Well, what did you come to say?”

I shake my head. “First, I came to listen. Based on what I hear, I’ll adjust my responses accordingly.”

She flashes a fake smile. “And what is it you expect to hear?” Her Southern manners quickly fade, but the twang in her tone lingers.

“The truth. That should come naturally to a God-fearing woman like yourself.”

“How predictable. Throwing my religion in my face.” Her nostrils flare, and her smile turns into a sneer. “We’re all sinners, Mr. Lancaster.”

I force my face to remain impassive. “That we are. Some more than others. Perhaps we should confess our sins while we still have the chance.”

She cocks her head to the side, her hands gripping the edge of the table. “Are you threatening me?”

I bring my palm to my chest, responding with sincerity. “No. I didn’t mean to imply a threat. That was accidental. I apologize for how it sounded.”

She clasps her hands in front of her, rolling her shoulders back and lifting her chin. No other response.

After a few seconds pass, I goad her a little. “See how easy that was, Charlene? Apologizing? Why don’t you try it?”

Her gaze shifts to the corner of the room, and she clamps her lower lip between her teeth. Three long seconds pass.

In a voice as flat and thin as paper, she says, “I apologize for what transpired regarding Violet. I understand why it must be very upsetting for you.”

Wow . She can’t even fucking look at me while offering a half-assed non -apology.

“For what transpired,” I parrot darkly, disgust infiltrating my tone. “Hiding my daughter from me. That’s what you’re referring to, right? Just to be clear.”

Her lips press together firmly, accentuating the wrinkles around her mouth. “Yes. I’m sorry for that.”

“Are you sorry for doing it or because you got caught?”

“Frankly, both.”

A bit of honesty. That’s refreshing.

“Is that all you have to say about it?”

“I’m not sure there’s much else to say.”

I take a sip of tea. My head kicks back at the flavor, and I have to choke it down. “Damn, that’s sweet.”

Her haughty facade slips briefly. “Um, yeah. It’s tea,” she responds with annoyance, reminding me of Lettie when she’s huffy about something.

I’ll let the unprompted thought of my daughter serve as a warning to keep my cool. The woman in front of me, for all her faults, raised Lettie with her version of love. As bitter as that thought tastes, it makes her worthy of some measure of respect. In a weird fucking way that I’ll likely never fully unpack.

This woman also lost her daughter at a tragically young age.

I know better than most how grief can change us.

With that thought, I adjust my approach. She’s obviously not going to be open and forthright with me unless I prompt her more. Given her disposition, I think I’ll start with manners.

“Mrs. Holt,” I start, injecting some warmth and respect into my tone. Even if it kills me. “I was very sorry to learn of Abby’s passing. She was a kind, funny, caring woman. My sincerest condolences.”

For the first time, I get a glimpse of her humanity. Her jowls sag, pulling her lips into a frown. And the eyes that were full of condescension and annoyance reveal the fractures of grief.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

“Losing her must have been hard.”

Her chin quivers. “It was agony.”

“I can relate. In battle, we lost a lot of good men and women. Most of them still had the best years of their lives ahead of them. I also lost my brother when he was only seventeen. He hadn’t even begun to live yet.”

My vocal cords threaten to freeze at the memory of Daniel and what his final minutes must have been like. But I push it away and focus on what I came here to do.

Revealing her true colors, Charlene adds a touch of exasperation to her response, dismissing my attempt to establish common ground. “While those are certainly tragic losses, it’s nothing like losing a child. You can’t begin to fathom the pain I’ve endured every day since she left us.”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to lash out at her. Instead, I ask, “Abby’s been gone for twenty-six years, right?”

“Yes.”

“Wow. That’s a long time. We have that in common. I’ve also been without my daughter for twenty-six years.”

Her lips part, and a dainty gasp escapes. Although she wants to object and point out the differences in my comparison, she doesn’t. I’ll give her credit for that.

Not all narcissists are capable of holding their tongue when someone threatens their beliefs. In this instance, she sees herself as the victim and regards her suffering above all others.

It’s time for a reality check.

“Charlene, I know you didn’t like me back then, and I won’t pretend I was a perfect man. But I cared about Abby.”

“You stole her innocence,” she seethes.

“I treated her with respect, and we both know she wanted me in our daughter’s life. I would have done everything in my power to love and care for Violet. I wasn’t some homeless, jobless punk kid. I was a grown man with the means and capability to raise a child. You had no right to deny me that.”

Her mouth opens and closes repeatedly like she’s fumbling to form words.

As for me? I’ve got plenty to say.

I clench my fist, count to three in my head, and rein in my temper. “Let’s be perfectly clear. You made a choice. You took action to deny me and Lettie of our relationship. This wasn’t just something that happened around you. You made a conscious decision. I’m not gonna sit here and let you justify your actions as happenstance. So whatever you’re about to say, it better not paint you as the victim.”

She doubles down on her version of events. “Alan, you must understand something. We were in a state of immense grief. I was mourning, making arrangements to bury my only child. You can’t possibly understand what that’s like. It defies the natural order of things. The mother is supposed to go first. Losing Abby nearly killed me.”

Her eyes shine with unshed tears. It’s almost enough to make me feel bad for her.

Almost.

“Violet is my daughter. Mine . Not yours. Abby put my name on the birth registration paperwork in the hospital. She wanted me in Lettie’s life. You had it in black and white. The ink hadn’t even dried when you decided to deny me and your daughter of our parental rights. Plus, you denied your granddaughter as well. What about that natural order, huh? You’re here crying because you lost your child, which is tragic. But what you don’t seem to acknowledge is that you processed your grief by taking away someone else’s daughter.”

“We-we lost our Abigail,” she stammers, still refusing to see past the end of her nose.

“And I lost my only chance to be a father. To raise my daughter. To teach her how to walk, talk, swim, throw a damn ball, or drive. I didn’t get to read her stories at bedtime or drop her off at school. I wasn’t there to take pictures of her before her prom and threaten her boyfriend to keep his hands off her. All those experiences and more. You stole them from me and Violet. Memories neither of us can ever get back.”

She looks away, unable to face the pain she’s caused.

Coward.

Undeterred, I continue unloading on her. “I understand that you were grieving, but that’s not an excuse. Did you ever think about anyone other than yourself? Given how you treated me back then, I imagine you didn’t give two shits what would happen to me when I found out. However, what about the granddaughter you claim to love? Can you imagine the trust issues she’s gonna have for the rest of her life, knowing the people who raised her lied to her face every single day? Did you consider any of that? You had to know what you were doing was wrong. But you did it anyway. I deserve to know why, and I deserve an honest apology.”

My shoulder blades slam into the back of the chair as I lean away from the table forcefully.

For a long time, the only sounds are my raucous breathing and her occasional sniffles. Unfortunately, they’re crocodile tears.

While she figures out how to respond, I probe deep into her misty eyes. I doubt she’s going to give me an honest explanation voluntarily. I need to extract it.

“You’re right,” she finally admits, a quiver in her voice. “All of it. You’re right.”

Looking past her tired eyes, I’m surprised to see her response is genuine. I suspect she’s done making excuses for her behavior. Or, at a minimum, she’ll be more inclined to be honest with herself and me.

One thing is clear—Charlene has never stopped grieving for her daughter. The pain and sorrow inside her have withered and rotted, spoiling every part of her.

“Why did you do it?”

“I was being selfish. It’s exactly like you said. I only cared about my suffering and was trying to replace what I lost. I made a lot of mistakes raising Abby. And I never got a chance to make them right. She was taken from me before I could fix things, and it left a hole inside of me. Sadly, Violet didn’t fill the void. I ended up resenting her. Not only because my daughter died bringing Lettie into the world but also because she was so different from Abby. The more I tried to guide her, the more she resisted. She’s stubborn and headstrong. Every day, she reminded me of the daughter I lost. I’ll always love Violet. Unfortunately, she’ll never be Abby.”

Of course she’ll never be Abby. That’s the dumbest thing I’ve ever heard.

She must realize how fucked up this sounds.

No. Not just how it sounds . It truly is fucked up. In every sense of the word.

While I do sense Charlene is finally being truthful with me, her guilt and shame aren’t because of what she did to Lettie and me. I can’t rationalize that for her or make her understand where she went wrong. And I can’t force her to feel remorse over her actions when she’s incapable of empathy and compassion.

I’m unsure if that makes her a narcissist or a sociopath. Maybe she’s both.

With a forced calmness, I say, “I don’t want to put words in your mouth. After tonight, we probably won’t ever speak again. When I leave here, I want to do so with the correct impression. Are you saying that you kept Lettie from me for yourself rather than to punish me?”

She nods.

I continue. “And then you proceeded to try to raise Violet to be a replica of Abby? Not only because you missed your daughter but because you wanted another chance?”

She shrugs timidly, seemingly growing uncomfortable at how I’m recapping this.

Well, tough shit. I’m uncomfortable listening to how her twisted mind processed her grief. It’s only fair she feels the same.

“And when Violet grew to be her own person, you resented her for it. Did I get that right?”

Some of her earlier arrogance returns, clouding her vision with self-righteousness. “You make me sound crazy.”

“I’m not making you sound like anything. I don’t need to because your actions are coming in loud and clear.”

“You think you know it all, don’t you?” Her upper lip curls into a snarl. “I bet you never made a selfish decision in your life.”

My unaffected mask starts to slip. She just struck me below the belt, whether she knows it or not.

No matter how strong I am, how far I go, or how many wrongs I make right, I cannot undo what happened to my brother. The guilt never leaves me. And as I look into Charlene Holt’s eyes, I see her guilt will never leave her either.

She’s grown into a bitter woman because of it. She’s done horrible things because of those past regrets.

I don’t want that for myself.

If I’m going to be a good father to Lettie and a grandfather to her baby, then I need to move past this shit. If I carry it around much longer, I’ll end up no better than this woman.

I came here for an explanation and an apology. One out of two ain’t bad.

“Charlene, I’m gonna wrap this up. I can see now that I won’t be getting an apology tonight. Not a believable one, anyhow. Because you aren’t sorry for what you did to me or Lettie.”

She tilts up her chin and splays her palm over her heart. “But I am sorry.”

“That sensation in your chest isn’t remorse or regret. You’re only sorry for failing to make Lettie into the daughter you lost. And that’s not how apologies work. So I don’t need to hear anything further from you.”

I shake my head, repulsion unfurling inside of me. She stares at me, stunned into silence.

“I’ve only known my daughter for a few months.” I swallow down the sting of that statement and press on. “In that short time, I’ve learned she’s an amazing person, filled with love, hope, and joy. And she still wasn’t good enough for you. How tragic. You lost what could have been a healthy, loving relationship with Violet—your grandchild , not your daughter. Which is how it should have been all along.”

I stand and push away from the table. She remains seated, which suits me just fine.

“I’ll never stop grieving the years you stole from us. Tonight, I’ll leave here with the knowledge that my future with Lettie will be very different from yours. I’ll love her for the person she is and, hopefully, earn her love in return. While you’ll be left with nothing but resentment and disappointment. Seems fitting, considering we reap what we sow.”

She sits there, looking scandalized. But my ability to give a fuck bugged out about fifteen years ago.

Before I leave, I gesture toward the glass of iced tea on the table. “There’s not enough sugar in the world to cancel out the bitterness inside you. Have the life you deserve.”