Page 116 of Structure of Love
The graveside service was short and sweet, with a pastor giving a prayer over it, inviting the family to come up and pay last respects. Scant few people were here. Honestly, it didn’t surprise me. My grandfather had been a difficult man to get along with, and his attitude had only gotten worse as he’d grown older. It was probably why he’d lost touch with so many family members and friends, until he was left with this gathering of a dozen or so people.
What was it about time that changed a person? I’d been a child, granted, but when I was about ten, I remembered riding around in the truck with him sometimes and often stopping because someone would flag him down to chat for a minute. He’d been a sociable enough person back then, so what had changed him until he turned into a bitter man?
The service ended and people started crossing the grass to their cars. I broke off from my group, coming forward to the grave, and looked down. A polished wood casket met my eyes, not the face of a man I’d once loved beyond reason. I stared downward for a long moment before trying to take everything I felt and release it through words.
“You disappoint me, even in death. You loved me once. You loved all us grandkids. You used to take us all out to parks and lunches and fairgrounds. You used to delight in us. I have no idea what changed, why you retreated from us so harshly. But I blame you for it. I was a child. You should have stepped up and helped me. I’m not sure if I can ever forgive you for failing me like you did.”
I sucked in a deep breath, let my head fall back for a second. Took in another cleansing breath.
“When I heard you’d died, I mourned you. Then I got the paperwork from the lawyer and realized I shouldn’t have. You’resuch a fucking asshole. If you suspected your son wasn’t your child, you should have addressed that in life, not abandoned him on a mere suspicion.”
That had been an ugly discovery on Tuesday, when the paperwork had been emailed. I’d read through it with Gage, not quite understanding most of the legalese, but he did. With as much legal code as he read, not to mention contracts, it was no surprise he was able to understand it better than I could. What we’d learned had thrown my entire life into a different perspective.
My grandfather apparently hadn’t believed my father was actually his child. There was a time when he and my grandmother were fighting frequently, early on in their marriage, but they’d made up and had my father shortly after. Apparently he didn’t suspect anything then, but when he turned fifty or so, Grandma McNair started having multiple affairs. He was the type to not believe in divorce, so instead he buried himself in work.
And ignored the problem.
Seemed the many affairs and his marriage turning rotten were what had made him so bitter, toward the end. Why he blamed all of us for his bad marriage was something I couldn’t understand. It looked like it was around this time he started harboring doubts about the paternity of his son. My father wouldn’t get a dime of his inheritance until he passed a DNA test.
Which would be funny if it weren’t so sad.
Why did it even matter at this point if he was biologically Grandfather’s son or not? He’d raised him, attended his wedding, played with the grandkids, all of that before dark suspicions set in. He hadn’t even known for sure and had chosen to not confront his wife about it. After he was dead and gone, what did it even matter?
“I hope you don’t pass on,” I finally said. “I hope you linger as a ghost so you can watch what we do with our lives. You don’t deserve to rest peacefully after everything you did to this family. To think I once worshipped you. Only a child could make that mistake, I guess.”
Shaking my head, I turned, intending to rejoin my chosen family.
But instead came nearly face-to-face with my father.
Raymond McNair looked like he’d aged about a decade in the days since I’d seen him. He no longer stood tall and proud but had a slope to his shoulders, and he hadn’t shaved this morning, the bristle only making him look unkempt.
“Logan,” he greeted in a soft, exhausted voice. “I realize you’re angry with me about not telling you he died—I’m sorry for that. I was just in such shock. I read the will as he lay dying, wanting to anticipate what his wishes were for his funeral, only to learn he didn’t believe I was his son. I…” His eyes filled with tears. “I didn’t know what to do.”
“So it wasn’t because you’re angry with me for taking Erin away?”
“I’m still angry with you for that. Hate you a little for it. But my mother-in-law read us the riot act for how we handled Erin, the funeral, all of it. I realize now I was in the wrong. I won’t ask forgiveness. I know you won’t give it.”
I might, actually, given more time. I didn’t want to stay angry, anger was exhausting. I wanted him to leave me alone. Maybe that was grief talking, as I still struggled with everything I’d learned over the past few days. I let him talk, though. He was clearly getting to the point.
“I just want to ask a few questions. Did he explain, at all, why he gave you the bar?”
“Only a little.” I saw no harm in telling him, and I might get some information from him in return. “He left a singlenote attached to the deed of the building. I’m paraphrasing, but it basically said he knew I could manage the bar, since I’m experienced at doing it myself, and he wanted his legacy to live on.”
Raymond stared at me, mouth quivering under strong emotion. “So myself, and my children, are no longer his legacy?”
“It probably does feel like a punch in the mouth, but he really didn’t think you were his son. He definitely didn’t think of us as his grandchildren, either.” Everything madeso much senseof how he’d treated me in my young adult years. If I’d done my math right, he basically decided Raymond wasn’t his son when I was about fourteen, which was when he became pretty hands-off with me. “Don’t think I was a favorite of his. I wasn’t. He just didn’t have anyone else to leave the bar to.”
Raymond’s head jerked in a shallow nod.
“Will you take the DNA test?”
“I don’t know. Do I want anything from a man who didn’t think I was his son?” Raymond looked at me curiously. “Will you keep the bar?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “Gage suggested that I take a year, let grief and anger pass, before making any decisions. I can let the bar run—it’s got good managers and employees—and balance it with Blackbird. I don’t see any harm in letting it operate for now.”
He accepted that, too.
This had to be the most peaceful, cooperative conversation I’d ever had with my father. Strange, how it took death to accomplish this. It felt awkward as hell, with neither of us knowing what to say to the other. I couldn’t say I enjoyed standing here when my skin suddenly felt prickly.