Page 46 of The Facilitator, Part 2

T hree days later, Mackenzie received the call he had been both waiting for and dreading.

It came as we were sitting down to dinner with Gabriella and Alex, who had postponed Boston further.

His mobile rang and he stared at it before he answered.

Dread settled in my stomach just at the tone of his voice when he spoke to Sandra.

He laid his mobile on the table and pulled the napkin from his lap. He slowly screwed it into a ball and placed it on the table.

“My father died,” he said.

I reached out and placed my hand on his arm as he pushed his chair back. “I need to go there and help Sandra.”

“I’ll come with you,” I said.

We left Gabriella and Alex at the house with instructions to contact whoever they deemed needed to know.

Mackenzie held my hand as he drove to the condo.

The closer we got, the tighter the hold became.

He paused before leaving the car, just looking at the group of elderly people who had settled around a table and chair outside Mack and Sandra’s ground-floor apartment.

They each stood as we approached and offered their condolences.

Mackenzie comforted them as best he could before taking a deep breath in and walking through the open front door. I held back just a little.

Sandra was sitting on the couch and crying. Beside her sat a woman she introduced as her friend, Carey. On the other side of her was a white envelope. She picked it up.

“He wrote this for you. It’s something you might find upsetting, but you need to know the reasons he never told you,” she said, cryptically.

Mackenzie didn’t take the envelope. “Whatever it is, I don’t need to know now,” he said.

Sandra wasn’t sure what to do. “Is he in there?” Mackenzie asked. She nodded.

I left Mackenzie to spend time with his father.

Sandra held the envelope to me. I took it, not really knowing what to do and folded it in half.

“It’s okay if he doesn’t want to read it, but maybe you can. Lauren, Mackenzie has a sister he doesn’t know about. It’s all in there.”

“Oh, fuck,” I said. That was just about all he needed right then.

“I’ve begged Mack to tell him for years. He wouldn’t because he was frightened of what Mackenzie would say, and whether it would drive a wedge even further between them.”

“Okay, maybe I’ll read the letter then decide what to do with it, if you give me permission for that,” I said.

It wasn’t my letter to read, it wasn’t my father’s confession, and I had no idea if I was doing right or wrong. Sandra nodded. I turned when I heard a sob and tears immediately pricked at my eyes. My man was hurting and I felt that pain right to my stomach.

I was about to go to him when he returned from the bedroom. I placed my arms around him.

“I’m so sorry, baby,” I whispered. He gave me a sad smile and just nodded.

“Have you called anyone?” Mackenzie asked.

“Yes, the doctor is on the way. Your dad planned his funeral; I have a file here. He was very organised about it all,” Sandra broke down as she spoke.

“What do you want me to do? You were effectively his wife, Sandra, I don’t want to takeover if you don’t want me to.”

She handed him the file. “Please, just respect his wishes and help me. I can’t do it on my own.”

The friend left, promising to return with some food or to make coffee if needed. The men outside sat and silently toasted Mack with a bottle of whiskey Mackenzie had taken from a shelf and given to them. He then went through the file as we waited for the doctor and the funeral directors to arrive.

It was two hours later that Mack’s body was removed. Her friend, who had returned, offered to stay over, and it was another hour before she put a broken Sandra to bed. Mackenzie offered his gratitude to her. The condo wasn’t large enough for us all to stay so we drove home.

The folded envelope hadn’t left my hand and when we arrived back to the house, I was unsure what to do with it.

“What does it say?” he asked.

“I haven’t read it, it’s addressed to you, but I know, roughly what it contains.”

It occurred to me on the drive home, we’d received that call from a young American woman.

I had, wrongly at first, assumed it was Addison.

I had also assumed the call had come from within the UK.

Maybe it hadn’t, maybe it was whoever was named in the letter, trying to reach out because she knew her father was dying.

It begged the question as to why she wasn’t in the U.S. though. A thought hit me.

“Mackenzie, as painful as this letter is going to be, I think it’s very important you read it and soon.”

What if his sister couldn’t afford to get back to the U.S. and that was why she was contacting him?

He took it from me and just held it. “What’s in it, Lauren?”

I pulled out the kitchen chair and he followed suit. When he sat, he placed the envelope on the table.

“You have a sister. A half-sister, I imagine. Sandra begged your father to tell you, for years. The reason why he never did is in that letter.”

He stared at me for the longest time. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he said. I shook my head.

He slammed his hand down on the table and I startled.

The scrape of the chair, as it shot backwards before toppling when he’d stood so fast, echoed and set my teeth on edge.

He stomped to the end of the kitchen and then returned.

He placed both hands on the table, either side of the envelope, and looked at me.

I would hate to have to go up against him in the boardroom!

“You have a sister. I don’t know any more than that, but remember I took the call at home? She might be reaching out to you. She might have only just learned about you.”

He slid it over to me. “Open it,” he said. I looked up at him. “Please?” he added.

I wasn’t staring at him over his abruptness, more that I thought he should read it. I know what I’d said to Sandra, but in the cold light of day, or night as it was then, it didn’t seem right. However, I picked it up and opened it.

I pulled out a typed letter and started to read.

“Mackenzie, this seems so very formal and I’m sorry. We’ve only just gotten to know each other again, and you can call me selfish, I’ll take that. I wanted to spend this time just with you, just us, without burdening you with my confession.

You know I’m dying and I never wanted to do the dramatic here’s a letter type shit, but here’s a letter.

A few years ago, four, maybe five, I was contacted by a young woman.

Kelsey her name is. She told me she was my daughter.

I didn’t believe her, of course, but she was able to describe her mother, detailed times we’d met up and where.

I still didn’t believe her. I was faithful to your mother, Mackenzie, but I wasn’t to Sandra.

That’s my cross to bear and she has forgiven me for that indiscretion, or rather, moment of stupidity.

Kelsey wanted a DNA test to prove she was my daughter. She had a little hesitation herself, I guess. We did the test and she is my daughter. Mackenzie, I know you might hate me for this, and I wouldn’t blame you, but I fell in love with her, as a daughter, obviously.”

I paused at the comment, wondering why the fuck that would need to be clarified. Mackenzie waved his arm, encouraging me to continue.

“Kelsey has Down’s, Mackenzie, and her mother struggled to bring her up alone.

She’s a strong and independent woman and lives in a home now but wants to travel.

I visit her each week. She’s out and about all the time, never in, and we laugh all the time.

She has the kindest heart, and I hate I kept her from you.

I can’t give you a satisfactory answer as to why I did.

The only thing I can say is I believed I’d lost you.

I know we talked but it was obligatory rather than wanted.

Kelsey loved me, unconditionally, and it was like I had a second chance at being a father with her.

She has a companion and they travelled to Europe.

She said she wanted to contact you, I’d told her all about you, but I discouraged her from doing so.

I was a coward. I would have hated for you to be so shocked and hurt if she turned up out of the blue, but I never seemed to find the time to tell you about her, either.

She’s back now. I’ve written her address on the back of this letter. Sandra will take care of her but…

I don’t know what to say to you. I died when your mother did, and I never recovered.

I’ve made some terrible choices. I love Sandra; this isn’t her fault at all.

I won’t insult you by asking for your forgiveness, just a little understanding.

I did wrong, I know that, I just didn’t know how to put it right.

And then when I did, I’d run out of time.”

The letter wasn’t signed off at all but I said the word, ‘Dad ’ because it was cold and rather heartless, and I didn’t want Mackenzie to think he couldn’t even sign off his name.

Mackenzie reached behind him and picked up the chair.

He sat. He didn’t speak. I walked to the kitchen and made him a coffee.

I heard the rustle as he slid the paper over to his side of the table and I watched him read.

He didn’t comment, maybe he hadn’t noticed I’d added Dad to the end.

He turned it over and reached for his phone.

He took a photograph of the address. He then stood and walked to where I was.

He reached above me to a shelf in a cupboard, and over the sink, he set fire to the letter.

He dropped it in and let it burn. All I could do was stand beside him and rub his back.

I could offer him no words of comfort that would ever be enough.

“Kelsey,” he whispered. “Shall I tell you something?” He looked up at me. “I knew about her. I didn’t know she was his daughter, obviously.”

“How?”