Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 68033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68033 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 340(@200wpm)___ 272(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Well, I wanted to talk to you about a few other things.” Martin almost reluctantly took the bag. “And this seemed like the best place to do it.”
Walsh considered the gleaming hardwood floors, the wide windows, the curving staircase. He had slid down that banister, much to his mother’s horror.
“I haven’t been here since…wow, since the divorce.”
“Me either, very much. I’m at the apartment most of the time. I’m considering selling.”
“Selling the house?” Walsh was surprised by the tight lurch of his stomach. “Why would you do that?”
“You just said it. You haven’t been here since the divorce, and neither have I. The better question is why haven’t I sold it yet.”
Martin glanced at the bag in his hands, denting his forehead with a frown. He turned his back to Walsh, walking over to look out the window to the street, running his index finger along the silk rope holding the ends of the velvet bag closed. Martin shook his head, clearing his throat and turning to glance at Walsh.
“I fucked up, Walsh.”
Walsh wanted to rush over and clamp his hand over his father’s mouth, stopping him from going any further, even though he longed to hear what he would disclose.
“Your mother.” Martin paused to swallow visibly. “Your mother was everything to me. I know you find that hard to believe considering that I…that I cheated on her, but she was. And I got so mixed up, so turned around. When I found out who her family was—and I know you won’t believe me, but I really didn’t know when we got married.”
“I believe you.” Walsh leaned against the wall, tracing a dent from one of his childhood misadventures.
“I worked my ass off. I had so much to prove, and all I ended up proving was what a dick I was.”
Walsh wished he could protest; wished he could tell his father not to be so hard on himself, but he’d never forget the sound of his mother’s sobs through these very walls. Walsh watched his father’s fingers tremble over the ropes that would reveal his mother’s final sentiments.
“You gonna open that?” Walsh asked. “I can, um, I can leave if you want some privacy.”
“She died in my arms, you know.” Martin ignored Walsh’s offer, still contemplating the street.
Walsh didn’t respond to his father’s comment. The intimacy he’d witnessed from the confines of his mother’s closet—those last moments in his father’s arms—was too much to speak of. He watched mutely as his father reached into the bag, pulling out a small band of gold. Simple. Unassuming. Practically tarnished, and yet his father’s hand shook as he held it.
“Shit,” his father breathed, blinking rapidly against the tears gathering in his eyes. “She really turned the knife with this one.”
Walsh hung back, feeling like such an intruder. He wanted to ask about the ring’s significance; to find out why his father seemed so undone by it, but the words seized in his throat. His father raised the ring to his lips reverently.
“It’s her wedding ring.”
Walsh remembered his mother’s ring as a huge diamond of at least a few carats, with an accompanying band of platinum. He was sure he’d never seen this one before.
“We basically eloped,” his father went on, not waiting for Walsh’s questions. “And I barely had a pot to piss in. This ring was fifty dollars. All she asked was that it not turn her finger green.”
Martin chuckled, a sound that creaked in his throat.
“Thought your Grandma Walsh would pass out when she got a load of this ring.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “I took one look at the ring on her finger and understood why. It was two years before I made my first million and got your mother the ring you probably remember. I hadn’t seen this one…well, not since then. Can’t believe she kept this cheap old thing.”
His father’s voice collapsed over the last word, a sob choking him. He laid his forehead against the windowpane, his face wreathed in tears. And Walsh understood. He knew what it felt like to believe the rest of your life stretched out in front of you like a barren land because the one you loved wouldn’t share it with you. Like you had missed a window you hadn’t known would close so soon, and would rue it all your life. Walsh promised himself he would not squander his second chance with Kerris.
“All those years.” Martin wiped his nose with the back of his suit jacket sleeve. “I worked so hard to prove myself to her and her family, to get all the things I thought her family expected, and she kept this. Of all the—”
He broke off again, this time burying his face in his big hands, tears sliding between his fingers. Walsh was at a loss. This was only the second time in his entire life he had seen his father unraveled, his composure completely absent. His arrogant assurance vanquished by this inconsolable grief.