“Then we do this your way.”
“You remember my name,” Tara said. “That’s more than I expected.”
“Cassidy… Tara, listen.”
“No,” I said. “You’re done deciding what I get to hear.”
Grant swallowed. “It was complicated.”
“Divorce is complicated. Grief is complicated. But what you did was simple.”
Tara stepped closer. “When you came to Claire’s apartment, did you know Mom was out looking for me?”
Grant said nothing.
“Tara, listen.”
That silence was enough.
“You watched me beg strangers for help,” I said.
His eyes filled. “I made a terrible mistake.”
“No. You erased our daughter and called it tragedy.”
“I have an event,” Grant said. “We can talk later.”
“We’ll come with you,” Tara said.
“I made a terrible mistake.”
At the book event, Grant stood before a packed room.
“Losing a child,” he read, “leaves an empty chair at the table of your soul.”
Tara stiffened.
“You don’t have to,” I whispered.
“Yes,” she said. “I do.”
She stepped into the aisle.
“Was that before or after you left me at Claire’s apartment?” Tara asked. “Funny how the woman you were having an affair with never made it into your book.”
“You don’t have to.”
The room went silent.
“My name is Tara,” she said. “I’m the daughter he claims he lost in Cairo.”
Grant gripped the microphone. “Tara, please. Not like this.”
“Why not? You told it in public for twenty years.”
She placed Claire’s confession, her birthday cards, and Grant’s letters on the table.
“You didn’t lose me,” she said. “You hid me.”
A reporter called, “Do you deny it, Grant?”
Grant looked around. “I was trying to protect everyone.”
I stood beside Tara. “You protected your name. You destroyed ours.”
“You hid me.”
Outside, Tara exhaled hard. “I thought I’d feel better.”
“You might later. Or you might not.”
She looked at me. “That’s honest.”
“I’m trying to start there.”
At the cars, she paused. “Do you still have coffee?”
“Coffee, tea, and probably expired cereal.”
A tiny smile appeared. “I can stay for a little while.”
