The street was quiet, save for one man walking his dog down the other side of the road with an umbrella and a rain jacket on the dog. For Clara, Good memories lived on this street, and she assumed for Sullivan too, until those memories faded into all the bad ones.
A beat passed. “Did you talk to your dad after you left?” she asked, breaking the silence, needing to hear his thoughts.
“No,” he said, with no hint of remorse in his voice. “When I left, I left him behind.” He studied the house, running a hand through his hair. “I’m surprised the house is still standing. I figured someone would have knocked it down and rebuilt it.”
“Well…it’s still standing because your dad left it to me.” Sullivan’s head whirled so fast toward Clara, she laughed softly. “You never knew?”
“No. Never,” he stated, shaking his head slowly. “But I also never returned the lawyer’s phone calls or letters when he contacted me. I had my agent, Marco, tell him to donate whatever money my father had to a cancer charity. I signed the necessary documents, and that was that.” He paused, his eyes searching hers. “Why would he leave you—”
She could see the exact moment when he realized why, and she nodded. “It’s complicated. He knew Mason was yours, but I’m not sure that’s the only reason he left me the house.”
“Did you tell him?”
She let out a long breath, leaning her head back against the headrest before answering. “After that day I confronted him, I didn’t see your dad for a while.” She looked out at the house she’d had painted last year by some students looking for work. She’d had a kid down the road cut the grass, and she tended to the gardens when she could. But the house had remained empty because Clara had no idea what to do with it. “But after a while, I heard he’d lost a lot of weight and was doing really b
ad, so I brought him food once a week and left it on the porch.”
When she looked back at Sullivan, his expression went blank, revealing nothing. “Why would you show him that kindness after what he did?”
Back then, she’d questioned her sanity too. “It’s hard to explain. It’s not like I liked him. I didn’t. Actually, back then, I hated him for what he did to you. But…” She looked out at the house, and her heart ached, remembering that time. “But I guess a part of me understood him. I knew how it felt to have someone you love ripped from your life.” She felt every bit of the silence and turned back to Sullivan to explain. “I’m not saying I thought he wasn’t a horrible person for doing what he did to you, but I couldn’t leave him to…” She paused again and then shrugged. “I just couldn’t let him rot in this house. I wanted…”
“To remind him that someone cared.”
“I guess something like that,” she agreed with a nod. “And he was, and always would be, Mason’s grandfather.”
Sullivan watched her closely, his expression closed off while a hundred things likely played through his mind. Finally, he glanced down at his hands, head bowed. “He didn’t deserve your kindness, but he was lucky to have it. He never came out when you dropped off the food? Never talked to you?”
“No.”
Sullivan’s head lifted, his gaze raw with pain. “Then, how did he know about Mason?”
Clara recalled that day and inhaled against the swell of emotion squeezing her throat. “I was picking up wine at the store. Mason was only three then. But we were going in, and your father was coming out. I almost didn’t recognize him.”
“He looked like a drunk?”
“Worse than drunk,” Clara explained. “He looked dead.” She shut her eyes, wishing she could forget that day. “I’d never seen anyone look like that before. When he saw me, he froze, and I could tell he wanted to say something. Maybe even thank me for the food.”
Beside her, Sullivan’s voice was soft. “Did he thank you?”
She swallowed the hard lump in her throat and looked Sullivan’s way again, finding his expression full of longing. “I think he almost did, but he looked down at Mason, and it was like he’d seen a ghost. I didn’t have to say anything. Your dad knew right then who Mason was.”
Sullivan rubbed the back of his corded neck. “What happened then?”
Clara remembered this part with a smile. “Mason, being Mason, stuck out his hand and said, ‘Hello, I’m Mason Carter.’ Your father didn’t say anything, but he did shake Mason’s hand. I thought that was it, but right before he walked away, he looked at me and said, ‘You are my sun, my moon, and all my stars.’”
“Jesus,” Sullivan breathed. He thrust his hands into his hair and dropped his head, a slight tremble rolling through him.
Emotion rippled across Sullivan’s face, and Clara felt each one of those emotions deep in her core too. “I take it that means something to you?”
Sullivan glanced her way, and his voice shook. “It’s a quote my mom used to always say to me.”
Tears filled Clara’s eyes as Sullivan became blurry next to her. She reached for him, needing to get closer, squeezing his hand tightly. “My God, Sullivan.”
Sullivan blew out a long breath, tipping his head back. “Maybe he wasn’t all the way gone.”
“Not that day,” she said, placing her other hand over the top of his, and repeated, “Not that day.”
A long moment settled between them. The rain continued its rhythmic taps against the windshield. Sullivan watched her, and she watched him right back. It occurred to her she was there for one important reason—to remind him he wasn’t alone. So, she kept silent, letting his soul recover from the damaging memories that had haunted him for years.