“Yes, come in,” A muffled male voice carries through the closed door.
Mrs. Bishop opens the door and walks in hesitantly, all of us following closely behind her. George Bishop sits behind his desk, holding a phone to his ear, scribbling something down on a piece of paper. His eyes are trained on whatever is in front of him. I now see where his sons get their looks from. Even though he is as old as my father, he still manages to look young and fit.
“Okay, and what’s their counteroffer?” he says to the other person on the phone. He looks up, his face an unreadable mask. The pen which was dancing over the paper a minute ago stills in his hand as he takes us in. “I’m gonna call you back.”
Mr. Bishop hangs up the phone and sits the device on the table next to him.
“Chloe… Kids… what’s this all about? he asks carefully.
“Who is Phoebe?” I blurt out my most pressing question.
George’s eyes find mine, and I’m surprised by the way he looks at me. I was expecting animosity, resentment, maybe even hate. Instead, all I find is sadness and reminiscence. Almost like I’m an old friend he hasn’t seen in years, and he is sad about the fact that it’s been so long.
“Chloe, dear, do you mind leaving us to talk for a while,” he asks his wife, who seemingly is more than happy to have the opportunity to get out of here.
“Of course, I’ll be in the kitchen preparing dinner if you need me. Will you be staying for dinner?” she asks, looking at her sons, but avoiding my gaze.
“That depends on the outcome of this conversation,” Banks mutters.
“Very well,” his mother sighs before leaving the room, closing the door firmly behind her.
“Why don’t you all take a seat,” George offers, waving his hand to the seating area in the corner of the oversized office. “This is kind of a long story.”
Never letting go of my hand, Banks tugs me to one of the chairs. Sullivan and Oliver are right beside us. We all take seats in the leather chairs. George joins us, sitting down right across from me.
“First, I have to ask, not that it matters because you know now, but how did you find out about Phoebe?” George starts the conversation.
“I found letters and some pictures in my dad’s desk. Pictures with you, my dad, and Phoebe in them.”
“Yes, we used to be friends growing up… all three of us. Best friends, actually.”
“How is that even possible?” Sullivan asks. “How were you friends, and why is this the first time we’ve ever heard of it?”
“Some things are just better left in the past, son. We were just kids when we were friends. That all changed when we grew up, and friendship turned into more between Phoebe and me.”
“So, you and Phoebe were together?”
He smiles, his eyes twinkling, “Yes, I was in love with her. I was her first boyfriend… or so I thought. See, your father was in love with her as well and Phoebe… well, she was in love with both of us, and that led us to the biggest mistake of our lives…” George trails off, looking out the window, his eyes turn glassy and unfocused as he speaks.
“What happened?” I ask when I can’t take the silence anymore.
“We told her she had to choose one of us. We fought over her, both of us terribly jealous of the other one. We were so selfish in our fight for her that neither one of us realized how unhappy she was and how much us fighting hurt her.”
“One of the letters I found said that she was pregnant…” I hold my breath, waiting for the truth to come pouring out.
“Yes, Phoebe got pregnant. She was with both of us at the time, so there was a question of who the father was for a while, but it turned out it was Lionel.
“Am I…” My voice cracks at the end. I don’t know if I can ask the question out loud. It’s still too surreal.
“Yes, Harlow. You are Phoebe’s daughter. Your dad met his new wife when you were just a baby. I always wondered if he told you about your mother. I guess he didn’t.”
To my surprise, I am not as shocked as I thought I would be. I guess part of me was expecting it already. Or maybe the revelation that my life had been a lie doesn’t bother me as much because in some ways my life was already a lie, it was messed up long before I lost my memory.
“You okay,” Banks asks, his voice concerned and gentle as if he has this need to soothe me.
“I am, surprisingly… I’m not that shocked. I don’t know, I can’t explain it. I guess deep down, I already knew.”