Breaking Josephine (28 page)

My concerns over Colin’s
violent outburst outside the library and his treatment of me made me distrust
him. If my suspicions were right and he knew who I was, then he was at least
hostile, and at worst, a possible threat to my safety. Confronting him alone,
at his house, would be a terrible idea if he turned out to be dangerous. At the
same time, I trusted William, and couldn’t imagine he would want me to
disappear if we were siblings. From what I’d seen of William, and from what
Macy had said, William didn’t appear to be motivated by money and had plenty of
it already. If that was the truth, finding out he had a sister might not be a
bad thing. But I didn’t want to risk being wrong. I wanted to find out what
secrets the Blackstone beach house might be hiding on my own, without seeing
anyone.

Once the sun had
completely set past the ocean waves, and I was sure no lights were on, I crept
closer to the house. I skirted around the wood deck to the windows on the far
side to look in, but the plantation shutters on the interior of the house were
closed, blocking my view. I crept back around to the deck and climbed up to
look in the sliding glass door. I pressed my hands up to the glass and cupped
them around my face. While difficult to see any detail inside the dark house, I
could discern the outlines of the kitchen and living room, both seemingly
empty. I vaulted over the railing of the deck and slid over to the wall of the
house. I tentatively put my foot on the ivy-covered trellis covering the wall
and shifted my weight. The trellis held, so I gabbed ahold of it, using it as a
guide to climb up to the second floor balcony. I swung my leg over the balcony
and jumped down. Crouching, I turned around and made my way to the glass-paneled
door. Peering in, I could make out the outline of a large, white bed. I’d never
been in the second floor of the Blackstone’s beach house, and I hoped I wasn’t
about to walk in on a sleeping resident. Taking a deep breath, I gently tried
the handle, moving it easily. I pushed open the door silently and braced myself
for an alarm, but I heard nothing. The room was dark and I shut the door behind
me, crouching behind the mattress, waiting for my eyes to adjust to the poor
light.

As my eyes adjusted,
the contours of a seldom-used guest room took shape. The oversized bed with its
fluffy comforter and pillows occupied most of the space, leaving room for only
a nightstand and small dresser. A few photographs of the beach hung on the
wall, but the nightstand and dresser were free of personal effects. I walked slowly
to the open door and looked into the hallway, seeing nothing. I crept down the
hallway until I reached the stairs, pausing at the top. Taking a deep breath, I
quietly made my way down the pale wood stairs, stopping when I reached the entryway
on the first floor.

I closed my eyes
and thought to myself about the first floor of the Blackstone’s house. I’d only
been inside once or twice, but I remembered the office just a few steps off the
entryway, its double french doors hidden by the stairs. Walking softly, I
walked around the stairs and found the office, dark and deserted. I flipped on
the light and looked around. Two upholstered guest chairs sat just inside the french
doors, facing a large mahogany desk with a grand, front-curving arc. Behind the
desk, bookcases and a lateral file cabinet in matching mahogany lined the wall.
I went quickly to the file cabinet, set my bag on top, and opened the top
drawer. It appeared to be records on the film studio in Los Angeles. Nothing
relevant. I opened the next and found more of the same. I turned and looked at
the desk. It had drawers on one side of the arcing front that might hold files
as well. I opened the top drawer and flipped through the hanging files: bills
for the beach house, on Colin’s college, on William’s water polo, but nothing
related to Henry Blackstone or his will. I rubbed my temples with my fingers. Maybe
I imagined all of Colin’s animosity, maybe there was nothing more to find out,
I thought to myself. I opened the final drawer but found random office
supplies, a stapler, tape, and paper clips. I shut the drawer in frustration,
but paused, and opened it again.

I opened it and
shut it, looking at the contents inside and the outside dimensions. It didn’t
make sense. The drawer looked like a file drawer from the outside, but from the
inside, it was shallow and not nearly deep enough for files. I took the office
supplies out and felt around the edges of the drawer. At the back of the drawer
my fingers felt a slight indentation. I grabbed a letter opener off the desk
and reached back into the drawer, wedging the sharp end into the space at the
back. The bottom gave way, popping up and revealing a concealed compartment.

I set the false
bottom of the drawer on the floor and pulled out a manila file folder. I stepped
back and perched on the edge of the file cabinet, opening the file. Sitting in
front of the file was a copy of Henry Blackstone’s will. I skimmed the
paragraphs, reading over the legal jargon I didn’t understand, until I found
what I was looking for.

Henry’s will left
a third of his estate to each of his three children, including me. The will
read, “I hereby leave one third of my estate to each of my three children,
William Henry Blackstone, Colin David Blackstone, and my previously
unacknowledged daughter Josephine. I instruct my lawyers with this legal
instrument to investigate the birth of Josephine, born on December 8, 1990, to
Becca Anne Kincaid, locate her, and inform her of her inheritance. Upon
locating Josephine, the assets of my estate may be released to my children, my
wife having more than enough of her own assets to live comfortably on her own. In
the event Josephine cannot be found within three years of my death, I instruct
the executor of my estate to divide the estate evenly between my two sons,
William and Colin.”

My mouth fell open
and my hand involuntarily went up to my face. Now I understood why Colin was so
desperate for me to leave. If he knew who I was, then he needed me to disappear
and never be found. From what Colin had said, his father had died over two
years ago, meaning he only had months to go before his father’s estate would be
released and he could have half of what should be mine. That must have been why
he was furious at his lawyers, wanting them to speed it up and give him his
money before anyone found out about my connection to the family.

I put the will
down on top of the cabinet and picked up the next paper in the file. It was a
letter, dated December 8, 2010—my twentieth birthday—declaring:

My Dearest Josephine,

I am writing this letter to you, in sincerest
apology for my actions these past twenty years. I never expected to meet your
mother, or fall in love with her. But I did. I loved her, and she loved me, and
we spent an entire spring together in Cannon Beach, blissfully happy and in
love. We met when I came to the Diner one January night, after I’d had a brutal
fight with Michelle, my wife, and flown up to Cannon Beach to get away. Becca
was there, smiling, and happy and full of life. We connected on a level I couldn’t
describe.

I lied to her, and told her I was single and
never married, and we started dating. I knew I was much older than she was, but
it didn’t matter to her or to me. I flew back as often as I could that winter,
and when her parents died in February, and she lost the Diner, I decided to come
out to Cannon Beach to be with her. I had already approached Declan Hartley
with the possibility of selling the timber holdings owned by my father’s
company, the Blackstone Group, to Hartley Industries, and used it as an excuse
to be in Oregon all spring, away from my family. At the time, I was eager to
sell the holdings so I could launch the film studio I knew I could make a
success, so it made perfect sense for me to stay.

We spent nearly every day together that spring,
falling in love. The morning of the Daugherty’s first Memorial Day social,
Declan came to me and told me of the investigation into my background that
Hartley Industries’ board required. I knew if they found out about Becca, they
would never approve the transaction. I was married, with a three year old at
home and another due in only a month. I thought maybe I could explain I was
leaving my wife and getting a divorce to marry Becca, but I didn’t know if that
would be enough.

I had already invited Becca to the social weeks
before, and when I saw her that night, she took my breath away. I had given her
a string of Tahitian pearls and she wore them, along with a simple, pale blue
dress. She radiated beauty. I knew in that moment that I loved her and wanted a
life with her. But in order for that to happen, I needed to tell her the truth.
I asked her to walk down to the beach with me that night, and I opened my mouth
to speak, but before I could say anything, there she was, telling me she was
pregnant with my child. I was overwhelmed. Here I already had a pregnant wife
and a child back home, and Becca was pregnant too. I didn’t know what to do so
I confessed, abruptly, pouring my secrets out to her. I told her about
Michelle, and William, and the baby on the way, all waiting for me in Los
Angeles.

I watched as her love for me turned to hatred
in her eyes. She slapped me across the face and ran away from me. I never saw
her again. Afterwards, I appreciated what I had done, and how I had treated
her, but it was too late. She refused to see or speak to me. So I went home. And
I saw William, and I saw Michelle, about to give birth to Colin, and I decided
that was where I needed to stay. I called Declan and told him about Becca, and
how it was over, and a mistake, and I asked him to help me fix it. I asked him
to convince her to get rid of the baby and keep quiet so the business deal
would go through. He agreed for the sake of his company, but I could tell he
hated me too, and hated himself for helping me. And I hated myself too. I hated
myself for what I’d done to Becca and what I’d asked her to do.

After thinking it over, I couldn’t live with
it, so I called Declan and told him nevermind, I told him I’d support Becca and
acknowledge my child. But he told me it was too late, that she’d miscarried and
there was no baby; Becca had moved to New York and was moving on with her life.
I was devastated. I’d lost Becca and I’d lost my only connection to her, my
unborn child.

I didn’t know until after Declan died that you
even existed. The weekend Declan died I got his letter, telling me that he had lied,
that I had a daughter, Josephine, and that Becca was back and wanted me to
acknowledge you. At the time, my career was soaring, my boys were teenagers,
and my marriage was sound. If I acknowledged you, then I would be hurting my
family. I knew you were cared for and loved—your mother was an amazing
woman and I knew she would be an amazing mother. When I found out Declan had
died in a car accident, I hoped the whole issue would just disappear, and it
did. I never heard anything from the court or from your mother.

When I found out I had cancer last year, I
realized I might die without ever meeting or acknowledging my daughter. So I
went on a search to find you. I’ve spent the last year of my life scouring the
country for your mother and for you, Josephine. If you are reading this letter,
it means I have died without ever having the chance to meet you and apologize
for the horrible pain I’ve caused you, your mother, and my family. I loved your
mother and she deserved so much more, you deserved so much more, than what I
gave you. I am truly sorry that I never acknowledged you, that I never made you
a part of my life. I hope that when you read this, you can find it in your heart
to forgive me. And though this is too much to ask, I hope that someday your
mother can forgive me as well. I don’t deserve it, I know.

I love you Josephine. I have loved you every
day for the last twenty years.

            Your
father,

            Henry
Blackstone

I slid down off
the file cabinet to the floor behind the desk, tears pouring down my face, as I
held my father’s letter to my chest. I finally had answers to all the questions
I’d been struggling with since I uncovered my mother’s deception. I had a
father, a father who was deeply flawed and who let himself fall in love with
one woman while he was committed to another. But in his own way, he loved me. He
wasn’t perfect, in fact, some would say he was a horrible person who made bad
decisions and treated people he loved poorly. But he recognized the wrongs he
committed, and he tried to fix them and make amends before his death.

And I finally
understood why my mother hid from my father. He had lied to her and she
couldn’t forgive him. She couldn’t see he was torn between the family he
already had and the family he could have with her. As I started to put the
pieces of my broken past back together in my mind, I heard footsteps in the entryway.

I looked up and saw Colin standing in the doorway,
his sandy hair mussed, wearing
an out-of-season barn jacket over his t-shirt and jeans. He looked all together
wild and unkempt and unpredictable—terrifying even.

“I see you’ve
uncovered the dark family secrets, dear sister,” he said, smirking at me. “Too
bad you won’t be able to break the news to anyone.” He leaned on the door jamb,
practically laughing at me, his hands stuffed into his jacket pockets. I felt
nauseous, looking at Colin as he examined me with a venomous hatred that made
me shudder and the hairs on my neck stand up in apprehension.

“Why is that?” I
asked, trying to sound calm while I wiped my face clean of tears.