Gina gave a nervous giggle. “You, Granddad?”
He nodded. “Me. Of course, I didn’t see it that way. But trust me, I was. I had one stabilizing person in my life—my little sister, Tate. Do you remember Tate, Katy Lynn?”
Katy Lynn frowned at Ev. “A little. I was only three or four when we … when Mom and I left. And when we came back, Aunt Tate was … was gone. But I remember she was pretty and a whole lot of fun. I have this memory …”
Ev watched his older daughter travel back in time.
“A memory of Tate letting me finger-paint on this huge sheet of paper. We made dozens of handprints, hers and mine, in all kinds of colors, and then we took off our shoes and made footprints too.”
Ev pressed his lips together and glanced down at his hands. “She loved playing with you, Katy.”
This was even harder than he’d expected.
“Tate loved and admired me. When I was with her, I was at my best—a proud and kind big brother. And we both loved to write. When she was just six, she and I started making up the most whimsical stories together.” He could not help but smile with the memory.
“Tate had a hard time with the social circle around which our family revolved—she was a sensitive soul. I wanted to protect my little sister from all the rotten stuff around us, but …” He shrugged. “But I went to college and only saw her on occasional weekends. I basically left her to fend for herself in a world she hated.
“In school, one professor in particular believed in my talent so much that he convinced me to publish my senior paper in a literary magazine. So I did, and it got some positive reviews. Of course that went straight to my head. I was moving in the fast lane. We”—he glanced at Annie— “we were moving in the fast lane.
“And Tate was miserable. She was about nine or ten at the time. She used to tell me that I was acting snobby, bigheaded. I should have listened, but I guess I was blinded by success … and love. When I met your mother, I knew she could go places with me. She was witty, blunt, gorgeous. And tough. We got married right after I graduated. We were happy back then, weren’t we?”
Annie shrugged. “We were spoiled brats, living off our parents’ money, but we were happy.”
“Then the war came. I was drafted in 1943. I came home in ’45, and nine months later you were born, Katy Lynn. The happiest day of our lives.”
He paused and glanced at his daughter. Did she, could she, believe him?
“With the encouragement of that professor and the help of my parents’ money, I started writing full time. I produced a short novel in 1948. My professor insisted I send it to a publishing house. After a few rejections, a big house in New York picked it up, put a lot of money into the promotion, and it became what they now call a cult book. College students especially liked it. I made a lot of money and was thrust straight into a spot I was not ready for—fame. Interviews, pictures in magazines, book tours, acclaim. I thought I was on the road to becoming the next F. Scott Fitzgerald.”
“His publisher called it ‘hauntingly beautiful,’ ” Annie said.
“You wrote a book, Dad?” Janelle said. “Why didn’t you ever tell us?”
“You’ll understand in a minute, Janelle.”
Annie left the room and came back a moment later holding a thin paperback novel. She handed it to Janelle.
“
The Homegoing
. By Ashton Mack?”
“Back then everyone called me Ashton—my first name—and they called your mother Stella.”
“Stella! Like in
A Streetcar Named Desire
? I just read that this year!” Gina volunteered.
“Exactly,” Annie said. “I didn’t mind my first name until Tennessee Williams wrote that play, and suddenly my being Stella wasn’t too much fun. As you recall, she wasn’t the swiftest chick in the play.”
Gina laughed. “True. But she was nice.”
“Anyway, fame went to my head. When I wasn’t at parties getting drunk, or worse, I was off signing books.” Ev did not want to pronounce the next words. His voice caught, but he pushed on. “I left my young wife and baby daughter for weeks at a time—signings, parties, speaking engagements, interviews. I was proud and self-righteous. I devoted all my time to those things and hobnobbing with the intelligentsia. I thought I hung the moon.”
He lowered his head. “I saw other women. I wasn’t … I wasn’t faithful to your mother.”
Silence invaded the room. Annie took his hand again.
“I failed your mother, and I failed you, Katy Lynn. After two years of it, your mother got fed up.” He squeezed her hand. “And rightly so.”
His daughters listened without a word.
“She took you, Katy, and left. I wanted to throw myself off the bridge. Life had no more meaning—all the recognition and money and fame meant nothing. I did what a guy does. I drank. And drank.”
Katy Lynn looked first at Ev, then at Annie. “I remember that. I remember us leaving. It
was
awful.”
“Yes, it was. And I was fully to blame. I’ve poured my heart out in shame and repentance to the Almighty and to your mother. Amazingly, they forgave me—a long, long time ago. But I need to ask your forgiveness, Katy Lynn. And yours, Janelle, and Gina, even though you weren’t part of the story yet. I’m sorry for that heritage.”
Janelle gave a tiny nod when he looked at her. Katy Lynn had her arms folded tightly across her chest. She did not meet his eyes.
“Your mother’s leaving was a wake-up call, but I didn’t really wake up. I just kept drinking heavily and socializing with the wrong people. That went on for another year or so. Then I had my second wake-up call. On New Year’s Eve, 1952, Tate was in a car accident. She was killed on the spot. At seventeen. She was drunk out of her mind. My family’s social circle had finally sucked her in too, and I had done nothing to stop it.” He wiped a hand under his eyes. “I let that world destroy her. If I hadn’t been so caught up in myself, I could have helped her, maybe prevented the accident—”
Janelle looked sympathetic; Katy Lynn seemed to soften a little. Gina turned her head down and fiddled with a page in her magazine.
“Tate’s death pushed me over the edge. I stopped writing, secluded myself. I thought about taking my own life. So when my old war buddy begged me to go to hear this hotshot evangelist at a revival—they were very popular back then—what did I have to lose? Humor the poor kid. So I went.”
His voice dropped to a whisper. “In spite of myself, I was electrified by the simple message of salvation. I discovered that God wasn’t dead, and the message, so simple and yet so complex—something in it appealed to my mind as a novelist. I thought, I need this. I need this Man. This God. I left the crusade in tears and returned to my flat with a tiny flicker of hope inside.
“It takes a long time to get over yourself, but time was something I had plenty of. No family, no job, just hanging on to hope. I checked out for a while, like the apostle Paul, and with the help of a few new friends I got to know this Jesus. And things happened. I determined to give up drinking and find my wife and daughter. I spent almost a year looking for you both.”
Again his eyes went to Katy Lynn. She glanced at him briefly.
Annie spoke up in her no-nonsense way. “I wanted nothing to do with him. I didn’t answer his calls or letters, and when he finally caught up with us, I slammed the door in his face. But he was persistent. He kept at us for six months. I could tell he had changed. I guess you could say our love story took a long time to bloom again—through lots of tears and sacrifice. It took a long time for me to buy his conversion too. I wasn’t exactly a God-fearing young woman at the time. Fortunately, the Lord had a lot of patience and grace. He let us go through some pretty awful stuff to teach us humility and dependence on Him.”
Ev nodded. “After we got back together, we knew we needed a radical change. First we changed our names. I started going by Everett instead of Ashton, and your mother went by Annie instead of Stella. We moved south, to Atlanta. That’s where you were born, Janelle. When Annie’s mother died, we bought this house in Fort Oglethorpe, and with Annie as master administrator, we opened the driving school. One of our main goals was to help teenagers become more competent drivers. We also wanted to teach them more about the dangers of alcohol, drugs, speeding. We lobbied for seat belts in cars and a lot of other things. I couldn’t bring Tate back, but I thought maybe the Almighty could use me to keep others from meeting a similar fate.”
Annie started to speak again. “Things were good. We lived a much simpler life. But I could tell your father missed his writing. So I finally convinced him to send out his work again for publication. He refused to go back to the fame of the former life, preferring anonymity. I knew he had great talent, and together we decided that he would use a pen name and that I would be his ‘voice’ for the publishers. We chose my first two initials—S. A. for Stella Ann, and my mother’s maiden name, Green.”
Annie and Ev looked at each other for several seconds.
Finally Ev said, “My first book published under the name of S. A. Green came out in 1960.
Eastern Crossings
.”
It took a few seconds for the revelation to register.
Then Katy Lynn stood up, hands on her hips. “What! You mean to tell me that you, Dad, are S. A. Green?”
“I am.”
Katy Lynn and Janelle stared at their father, dumbfounded, but Gina said, “Cool! That’s so cool. I just read that book in English! My granddad wrote
Eastern Crossings
!” She got up off the floor and went over and hugged Ev. “That is really cool.”
“I don’t know what to say,” Janelle said. “I can’t believe it.”
“Well, I know what to say.” Katy Lynn spun around and walked behind the armchair, putting distance between herself and her parents. “I told you so! I told you they were hiding things from us, Janelle! I told you they were lying hypocrites!” Then she stared at Ev and Annie. “But I never imagined that your whole lives were a lie!” She stalked out of the room.
“Katy!” Ev went after her. “Katy, please. I know I’ve failed you, and I’ve never known how to make things right. But can you please hear me out? Then you will be free to choose. If I’m going to tell you the truth, you need to hear all of it.”
She turned around slowly and regarded him with a look that seared him. “Why in the world would you not tell your very own daughters that you are S. A. Green?”
Ev did not answer at first. He walked back into the den. After a moment, Katy Lynn followed.
“I didn’t want my new novels to have any connection with my past. Fame had ruined me once—it terrified me, the possibility of repeating the past. So I … we … decided anonymity was best.” He looked helplessly at Annie, then back at Katy Lynn. “Please believe me … it wasn’t to keep the truth from you—it was to protect you. I didn’t want to leave you girls a legacy of extravagant parties and material wealth. I’d seen what it did to me, to many of my friends … to Tate.”
Katy Lynn stood rigid in the door frame, her face hard and angry. He wondered if she had really heard him.
“You ruined my life. The life you brought Mom and me back to was worse than the one we ran away from, for me. I hated it.”
“I’m so sorry you felt that way, Katy. I never wanted to hurt you— before you left or after you came back.”
Gina burst into tears. “Why do you say that, Mom? How did Granddad ruin your life? It’s not his fault about Daddy leaving us. Daddy ruined your life, not Granddad.”
Sudden silence invaded the room.
Ev watched his daughter’s face fall. He wanted more than anything to take her in his arms, but he didn’t dare.
“It’s true,” Katy Lynn said without emotion. “Hamilton has left us. For another woman.” She took a deep breath. “This is about all I can handle for today. I need to get some fresh air.”
This time Ev did not try to stop her when she turned and walked out the front door.
________
Lissa walked toward the house, holding the manuscript in both hands with the library copy of
Eastern Crossings
stacked on top of it. She hesitated on the porch.
Suddenly the door flew open, and a short, blond woman burst out and almost ran straight into her.
Lissa mumbled, “Excuse me,” and the woman gave a startled little cry and stopped.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t see you there.”
“It’s okay.”
“Are you looking for someone?”
“Yes, I … I wanted to talk to Mr. MacAllister. He’s my driving instructor. But if he’s busy …” The way the woman stared at her made Lissa uncomfortable. “I’ll just go.”
But she didn’t move. The thought of getting back in that car and driving away terrified her.
The woman let out a breath and seemed to relax. “No, go on in if he’s expecting you.”
But he’s not expecting me.
The woman looked irritated. Or mad.
“Look, I’m in a bit of a rush. Just knock on the door, and someone will come.” She hurried over to a green Jaguar, got in, and drove away.
Lissa walked several tentative steps to the front door, reached out a hand to knock, and let it fall to her side.
Failure!
Don’t bother him.
Life is not random.
She pressed the doorbell.
When Mr. MacAllister opened the door, he looked as if he had run Ole Bessie into a tree and just stepped out of the car, shaken and disoriented. Then he saw her.
“Lissa! What brings you here this morning? Are you all right?”
She drew the manuscript close to her chest and stared down at his old blue and white tennis shoes.
“Come on inside.”
She didn’t budge. In a voice cracking between tears and anger, she whispered, “Who are you? Tell me right now, who are you?”
The old man furrowed his brow as if he didn’t understand her question. “I’m your friend. That’s who I am. Your friend.”
She began to cry. She hated her tears!
Mr. MacAllister walked out on the porch and looked over at the Camaro. “How did you get here?”
“I, I drove.”
“You drove the Camaro here? By yourself?”
“Yes,” she sniffed. “I had to get away. Daddy sold Caleb. He sold him.”
“Oh, dear, no.”
By now Annie had joined him on the porch. “Lissa! For heaven’s sake. What’s the matter? You’re shaking.” She hugged her and said, “Come inside, sweetie.”