“Yes,” Kelsey agreed slowly. “I guess men are at a disadvantage in the parenting situation. In some ways.”
Jared had been furious when he’d thought she planned to keep her possible pregnancy a secret. A man deposited his seed with a woman and the same situation that made it possible for him to abandon his child, also left verification of the child’s paternity to the woman. At least, until DNA testing had become an option.
Still, John Layton’s side of the story altered her own perspective some.
Here was this man, her father, not the devil she’d thought him, certainly not the god she’d hoped for as a teenager, but a man caught in a bad relationship with a fearful, distraught woman. Chloe had probably struck back at him in the most hurtful way she knew because she’d been hurting herself.
In addition, both Amy and she had been very young when their parents split. How many men got involved with their infant children thirty years ago? Not many, she was sure. The conclusion didn’t exonerate him, but it did add to her understanding of the situation. John Layton didn’t appear to be a cuddly man, certainly not the type to know what to do with young children.
She felt the tightness in her chest loosen some. She’d only come here to see him, to confront the elephant in the closet. She didn’t have to do anything to him, didn’t have to get anything from him.
In a way, his attempt at an explanation was a bonus. His evident distress and regret was surprisingly sweet revenge, but that didn’t mean she could restore him to a place in her heart. Not so quickly, anyway.
Over the years, she’d seen the reunion of long-lost parents and children on talk shows, the tears, the protestations of enduring love. It all seemed false. She didn’t know this man and he didn’t know her.
It had never occurred to her that they would magically unite and pick up where they should have started from. No matter what he may have thought about Amy’s paternity, he admitted he’d known she was his child and he’d still made no effort to be a part of her life.
Hearing his side of the battle didn’t exonerate him, but she found herself feeling depressed rather than angry. He’d been trapped in a bad relationship, making bad choices. She’d seen it so many times. In some ways, coming here only confirmed what she’d already known. People loved, love dissipated and then they moved on.
“After a while,” John Layton went on, “I lost track of you all. Your mother remarried and moved.”
He shrugged, acknowledgment on his face. “I didn’t try to find you.”
“So we’ve been on your conscience all these years,” Kelsey concluded, her words cool. Guilt and love weren’t the same thing.
“Yes,” he said, coming to sit across from her. “I’ve felt bad about not seeing you both. Curious about how you turned out.”
Kelsey met his gaze.
“I’ve often wondered about you. You look like my mother,” he said at last. “She passed away fifteen years ago.”
Kelsey suddenly felt like crying. Her mother’s parents were long dead. What would it have been like to have known a grandmother whom she looked like?
“You’re married,” John Layton said after a long moment. “I’ve met your husband. He’s very shrewd.”
“Yes.” For the life of her, Kelsey couldn’t think of anything else to say. I love my husband and he thinks I’m as much trouble as you thought Chloe was. I love him and he’s no different than you.
“Do I have any grandchildren?” her father asked, his voice rough again.
“No,” she said, swallowing the lump in her throat.
“What do you do for work?” he asked, studying her.
She found herself absurdly pleased that he assumed she worked. After all, he didn’t know her marriage was a shell. She might well have been supported by her husband.
“I’m an art director at Peckham and Morrow. It’s an ad agency. Amy works there, too.”
“Ah,” he nodded and smiled. “Creative as well as beautiful. You remind me of Sarah.”
“Sarah?”
He gestured toward his desk, a cluster of photos arranged at the corner. “Your half-sister. She finished college last year, got a degree in architecture.”
Kelsey stared at the pictures on his desk, a sudden surge of rage making it difficult to speak. They were the photos of a family, two boys and a sister. An attractive older woman wearing a classic strand of pearls.
He’d left her, Amy and her mother and went to live with Donna Reed. Her sudden anger was followed by a wave of sadness. How often had she wanted just such a family?