Chapter 53: Fifty Three

Emma stared hard at the coffee festival invitation card which had been sent by her father and handed to her by her aunt when she'd returned from the vacation. Sighing, she finally made a decision she'd been pondering on for some time now.

Sitting up as the door to the bedroom opened, Emma watched as George returning from spending too much time in the study like he'd done last night, entered silently. He froze when he met her eyes, seemingly startled, and the guilt which she'd been sensing about him seemed to increase.

Even though his guilty demeanor had helped take her mind off her own guilt, making it more easy to bear, him withdrawing like this from her hurt, and she missed his love and comfort and silent assurances that she could share whatever was bothering her with him.

“You are still awake.” He stated as if it wasn't the most obvious thing.

“Yes. I was waiting for you.” She lied. She'd barely thought about anything apart from her newfound freedom to choose and all that it entailed. Suddenly it hit her like snow, splashing on her skin, melting and making her shiver - a realization.

In considering her own future she'd forgotten to consider George's feelings as well. He still didn't know about the lies and deceit which would have to change whether or not her heart decided that he was the one she couldn't do without. What if she realized that she wanted to be with George only for him to refuse to forgive her for her lies?

A cold shudder running through her, she smiled stiffly to meet his just as tight smile, stretching her hand out. “Come here.”

He took in a deep breath, then exhaled, as if he needed strength to face her, leaving her more perplexed. Jeez, what had he done which was getting him so worked up? Holding her hand, he sat beside her on the bed.

Looking at him as he looked anywhere but into her eyes, Emma was beginning to get worried. Yet she held herself back from asking him what was bothering him. That would mean having to tell him everything if he did open up, and she wasn't ready.

George leaving her before her heart decided it wanted him badly would be just as bad if not worse. Furthermore, there would be no more decision for her heart to make which would only mess more with her emotions. But she needed a clear head for this life-altering decision. She needed to fall on a stable, unwavering land where she could be able to trust her heart's ultimatum.

That was why she wanted to first figure who she truly loved between Zain and George before coming clean.

“Can I ask you a favour?”

“I need to tell you something.”

They both said all at once. Emma hesitated before saying. “You go first.”

“No you go first.”

“Okay,” She begun hesitantly. “It's about my father, George. About the invitation for the coffee festival he sent me. I've decided to accept it. I need you to please get me a flight that'll be leaving tomorrow for California.”

“But of course, I'll do it. You know you can always count on me, and there's even no need to ask. I really do love you and...” He sighed frustratedly. “Forget it. I'll get you one, certainly. Do you want me to go with you?”

“Thank you. And no George. I can't have you neglecting your company any longer for me.” She pulled close and kissed him, feeling him stiffen. “Uhm, you wanted to tell me something?”

“Oh, it's really... I'll tell you when you return from your trip.” He stood up evasively. “I think I'll go shower now.”

As he begun to walk off, Emma thought back to the episode at the cabin today, the fear and hope in Zain's eyes. George was a good man, but she wanted to be honest to herself when making this decision. That is why she wanted to go on this trip. Hopefully, a day or two away from the two of them would make things easier to decide.

***~***

Dragging in a deep breath, Emma pressed on the bell of the house she stood in front of; her father's. She'd arrived in California about an hour ago, George having managed to get her an early morning flight two days post her request. The address her father had handwritten at the back of the invitation card had made locating the house easy.

The gate opened to reveal a good looking, lanky middle aged man. He stepped out and glanced at her enquiringly. “Is there something we can do for you, young lady?”His voice had a soothing irish accent.

“Sorry, I'm looking for Mr. Alfred Taylor. Perhaps the owner of this house. Am I at the right house?”

The man looked at her curiously, giving her a once over, then seemingly decided she was harmless. “Yes, this is his house. Please step in.”

Glancing around, Emma realized how austere the house was without the flowers that'd been so pervasive in the house she'd lived in with her parents during her childhood.

“So may I know your name and why you're here please? I'm Theo by the way.” The man said as they made their way towards the main building.

“I'm his daughter, Theo. Emma Taylor. Is he home?”

“What? You're the boss's daughter?” He asked, shocked. “My goodness. The same one they were... Well, your father is home. It's good that you came early though because he's just sorting out some files since he has to leave for his ranch in a few hours.”

“Oh.” Emma said, wondering about the sentence he hadn't completed.

“Please wait here while I fetch him from his study.” Theo pointed to a sofa once they'd entered and walked on to the sitting room, walking off after the gesture.

Emma looked around her and was just about to sit when a photo case on the centrepiece caught her eyes. Picking it up, she surveyed the faces of the three people in the picture; a woman, who she assumed was her father's wife, and two boys who looked identical. Their smiles created the perfect picture of a happy family that Emma had long stopped craving for before she'd married George.

“Theo, who is this person that you won't tell me about?” She suddenly heard her father's grouchy voice and placed down the photo, turning to face the direction. “You know I don't like surprises and...”

Her father's words seemed to spiral into nothingness as his eyes fell on her. Trying to make her expression as normal she could, she met his astounded gaze. He blinked, once, then twice, then thrice, as if he couldn't quite bring himself to believe she was standing in front of him.

“Emma? Daughter?” He covered his mouth, his eyes glistening with tears. “Oh my God, it's really you. It's really you. You came. You came.”

As joy swept across his features, he leapt forward and stopped short just some centimetres away from her, his expression tortured. He'd obviously realized that the fact that she was here didn't mean they were on the father and daughter terms once again.

She still wasn't sure about the decision she'd made, about her decision to let out some resentment from her system, but she realized she too would soon be in a situation where she would need someone's forgiveness as well; George's.

“Yes, it's me.” She replied, taking a deep breath.

“I... Thank you... Thank you so much for coming.” Her mere presence seemed to overwhelm him.

“Can we talk?”

Her father glanced at her apprehensively. “Of course we can, dear. Let's go to the study?”

She nodded, giving him his cue to proceed while she followed behind. The immediate view when one entered the study room was of a large mahogany desk, tinted and antique with a pile of books at one end with about three other books opened on the desk, a stack of papers at the other and a computer in the middle together with a few necessities. It gave about her father the impression of a professional bookworm.

Stationed behind the swivel chair behind the desk was a large shelf housing what looked like hundreds of books. At one side of the squared room was a sofa, and above it, hanging on the wall was a portrait that had Emma's breaths stalling and her throat constricting.

Stunned and hypnotised, she moved forward, and reaching with tremulous fingers, she drawled her hand on the features of the two people in the picture; a ten year old and a woman who looked to be in her thirties.

Turning to look at her father, she hoped her eyes conveyed her question even before she asked, “It's... been here all this time?” For all she knew, he could've put it up after discovering the truth.

As if sensing how she felt, her father nodded. “Yes. Despite all that I thought of her, I've never been able to completely get her out of my heart. Before I found out the truth, this picture served as a reminder of the happy times we'd shared, and the disappointment finding out about her infidelity evoked.”

Realizing the man had been clinging to the past, Emma nodded, returning her gaze to the picture of the 10 year old and her mother, their resemblance striking. In their eyes were the greatest hints of mirth. The 10 year old had black hair, green eyes that glimmered while she laughed, her head thrown back, all a mirror of her mother's.

As her lips curled up into a tremulous smile, Emma realized how much she'd grown to take after her mother's facial features, and a flurry of warm memories surged through her mind.

She looked at her father and then back at the picture. “You remember how she always made sure to cook meticulously and yet worried about the taste of the food because she wanted it all to be perfect?”

“Even though her meals never disappointed.” Her dad added, nodding slightly.

“And do you remember how you used to call her stingy because she didn't like to spend despite you being so rich?”

“She was always scolding me when I made extravagant purchases even if it was for her.” He added again, chuckling this time with a hint of reminiscence until he suddenly fell silent as if hit with a pang of nostalgia.

“I was often confused and upset whenever she refused to and convinced you not to buy me unnecessary, expensive things just so I could compete with girls in my class. It was after she was gone and I grew that I finally understood. She wanted me to value money so that I would be independent some day without having to keep depending on you guys till I perhaps got married. That principle really helped me after university when I no longer got any financial support from you.”

“You know I would've never redrawned my support if you hadn't decided that you didn't need me any more." He retorted in what seemed like a desperate attempt to justify.

“I'm not accusing you of anything, I'm just pointing out how my mother has helped to shape my life.” She felt the thickness of her voice, the trembling of her lips.

“She also taught me the imperative value of forgiveness. She taught me to be ready to forgive at all times. That no matter how somebody wronged me, if I saw that he was truly remorseful and was willing to make amends, that I should forgive him.”

Tears stung her eyes as she turned and walked towards her father, feeling herself collide with her own avalanche of nostalgia, voice hoarse and trembling as a result.

“I sometimes think of how different my life would've been had things not turned out the way they did 16 years ago. Had mum not. . . died, and if the two of you were still together. But I've realized mum was right when she said that there's no need to cling to the past and that one has to focus on the present and the future if one really wants to move on.”

“And so. . . so does that mean. . . does that mean...” Her father begun, his voice breaking as he trailed off, eyes glittering with unshed tears.

“Yes!” Emma croaked, unable to contain the sudden surge of emotion. “Yes, I forgive you. I forgive you. . . father.”

Incredulity seized his expression, the kind born from denial, like he felt this was just his imagination, like it felt too good to be real. Wanting to prove that her words weren't a figment of his imagination, she neared him and put her hands around him.

That seemed to jolt him out of his denial. Reaching to cup her face, he nudged her back faintly and looked at her face, tears falling from his eyes “You... You... You forgave me. Oh my God this is so...” His fingers trembled against her cheeks. “You don't know how much I've longed to hear those words. I thought I was going to die without ever earning your forgiveness.”

Pulling away from her, he let go of his weight, but luckily, his desk was there to prevent him from falling. Then he broke down. Right in front of her. This was the second time she was seeing him like this, and it was just as heart wrenching.

Covering his eyes, he begun saying in between sobs, “I don't deserve your forgiveness. Oh God, I don't deserve your forgiveness. You don't know how much I regret everything. How I wish I could turn back the hands of time. I would do things so differently. I would trust your mother more and I wouldn't let my hurt and rage get the best of me. Please forgive me.”

Emma wrapped her arms tightly around him, unable to hold her own sobs any longer. “We can't change anything father. Trust me I wish I could do the same thing, but no one can. And as mum said, clinging to the past will bring us nothing. We just need to focus on the future because we can never change the past.”

If anyone could send back the hands of time, wouldn't they all laugh at the ridiculous way time worked? Backwards and backwards until everything was erased and unlived.

She held her father for several minutes as he kept on unraveling, while she did her best to keep her own tears at bay, failing miserably. It was the joy of this reunion, the regret for what might've been. Suddenly the door to the study opened, and in stepped in the woman she'd seen in the photo, the twin boys flanking her at either sides.

“Darling, Theo told me...” She trailed off as her eyes met the scene before her.

Her father pulled his head from her shoulders and looked at his wife. “She forgave me, Martha. My daughter forgave me.”

Emma looked at the woman for any sign of hostility, but no. All she found was happiness and even gratitude at the revelation.

“This is wonderful news.” Her face lit with genuine joy as she stepped forward and took Emma's hand in hers, her eyes suddenly glistening with tears of happiness. “You don't know what this means to us.”

“She is our sister?” One of the twins, looking to be about 10 years old asked as he stepped forward.

Martha gazed down at him and put a hand on his cheek, stretching her hand out to her other son who stepped forward and took it. “Yes son, she is your sister. Your father's first child we told you about.“

“Oh.” The boys whispered almost at the same time, gazing up at Emma uncertainly.

Placing her arms around the neck of both of her sons, Martha kissed the cheek of the one on her right. “Dear, this is Jack, the firstborn.” She kissed the other one as well. “And this is Jake.”

Looking down at them, it suddenly dawned on Emma that these were her brothers, and instant warmth exploded in her as they both stretched out their hand saying “Nice to meet you sister.”

Instead of taking their hands, she  lowered herself and hugged them both at the same time. “Nice meeting you too, brothers.”