We Need to Talk Ch. 06

A work of fiction, which means I made all of this up out of whole cloth. All characters are over 18 years. This story is best understood by starting with chapter one, but here's a brief synopsis.

Empty nesters Myra and Wendell have experienced trouble in their long married life, but they've always come through together. Of note, Myra had sex with Wendell's best friend Rich at his lake house this summer, with Wendell's permission, and perhaps again as recently as a week ago as solace for the death of Rich's wife, Helen. Also, Myra had a near sexual encounter with the scoundrel David Newton.

Now, a young woman stands at their front door, a reminder of Wendell's torrid affair with Claire Haskell, 19 years before.

*****

"My name is Jillian Haskell. I think you might be my father."

The young woman standing at my front door spoke tentatively and quietly, but I sensed a strong personality. She was holding my gaze, even as my mouth was hanging open and my mind reeling.

"Are you Claire's daughter?" I asked. I could scarcely believe it.

"Yes. She's sitting in the car," the teen said, glancing toward the driveway. It was dusk but I could see a lone figure sitting in the car.

Myra appeared at my side and looked at our visitor. She gasped and covered her mouth with her hand.

"Jillian?" Myra said. Her voice was tremulous. "Oh, my God! Jillian!" And Myra began to cry.

I looked back and forth between the two. Jillian's eyes were overflowing with tears. Suddenly, Myra and Jillian embraced and began sobbing together.

"Mom's in the car," Jillian said to Myra between sobs.

We three turned to look at the figure sitting motionless in the car. I couldn't make out any details in the twilight. Myra seemed momentarily frozen in place, then she began walking, then running to the car. Our driveway is long and by the time Myra reached the car the door was open and there, standing by her car, was Claire Haskell, my long-ago affair partner and the mother of the young woman at my side. I'd not seen or heard from Claire in 19 years.

Myra and Claire embraced and swayed together, and I could hear them both crying. Jillian and I began walking toward the two and we automatically grasped each other's hands. Myra and Claire separated as we approached and I stopped short to look, and they looked back at us, father and daughter.

Claire had aged but she was still the same Claire. Nineteen years had passed since we'd last seen each other and we'd parted under difficult circumstances. Claire's husband George had been shouting at his newly discovered unfaithful wife while her lover, me, hurriedly dressed and slunk away.

Claire looked good; fit and well cared for. And her eyes! Claire still had those alluring eyes, the eyes her daughter inherited. I looked back at Jillian, comparing, and I noticed something else, too. Jillian looked a lot like me.

"Wendell. Long time, no see," Claire said, deadpan. She wore an uncertain smile but her head was cocked in a playful manner and I could see a twinkle in her eyes, just like long ago.

I glanced over at my wife and she was staring at me, waiting to see what I would do.

Without hesitation I took a stride toward Claire and embraced her, lifting her off the ground and spinning her around. "My God, Claire, it's been so long! It's so good to see you again!"

Ordinarily I'm pretty stoic, although sometimes Myra calls me a softie. On this occasion, reunion with my lover of so long ago and also the mother of my daughter, I was a softie. Tears welled up and I couldn't hold them back. It was a miracle. A child I never knew I'd had, Jillian, and a lost friend, (never mind lovers; we were friends first), Claire, had dropped out of the sky, deus ex machina. It was no time to ask why and no time for recriminations. It was time to 'do'.

"Please, all of you, come into the house. There is so much to talk about," I said.

My mind was racing, trying to comprehend the enormity of what had just happened. I had no doubt I was Jillian's father; I could see it in her face as plain as day. She was my daughter, my blood, and I loved her without question and without reservation from the moment I realized who she was.

Myra and Claire reconnected at once, like they had never been a day apart. Jillian seemed shell-shocked by it all and she sat at the kitchen table with me, watching her mother and her...step-mother?...working in the kitchen, preparing a light supper from leftovers. They were talking and laughing like sisters. I felt...shocked, like I was left out, but I had my 'new' daughter to occupy me.

Jillian and I talked quietly, probing, searching for connections that should have been made years ago. My wife, my ex-lover, and my unknown child had come together in an unlikely reunion, a new family reunion. It wasn't a traditional family but we were family none the less; my family. Myra's and my son and daughter and Claire's son and daughter had yet to meet again, so my family would expand even more in the near future when we all got together. These thoughts were swirling through my mind, confusing me a little, when Jillian spoke.

"You're my real father, aren't you?" Jillian asked. She caught me by surprise and I took a moment to organize my thoughts.

"No, Jillian," I answered, "I'm not your real father; George was your real father. But you are my real daughter and if you want me to be, I'll be the best father I can be for you, I promise."

I looked into Jillian's eyes, really Claire's eyes, as I made that promise. Come what may, I would be my daughter's father.

No longer did I feel ashamed of my affair with Claire. Something very good had come out of all that misery. A yoke had been lifted from my shoulders and replaced with the lightest of burdens, being father to a lovely young woman. That past had no hold on me now. At that moment, I felt the luckiest man alive.

*****

Later that night, talked out and exhausted, Myra and I retired to our bedroom. Claire took our guest bedroom and Jillian took Brit's bedroom. I was both elated and dog-tired. Like magic, Myra and I were communicating again and laughing together, and I realized something very important: Nothing had happened between us that couldn't yet be fixed. We were alive and human and full of mistakes and petty slights and resentments. Yet, as long as we are alive those grievances could be repaired and we could go on, and we had each other, together, to face each day.

We snuggled together, Myra and I, unwilling to sleep, and I had to ask this of my wife. I needed closure.

"Have you forgiven Claire and me? It's important, Myra, we need your forgiveness; I need your forgiveness. I can't tell you how happy I was to see you and Claire talking and working together in the kitchen; it seemed so good and so natural," I said, holding her close.

"I forgave you long ago, Wendell, and I forgave Claire, too. I'm sorry I brought up your affair again; I was just trying to justify to myself my terrible decision to meet with David Newton. I wasn't being honest with myself, and I deliberately hurt you, too. Can you forgive me, Wendell?" she asked. Of course I could.

"When did you know Jillian was my daughter?" I asked. Had this significant information deliberately been withheld from me?

"I knew the week after you scared off David Newton. Claire and I found each other on Facebook. I saw pictures of Jillian and immediately I knew; Claire didn't have to tell me. Claire and George had suspected from the start but George, to his credit, raised her as his own daughter. Jillian was never told. We talked on the phone and Claire decided to tell Jillian about you after she graduated high school. She took it well and wanted to meet you. Both Claire and Jillian wanted to keep it secret until they saw you."

We made love that night, carefully and quietly, like we had when the kids were young and nosey. We wouldn't want our guests to hear! It was our first time together since a week before, when Myra had slept with Rich.

*****

Once again, I awoke to the smell of coffee, but this time accompanied by the sound of female laughter coming from the kitchen downstairs. I could hear three distinct women's voices and it sounded musical to me.

Then I thought of Rich and how Myra had gone to him after Helen had died. It caused a deep ache in my heart. Could I forgive them? They had each betrayed me by spending two night together in each other's arms. Worse, they had shut me out and cut me off during the whole time Myra was gone. It was the sort of betrayal that could destroy a marriage, even a strong one, and I struggled to understand it.

I was partially to blame, I knew. At the lake house, I had given my wife to my best friend for sex; to get fucked, not to put too fine a point on it. I had sent her to him, and even though she went willingly, I had urged her to go. Once two people had sex, I knew, they established a private bond between them that makes it easier to do it again. I had shared my wife with Rich at the lake and I had enjoyed it. I had listened to them and watched them having energetic sex. I had given them my permission, so I was partly to blame for whatever else followed.

And what of Rich? He'd promised to keep our sex play at the lake house, and then only when all of us participated. Was it really all that different, having sex somewhere else?

Well, yes it was! They'd gone solo and I'd been excluded, kept in the dark, and left to wonder if my wife had left me. It was not the same thing at all.

But.

Rich had just lost Helen to death and there was no coming back from that; his loss was permanent. The living still have the option to forgive each other. I made my decision. I would call Rich right now, before I joined my ladies for breakfast.

"Rich?" I said, when he answered his phone.

"Dell?" he replied. He sounded unsure and I could hear the apprehension in his voice. He had broken his promise to me and he had every expectation I might be angry. I continued.

"How about coming by the house later in the morning? I've got two people I want you to meet, Claire Haskell and her daughter Jillian."

Rich took a moment to process this and said, "Really? Claire and her daughter are there with you now, and Myra is there, too?" He sounded incredulous.

"Yes, they are, and we're all getting along just fine," I said. "Get here about noon for lunch; I've got a surprise for you, too." It occurred to me that he might think I was laying an ambush for him and I smiled at the thought, so I added, "A nice surprise."

I was gleefully anticipating the look on his face when I told him Jillian was my daughter. That would be priceless!

Rich and I said our good-byes, then I showered and dressed for breakfast. I was in a happy, forgiving mood. Myra and Rich had spent two nights in his bed together, but I thought I understood Myra's reasoning. She was a woman who sometimes, in extraordinary circumstances, let strong emotion rule her mind. Compassion could overrule logic, and Helen's sudden death and Rich's unexpected decompensation certainly qualified as extraordinary.

In one sense, it was a testament to our marriage that Myra thought I would go along with her ad hoc emotional therapy. Rich, Myra, Helen, and I had grown up together and we had already shared a great deal of our lives, so Myra's sudden abandonment of me in favor of Rich could be understood as a form of charity, even love for Rich. But love in the brotherly sense of goodwill and benevolence, not erotic love.

Yet, she had slept with him for two nights in his bed. She denied having had sex with him, at least on the first night, and oddly enough I believed her. But the second night? I suspected they had had sex, but over the last week my hurt feelings and anger had stymied communication and we'd been unable to talk about it. But did it matter? After all, in the middle of the night at the lake house, I had sent my wife to Rich for sex and all of us had enjoyed it immensely, even to the point of agreeing to do it again someday...but only at the lake house.

But what of Rich? Helen had died and he had drank himself into a stupor. Myra had instinctively known what he needed, her; and what was not needed, me. That hurt me but in retrospect it had been the right choice. Rich had been distraught, embarrassed for his drunkenness and his newly exposed alcoholism. He might have been suicidal, too. He was playing with his service pistol, loading and unloading it, and Myra had disarmed him, figuratively and literally. If I had come along I might have provoked an escalation; at least, that was Myra's assessment, and she had been the only person on the scene. She had comforted Rich even through the second night because she had thought he needed it. Comforting Rich by holding him in bed must have seemed like a reasonable thing to do to help a life-long friend, especially a friend with whom she had so recently shared a night of sex.

Once again, my own behavior was exposed as an inciting cause of my own misery. What goes around comes around, I thought, and I laughed at myself. I looked in the mirror. I was freshly shaven and didn't look too bad for a man my age. I was recovering my good health and self-respect. I no longer drank alcohol. I was physically strong again and recovering my quickness in the boxing ring. My weight was approaching normal and I could easily run five miles in less than an hour. Myra, Rich, and even Helen had helped rescue me from despair and had given me this second chance. Had I learned anything from this? What outcome did I want?

I had Myra and I wanted to keep her; that was a given. I'd just discovered a daughter whom I'd never known and she was a delightful young woman. Yes, I wanted to keep her, too. Her mother, Claire, my long-ago lover, was sleeping in my house and getting along fine with my wife. That in itself was a miracle, but it was happening, and I wanted to keep Claire, too. This was no time to air old grievances, or bring up new ones, not if I wanted to keep all these good people in my life.

And what did I think of Claire? We were destined to have some kind of relationship because she was mother to my daughter. Did I still love her after 19 years? Yes, I did. I think I still did. I'd tried to minimize my feelings for Claire, especially to Myra, but now that Claire was back I could't deny it; I was still in love with her. Myra, my wise wife, had somehow known this, even as I had tried to keep it hidden. That secret knowledge had caused my wife distress.

I resolved never to be alone with Claire and never to pursue a closer relationship, even if she pursued me. Somehow, I didn't think she would. The important thing, as far as Claire's and my relationship was concerned, was Jillian. We had to place Jillian's welfare first.

Showered, shaved, and dressed, I headed downstairs to join the new additions to my family.

*****

"Good morning, everyone," I said, pouring myself a cup of coffee, "everyone sleep well?"

Myra gave me kiss. "Wonderfully! What an exciting morning!" I imagined Jillian greeting me the same way but I knew it was too early in our new father-daughter relationship for that. And Claire? Probably never. Instead, they both smiled and said good morning.

"Myra, Rich is coming over at noon to meet Claire and Jillian, and to have lunch," I said.

Myra and Claire looked at each other and Myra said, "We'd better go grocery shopping right now." Without any further discussion the two women took their purses and left.

"I'll stick around with you, Dad," Jillian said.

I was struck by her use of 'dad'. I liked it a lot.

We settled into the TV room and mercifully, the TV was off.

"Jillian, this must be quite a shock to you, discovering that I'm your biological father," I said, giving her an opening to talk.

"Dad," she said. She paused. "Do you mind if I call you Dad? I mean, we just met," she continued, and we both laughed together.

"Please, I love it when you call me 'Dad'. I'm still in a state of shock, Jillian. I'm floating on air and pinching myself over this wonderful thing that has happened to me."

I could feel my emotions getting away from me and a tear formed. Jillian noticed and smiled. She wiped it away with a single finger and kissed me on my cheek. I thought I might cry with happiness.

"Dad, I'm in a bit of shock, too. But it's wonderful. I miss my daddy, I mean my daddy George, really, really badly so finding you is...kinda wonderful, you know? I've known about you for over a month so I kinda got used to the idea?" she said, using a Valley Girl up-speak lilt, and she sounded so childlike and honest.

"Mom told me and we talked a lot about it. I guess you and Mom weren't perfect people, huh? I'm just beginning to understand what a great guy Daddy George was, 'cause he knew he wasn't my father. I mean, you know, he didn't actually make me himself? But he raised me and loved me like a real dad, and I never knew."

It was my turn to wipe her tears. I got up and returned with a box of Kleenex and she dabbed her eyes. I couldn't help but notice how much she looked like Claire, especially her eyes, but she also looked like me. I was falling in love with my new daughter every time I looked at her or thought of her. All I could think of when I looked at her was this is my daughter!

It was wonderful. I had to dab my own eyes again, too.

"Are you still in love with Mom? 'Cause I think she still loves you. I mean, she says she doesn't, but I can tell. And I see you looking at Mom, too. And don't you think it's kinda weird how Mom and Myra are so buddy-buddy? I mean, shouldn't they hate each other?"

Jillian was asking adult questions in the way of the young, direct and to the point. She was perceptive but as yet didn't understand the adult world. We...me, Myra, and Claire...and Rich and Helen, too...had a long history together extending back into childhood. We had made mistakes. We had tried our best to fix those mistakes and somehow we had glued our lives back together again and made the best of an imperfect situation. It would never be perfect, or I should say, unbroken, again. But we carried on, forgiving each other, and making the best of it.

The best of it.

Right before me was my daughter, proof that 'the best of it' was pretty darn good.

"Jillian, I think your mom and Myra are feeling the same thing that I am, and it's because of you. We're just a little tipsy with emotion. We've all made mistakes in life and I guess your mom and me having an affair was a pretty bad mistake. But look at what came out of our mistake. You did. I wouldn't go back and change a single thing. Yes, our affair was wrong and, yes, our affair hurt Myra and George. Lord knows I've felt guilty for years. But the single most wonderful thing to happen to me since my children were born was last night, when you showed up at my front door. You make all this right again. I think that's what Myra and Claire are feeling. Remember, they were best friends long ago. Our affair broke them up, too. You coming into our lives means their friendship can resume and I think they're trying to make up for lost time. Does that make any sense to you?"

Tears were welling up in both our eyes again. Jillian nodded her head 'yes' She kissed me on the cheek and said, "I think I'm going to love my new family. I know it sounds weird, but somehow I feel like I'm home again."

*****

The front doorbell rang and it was Rich. He looked at me warily when I opened the door, and held up both hands as if in surrender. "We good?" he asked. He was smiling but I could see he was uncertain.