know that he went quickly. He was in his own home. He wasn’t alone.”
I swallowed uneasily. “I see.” His own home. That made him seem real to me suddenly—an actual physical person who had existed all my life, but now, he was gone. Just like that. He was no longer alive on this planet. He would be lowered into the ground. Buried. And not just figuratively in my consciousness. I would never lay eyes on him.
“Well . . . that’s a blessing, at least . . . that he didn’t suffer.”
An awkward silence ensued, and I felt ashamed of the absence of grief in me, but what could I do? All I felt was confusion and a somewhat morbid curiosity, as I wondered if it truly was too late to see him. I didn’t even know what he looked like. Would there be a wake?
Then it dawned on me—that my real father had known about my existence and had deemed me important enough to be informed of his passing. I had always assumed my mother had kept it secret from him too.
“I’m sorry,” I said, desperate to fill the silence. “What’s your connection to my . . .” I could barely get the word out. “How do you know my father?”
“I apologize again,” she said. “I should have explained myself. I work for the legal offices of Donatello and Costa. We were your father’s legal team in Italy, which is why I’m calling.”
I sat up straighter against the pillows, feeling more awake now.
“Your father named you as a beneficiary in his will,” she explained, “and we’re going to need you to sign some papers.”
“Wait a second . . . he what?” My heart seemed to plummet into the pit of my belly.
“The funeral is on Monday, and there will be an official reading of the will with family members on Tuesday. I realize it’s short notice, Fiona, but could you arrange a flight?”
I felt a sudden, rapid rush of heat to all my extremities at the prospect of traveling to Europe on my own to meet the family of a man I’d never wanted—or expected—to know. Whatever he left to me, I didn’t want it, because this man had caused my mother discomfort and shame on the day she died. I’d recognized it when she told me the truth. As she lay on her deathbed, she could barely speak of it. Whatever happened between them was not a pleasant memory for her.
Besides that, how would I ever explain it to Dad? To the loving father who raised me? I couldn’t possibly confess to more than a decade of dishonesty. It would break his heart to know that I wasn’t really his and that I had kept such a monumental secret from him. And he had been through enough. Suffered more than enough loss.
I shifted uncomfortably on the mattress. “Um . . . this is a lot to take in. I’m not sure . . .” I swallowed hard. “Is it really necessary for me to be there in person? I mean, it’s a long way to travel, and I’ll be honest—I wasn’t close to . . .” Again, the word father got stuck in my throat, so I managed a quick pivot. “I’m not sure how much you know about the situation, Ms. Moretti, but I’ve never even met Mr. Clark. I always assumed he didn’t know about me. He certainly never made any attempts to contact me, which is why this comes as a surprise. I don’t know his family at all, so it might be awkward for me to be there. And I don’t like to be away from my father. He needs me here. Is there any way we can do this through email or fax?”
Ms. Moretti went silent for a moment. “I am aware that you weren’t a part of Mr. Clark’s life, but he was very explicit in his instructions about the will. I won’t be coy, Fiona. He left you some property, which is why I think you need to come here and see it, sign for it, and then decide what you want to do with it.”
“Property.” My eyebrows pulled together with bewilderment. “In Italy? How much, exactly? I mean, how much is it worth?” I shut my eyes and shook my head. “Oh God. I’m sorry. That sounded very greedy. I’m not a greedy person. I’m just surprised, that’s all. And confused. I wasn’t expecting this.”