KENDRA COULDN’T GET LANCE’S WORDS OFF HER MIND. SHE knew Brooklyn’s situation, but somehow it broke her heart to hear it that way—“She’s not growing up with her daddy.” Lance had been right. That sweet girl was the most affected. Kendra and Trey had had the benefit of their dad’s presence. He’d cultivated a close relationship and set the bar high as to what it meant to be a father. That’s why they’d been so disappointed in him, because their expectations of him were high. At this rate, Brooklyn would have no expectations of him at all.
Throughout the night, as Kendra wakened with her usual discomfort and pain, she thought of Brooklyn. She prayed for Brooklyn. And by morning she couldn’t shake what she needed to do. Trey and Molly had early-morning classes, so she showered and dressed without questions. And she left a note for Lance.
At nine in the morning she was knocking on Ellen’s door. The lock turned, and Kendra took a breath.
“Kendra.” Ellen wore comfortable slacks and a top. She looked past Kendra to see who was with her. “How did you get here?”
“I drove,” Kendra said.
“Well, please, come in and sit down.”
Ellen led Kendra to a sofa in the living room, gesturing for her to sit. Ellen took the chair.
“What can I do for you?” Ellen asked.
“You’re one who gets to the point,” Kendra said, “and I appreciate that. Do you mind if I do the same?”
“I’d prefer it.”
“You told me there are two sides to every story,” Kendra said. “Actually, in this case, there are three. I’m wondering if I could hear your side.”
Surprise showed in Ellen’s eyes. “I wouldn’t feel comfortable,” she said. “It’s between you and your dad.”
“To an extent.” Kendra had addressed the same within herself. “If this were an affair only, I wouldn’t be here. But with Brooklyn . . . I just want to understand why she doesn’t have a relationship with her dad.”
“Again, your dad is best suited to tell you that,” Ellen said. “I don’t know the answer myself.”
Kendra sighed within. She’d felt so sure that this was what God wanted her to do. But she couldn’t make the woman talk to her. And Ellen had a point. Her dad was best suited to address issues between—
Her thoughts shifted. What about between Kendra and Ellen? Wasn’t there an issue with them?
“You said it was no secret that I didn’t like you,” Kendra said, “which was true. In my mind, you were the worst of the worst, coming between my parents, having his baby . . .”
Ellen stared head-on.
Kendra was grappling for the right words. “So maybe . . . maybe it would help me to hear your side of the story, to see you as human. If that makes sense.” She sighed, moving to get up. “This was a dumb idea. I’m not sure what I’m even saying. I’m sorry I wasted your time . . .”
“Kendra, wait.” Ellen leaned forward slightly. “In a weird way, I understand where you’re coming from. And even weirder, I kind of want you to see me as human, as maybe . . . not so evil, if that’s possible. But I do want to be careful not to tread on areas that are uniquely between you and your dad.”
Kendra settled back a little, prompted by minor pain spasms.
“What can I get you?” Ellen asked.
“Water would be great, thank you.”
Ellen got water for both of them, returned to her seat, and hesitated only briefly before she began.
“I’m not sure where to start . . .” Ellen paused. “I don’t want any of this to sound self-serving. I want to say off the bat that I was wrong to get involved with a married man.”
Kendra held the bottle, listening.
“I started my career at the University of Kentucky, and Marlon recruited me to come here twelve years ago. I was familiar with his research in sociology, of course, and had met him at conferences.” Ellen spoke as if presenting a paper at a conference. “I was in my early thirties—about your age—not yet tenured, and knew I could learn a lot from him. We ended up working on research projects, coauthoring papers, and traveling.”
Kendra’s mind put an emphasis on traveling.
“We became friends. And on one trip in particular, he drank a little too much and—”
“Dad was drinking?”
“I knew it was out of character,” Ellen said. “And when I asked if he was all right, he began to . . .” Her lips pressed together. “I’m moving from my territory to his. I won’t continue with that part.”
“It’s no big mystery,” Kendra said. “He was drinking too much and made moves on you.”
“Not true. At that point, nothing would happen between us for another year.”
“I’m confused,” Kendra said.
“Suffice to say,” Ellen said, “that over the course of that next year, we became close friends. Mostly him sharing, me listening.” She paused, took a breath. “I won’t get into hows or whys, but the affair began. It only lasted a few months. Marlon loved his wife—that much was obvious throughout.”
Kendra wasn’t sure how much more she could bear.
“So. Affair was over by mutual agreement. We would both move on, no problem.”
“And then you found out you were pregnant.”
Ellen nodded. “And then, again by mutual agreement, I would have an abortion.”
Kendra’s eyes almost popped out of her head. “My dad would’ve never suggested an abortion.”
“All I will say, Kendra, is you don’t know what people will do when their backs are against the wall.”
Brooklyn almost wasn’t here. Kendra thought she might be physically sick. “You didn’t do it, obviously.”
“I couldn’t,” Ellen said. “I just couldn’t. But I told Marlon that since it was my choice to have her, he could choose whether to be involved in her life.” She sat forward. “And I said, ‘If you choose to be involved in her life, you have to stay involved. You can’t float in and float out.’ ” She shook her head in disgust. “Which is exactly what he did—floated in for a few years, then floated out.”
“But why?” Kendra said. “That’s what doesn’t make sense. It’s not like my dad.”
“The dad you know is part of a nuclear family,” Ellen said. “He woke up in your house, ate dinner at your house, mowed the lawn. That’s not Brooklyn’s dad. Her dad stole an hour here or there to see her. He was her father in secret. If you think about it that way, it’ll make more sense.”
“But it doesn’t,” Kendra said. “Why did he stop stealing hours here and there? Why did he float out?”
“When your mom got sick,” Ellen said, “he started coming less and less. I understood. Your mom needed him. But I think it was more than that.” She stopped. “I’ll leave that to him.”
Kendra asked the question she’d always wanted to ask. “Why did you come to my house—when you knew my mom was sick—and drop the bombshell about you and Dad and Brooklyn?”
Ellen looked away for several seconds. “That was difficult for me, believe it or not.” She paused again. “Marlon hadn’t seen or spoken to Brooklyn in months. It was as if he had cut her off, not financially but in every other way. And . . .”
It was the first break in Ellen’s story, the first time she’d shown emotion.
“. . . the day I came, it had been ten nights straight of Brooklyn crying, asking what she did wrong to make her daddy not love her anymore.”
Kendra imagined what that must’ve been like. No little girl should have to hurt like that.
“I went to talk to Marlon,” Ellen continued, “since he wouldn’t take my calls. But when your mom answered, things were said that shouldn’t have been said. I regret that day immensely.”
“But it had to come out.” Kendra had never thought of it like that. “I hate that my mom found out the way she did and when she did. But the fact is, Brooklyn existed. What if she was still hidden in the shadows? What if I didn’t know her?”
“It’s quite unexpected, the bond that’s developed between you all,” Ellen said. “You know I had my reservations at first about her spending time there, but know that I trust you completely with Brooklyn.”
The pain began to shoot more intensely. “I’d better make my way back home while I can.”
Ellen helped her up and walked her to the door.
“You didn’t have to invite me in, and you didn’t have to tell me your part of the story. Thank you.” Kendra turned to her before she opened the door. “You’re human to me now.”
Ellen gave a tight nod. “That means a great deal.”
“And I should tell you so you can be prepared,” Kendra said, “since Brooklyn is at the house all the time, and there’s no way to really avoid it . . . It could actually get sticky, I guess.”
Ellen frowned a little. “What is it?”
“My dad—Brooklyn’s dad—will be here in a month.”