He glanced at the bags.
Then at me.
“You’re early.”
“Eight minutes.”
He stepped back.
“They’re in the kitchen.”
Luke heard my voice.
His feet slapped across the hardwood before I could see him.
“Damon!”
He raced toward me.
I crouched down on instinct.
For a second I thought he might hug me.
Instead, he stopped and pointed at my bag.
“What’s that?”
“Pancakes.”
His face brightened.
“I like pancakes.”
“That’s what I heard.”
Violet stayed close to Cassandra.
She held the elephant tucked beneath her chin.
I smiled at her.
“Morning, Violet.”
She ducked behind Cassandra’s leg.
I didn’t step any closer.
We made pancakes.
Luke insisted on three strawberries on his. Violet wanted none until she saw Luke eating them, and then she demanded four.
I burned the first pancake.
Daniel laughed at me.
“Seven hundred eighty million dollars and you can’t handle a skillet?”
“Apparently not.”
For the first time since the airplane, Cassandra laughed.
It was a small laugh.
But I remembered that sound.
After breakfast, Luke tugged me into the living room.
“My picture.”
He climbed onto the rug and found the drawing.
The fourth figure wasn’t blank anymore.
It now had brown hair.
A blue shirt.
And far too many fingers.
Below it, in uneven red letters, Luke had written:
DAMON.
I crouched next to him.
“Is that me?”
He nodded.
“Mommy helped with the M.”
“It’s good.”
He tapped the drawing.
“Mom said you’re gonna come back.”
I looked at Cassandra.
She stood in the doorway.
“Yeah,” I said. “I’m coming back.”
Luke took that answer without question and wandered off to find more paper.
Cassandra didn’t.
She had heard promises before.
So I knew what came next mattered more.
I had to come back.
Every Friday
After Christmas, I flew home to Portland.
The next Friday, I flew back.
Then I did it again.
And again.
At first, Violet hardly spoke to me.
Luke had enough questions for the both of them.
“Do you have a dog?”
“No.”
“Why?”
“I travel a lot.”
“You should get a dog.”
“I’ll consider it.”
“A big one.”
“Noted.”
Violet listened from behind her elephant.
By February, she’d begun sitting next to me.
By March, she let me read to her.
I found out that Luke hated peas but would eat broccoli.
Violet couldn’t stand sandwiches cut into triangles.
Luke was afraid of the vacuum cleaner.
Violet wouldn’t sleep anywhere without that gray elephant.
I also learned that children didn’t care about your plans.
Meetings dragged on.
Flights were delayed.
People got sick.
Some days, the biggest event was someone refusing to put on socks.
And oddly, those were the days I remembered.
One Friday in February, a snowstorm grounded every flight out of Portland.
I called Cassandra.
“I’m going to be late.”
There was a pause.
“The airport is closed.”
“I know.”
“Damon, you can’t control the weather.”
“I told Luke Friday.”
“He’ll understand.”
Maybe.
But I had spent three years being absent without even realizing it.
I wasn’t about to choose to add one more day.
I rented a car.
The drive took most of the day.
Near midnight, I turned into Daniel’s driveway.
The porch light was on.
Before I got to the door, a small face showed up at the window.
Luke.
His mouth dropped open.
Then I heard him through the glass.
“HE CAME!”
The front door swung open.
Luke ran outside in dinosaur pajamas.
Cassandra grabbed him before he reached the wet steps.
“Shoes!”
“Damon came!”
“I can see that.”
I stood in the driveway, snow melting on my coat.
Cassandra looked at me.
Something in her expression had changed.
She didn’t thank me.
She didn’t need to.
She just opened the door wider.
The Woman Who Thought She Was Protecting Me
Solving the mystery of the letters took longer.
My office went through old mail logs and employee records.
Eventually, one name kept turning up.
Evelyn Hart.
She had worked closely with me during the most aggressive expansion period at Prescott Technologies. She’d managed much of my scheduling, correspondence, and access.
When I confronted her, she didn’t deny it.
We met in my office after everyone else had left for the night.
I set one of Cassandra’s returned envelopes on the desk.
“Did you intercept these?”
Evelyn looked at it.
Then at me.
“Some.”
“Did you call Cassandra?”
Silence.
“Evelyn.”
“Yes.”
I leaned back.
“Why?”
She folded her hands.
“You were preparing for the largest expansion in the company’s history.”
“Those were my children.”
“I didn’t know that for certain.”
“You told their mother I didn’t want them.”
“I thought I was protecting you.”
That sentence hung in the room between us.
The worst part was that I knew where she’d learned to think that way.
From me.
I had rewarded people for solving problems before they ever reached my desk.
I’d canceled vacations for meetings.
Missed birthdays.
Walked out on dinners.
Told everyone around me that Prescott Technologies came first.
Evelyn had carried that message somewhere unforgivable.
But I had spent years teaching it.
“You weren’t protecting me.”For illustration purposes only
She looked down.
“I know that now.”
Her employment ended soon after.
I didn’t feel victorious.
I called Cassandra from the parking garage.
“It was Evelyn.”
She was quiet.
“You’re sure?”
“She admitted it.”
Another silence.
Then Cassandra said something I still remember.
“I spent three years thinking you knew.”
I leaned against my car.
“I know.”
“Every birthday. Every doctor’s appointment. Every time Luke asked why other kids had dads picking them up.”
I closed my eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
“I know.”
It wasn’t forgiveness.
Not yet.
But she stayed on the line.
That was enough for that night.
PART TWO
See more on the next page