Page 241 - My FlipBook

T R A I L O F C R U M B S

Greta leaned forward to hear the answer too. She wanted
to believe him—the house, the white picket fence, the happy
family—but it felt like another trail of crumbs. Hope, then
trauma, then nothing.
“I promise you—”
“Not good enough!” Ash’s voice grew stronger, like his
words alone could knock Roger flat.
Elgin cleared his throat and stepped in. “Ash. Greta.

If I may.” Ash clamped his mouth shut. “Maybe I seem like a
kind person to you. I try to be. I took you in when you needed
it, and I enjoy having you here. Truth be told”—he drew
a breath, wilting a little—“I’ll miss you when you’re gone, but
you’re not mine to keep.”
They waited for him to continue, all digesting his
admission.

He continued: “But my Alice here can tell you how many
times I’ve failed as a father, as a human being.” Alice focused
on the table, her face instantly red. “I can remember at least
five times that I completely forgot to pick her up from school,
and they had to call me to come get her.”
She nodded. “There were seven in the space of two
months. Every single time, I stood on the side of the road for
an hour, waiting for you.”
“Seven. Right. And I forgot her birthday the year Eleanor

died. The day came and went, and she sat in her room waiting
for party guests to arrive.” He swallowed hard at that memory.
“Every year, Dad,” Alice said, her voice thick. “You’ve
forgotten my birthday every year since Mom died.”

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