Page 6 of Resilient Rhythms
Opening my eyes, I shrug.
Dad clears his throat. “Now that exams are behind you, there’s something I want to share with you.”
I sit up straighter. “This sounds ominous.”
A shadow of a smile works over Dad’s expression. “Depends on your perspective. But, perhaps, yes.”
“That makes it sound even worse.”
Dad takes another sip of his coffee and leans forward. “Do you remember when I told you that your mom wasn’t the great love of my life?”
I nod. Who could forget something like that? “You said it was a woman named Isabel. That she passed and it was a long time ago.”
“That’s right.”
Frowning, I press him. “And? Why are you bringing this up now?”
Dad sighs heavily and drags a hand over the lower portion of his face. “Because it’s relevant and now that enough time has passed from Maverick?—”
I flinch at the sound of his name and Dad gives me a sympathetic glance.
“And now that final exams are behind you,” Dad soldiers on, “you need to know the truth. The full story.”
I bite the corner of my mouth, waiting.
Dad looks right at me as he admits, “Isabel was Branson Burton’s mother.”
“What?” I gasp, feeling the air in my lungs disappear. For a moment, it’s as if I can’t draw in oxygen. Pure adrenaline shoots through my veins. I push up from the barstool and grip the butcher block island and then, the air catches and I suck in deeply. Greedily. Nervously.
Dad stands on the other side of the island, one hand outstretched as if to grab me if I pass out.
Luckily, I don’t. Instead, I suck in another breath, focus on relaxing my shoulders and steadying my heart rate, and sit back down. “You better start at the beginning, Dad.”
“Yeah,” he agrees, retaking his seat. “I should.” He sips his coffee, buying time as he bolsters his mental stamina for the story he’s about to share. Then, he looks at me and begins. “I studied in Texas my junior year of college to participate in an internship program. It was one of the best years of my life, if I’m being honest. I made great friends, solid connections that helped me get my start in business, and, for the first time, I fell in love.”
“Isabel,” I whisper.
“Isabel,” Dad repeats. “She was a housekeeper for a wealthy family.”
“The Burtons,” I supply, already knowing how this story is going to play out but needing Dad to say the words anyway.
“The Burtons,” Dad confirms.
My eyes close as I feel the blood drain from my face.
“Isabel and I fell in love. We dated nearly the entire year I lived in Texas. She was a bright and beautiful woman with a million plans. But she didn’t have it easy in the Burton household. Her mom, who also worked for the family, was regularly assaulted by Jeff Burton.”
I gasp. “Bran’s father?”
“Bran’s grandfather,” Dad corrects.
“Why didn’t she report it? Why didn’t you?” I accuse.
Dad scrapes his hand over his face again and regards me warily. “I should have. But Isabel made me swear not to tell anyone. Her mom, her whole family including her, were undocumented in the United States. They were happy to have found the work that they did and Isabel’s mom never wanted to jeopardize her children’s chances of a future in America.”
“So, she just…endured it?” I shudder at the thought.
Dad nods, looking as miserable as I feel. “Yes.”
