Page 3 of The Cottage on Blueberry Bay

“So what’s going on?” she said, changing the subject. “What brings you by?”

Gordon reached inside the bag where he had the ice cream and pulled out an envelope with her maiden name written on top.

Ms. Meredith O’Neill Johnson.

“What’s this?” she asked. She had not seen her name written with O’Neill except for on her birth certificate.

Gordon exhaled a long, heavy sigh. “It’s from your father.”

CHAPTER2

Meredith hadn’t thought of her biological father in years. He had been someone she’d thought about a lot as a child, especially in her teenage years, but once she’d become a parent herself, she had stopped obsessing about why a father would have nothing to do with his child.

“What does he want?” she asked, pushing the envelope back to Gordon. She had never once spoken to her father, and now he wanted to talk?

“Nothing,” Gordon said, leaving the envelope where she had pushed it. “He passed away over the weekend.”

“Jacob?” She looked up from her bowl. “He died?”

Gordon nodded. “Looks like a stroke.”

“Oh,” she said, calculating his age in her mind. He hadn’t even reached seventy.

“Who gave you this?” she asked, gesturing toward the envelope. She noticed the name of the small fishing town that Jacob had lived in. Blueberry Bay sat on the edge of the Atlantic Ocean where the locals of Maine called Down East.

“An attorney named Quinn Michaud.” Gordon handed her a card. “He only had your maiden name. I tried calling you when he came to the house, but I couldn’t get a hold of you.”

She picked up the card, thinking of Jacob. She didn’t know how to feel about a man she had never met. A father’s death should be significant, but she felt strangely normal.

“So he did know where we lived.” She let out a single laugh as Gordon patted her hand.

“You’re the sole beneficiary to his estate.” Gordon pushed the envelope back to her.

What kind of inheritance could a fisherman have anyway?

She stared at the envelope, afraid only trouble lurked inside. “What is he giving me?”

He shrugged. “It’s not mine to open.”

She reached out and over the table, then pulled the envelope back to her. She held it in her hands, studying it. This was the kind of moment she wished she had Phillip here for, sitting by her side, encouraging her to make the next move.

She let it go, dropping it like it was hot to the touch.

“Don’t you want to know what’s inside?” her father asked.

“I don’t know if I can handle more bad news today,” she said, noticing her ice cream melting in the bowl.

“Meredith.” Gordon leaned over the table, holding her hand. “Your mother was open about your father and his struggles. Maybe he left you something that can help with everything you’re going through.” He paused. “This might allow you to heal from the wounds his absence created.”

“That’s the thing about wounds,” Meredith said. “They leave scars.”

Gordon frowned. “I know this must be hard, but maybe it will give you the closure you need.”

She inhaled. Gordon was right. Herrealdad, Gordon. The dad who had stayed up with her looking at stars in the backyard. The dad who had held her hair when she got sick. The dad who had coached her games and given her pep talks. He was the dad who tucked her in at night and walked her down the aisle. Even now, almost fifty, he still showed up for her. The guy in the envelope was just a sperm donor, for all she was concerned.

She looked over at him. Gordon looked more tired these days. The family physician had fallen head over heels for her and her mother. He’d taken them in when her mother had left her father and needed a place to stay. He always said he fell in love with both of them from the first moment he’d met them.

His girls.

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