Читать книгу His Ten-Year-Old Secret - Donna Clayton, Donna Clayton - Страница 9

Prologue

She simply could not put off this chore any longer. Tess Galloway stood at the threshold of her father’s bedroom door. The late-afternoon sun slanted golden through the window, casting streaks of light across the worn, brown rug. Absently Tess worried her bottom lip between her teeth and went inside.

The air still held a whispery trace of familiar spicy aftershave. Barely noticeable after all these weeks, the scent offered her a vague sense of comfort as she inhaled it deeply into her lungs, yet her heart pinched in her chest with painful longing.

The dark-stained pine of the bed’s footboard was scarred and dull with age, the mattress sagging in the middle. Tess grinned gently at the memory of how her father had allowed her an occasional, albeit short, bedjumping session when she’d been a little girl. She grazed her fingertips lightly across the cotton spread.

Two small steps had her standing in front of his bureau, and without even picking up the pipe that rested there, Tess detected the faint aroma of tobacco. The rich fragrance kindled feelings of deep love and total security the likes of which she would never again experience.

“Daddy,” Tess whispered to the empty room. Her eyes stung as unexpected tears shattered her sight into glittering shards. “Oh, how I miss you.”

A month had passed since Harry Galloway’s funeral. For weeks Tess had found one excuse after another to keep from sorting through his belongings, packing up his clothes, cleaning out his bedroom.

But the chill of fall was in the air and close on its heels would be winter. She was certain there was someone in need of warm clothing. Her father’s gray wool overcoat might be a bit frayed at the cuffs, but it would certainly keep someone toasty when the temperatures dipped low. And his olive mackintosh was just as rain repellent as ever. There were several suits. Trousers and a sport coat or two. Dress shirts and ties. Not to mention shoes. Three pair to be exact, all in good condition, seeing as how her father worked all his life in one shoe repair shop or another. It would be a sin to let such serviceable clothing hang in the closet, sit in the drawers, unused.

Tess dashed a tear trail from her cheek with the back of her hand. “This simply must be done,” she told herself, giving the words an insistent inflection. “Today. ”

The topmost bureau drawer slid open and Tess dived into it with both hands, scooping out paired socks that had been rolled into balls and stragglers that had no mate but that her father hadn’t been able to get rid of. There were neatly folded handkerchiefs, at least a dozen of them, one of which her dad slid into his back pocket every day. Harry Galloway would never have been caught without his trusty handkerchief. One never knew when one’s glasses would need a good cleaning, or a park bench brushed off, or a little girl’s nose wiped...

Again, Tess felt an achy spasm shoot through her chest.

“We’re thick as thieves, me and you, Tessie.” She could almost hear his soft, gentle voice as he’d described their close and loving relationship. Her dad had been an emotional man. Yes, he had.

She sniffed back another tear. “Stop, darn it,” she chastised herself aloud.

Aggravated with herself, Tess pulled the second drawer completely free and dumped its contents onto the bed. V-necked T-shirts and cotton boxers tumbled into a pile. The third drawer held polo shirts and sweaters. One shabby-looking sweatshirt caught her eye and she picked it up. The pilled fabric was soft against her cheek and she remembered this was her father’s favorite. The one he wore to work around the house. She set it aside. A cherished keepsake.

She found several pairs of shorts in the fourth drawer, and as she tossed them into the pile, she noticed they were threadbare in places. How few of them there were wasn’t lost on her, either. Tess had been aware that her father had gone without for her. Boy, had she been aware.

He’d worked so hard. Had sacrificed so much. Just so she could earn the title of Dr. Tess Galloway. His greatest wish had been to provide her with a college and medical school education free from the strangling claws of bank loans. For several years he’d been successful, paying for her tuition and books with his meager salary, but not without a great deal of personal sacrifice. Because of Tess, Harry Galloway never tool a vacation, never bought a new car and just simply made do with what he had or could acquire secondhand.

Not wanting the pile of her father’s clothing to become so large it rolled to the floor, she stopped clearing out drawers and began to gently, lovingly tuck the clothing into a large plastic bag.

Her protests against all his sacrifice had fallen on deaf ears. Harry hadn’t allowed Tess to work anything more than a part-time job all through her college years.

But as the tuition increased, and his salary hadn’t, Harry was forced to allow Tess to seek out education loans through the University of Connecticut; however, he’d done everything he could to keep those debts to a minimum.

Tess had just finished her medical residency and had accepted a partnership in a large family practice. Her loans were almost miniscule compared to some of her graduating peers, and she was in a much better position than they would be for years to come. All due to her father’s ceaseless efforts to pay the tuition bills, all due to his endless determination to set aside his own needs to provide for those of his daughter.

Once the bed was clear, she turned back to the bureau and bent to pull out the final drawer. A thought struck her with such startling suddenness that her spine straightened almost of its own accord, and she rested her hand on the bureau top.

With the smell of her father’s pipe tobacco wafting around her, she realized that with all his making do, with all his self-sacrifice, he’d never once over the years made her feel the least bit guilty. He’d never made one comment to make her feel beholden. Never said a word meant to incite her need to feel obligated or indebted to him. He’d never once brought up her mistakes of the past. He’d simply given to her. He’d simply loved her. Unselfishly. Unconditionally.

He’d been such a kind, caring, loving parent.

With a sigh, Tess returned to the task at hand. She tugged the final, bottommost drawer from its slot and twisted toward the bed. Sweatpants and heavy work trousers fell out along with something that made a heavy clunk as it bounced onto the mattress.

Curiosity knit her brow as she brushed aside one leg of a pair of navy sweatpants to see the object more clearly.

It was a box. A tin box. A tad smaller than a shoe box. The blue paint had chipped away in several places allowing rust to eat at the metal.

The edge of the mattress depressed as Tess sat down. She picked up the box, acutely aware of the coolness of its surface. The latch caught, and for a moment she thought the box was locked. But the latch finally gave, and the lid sprang free.

Envelopes, a tight bundle of them, were crammed in the tight space. A rubber band secured them togetter. These weren’t regular white letter envelopes. They looked official. No, they looked like oversize, tan business envelopes. And they were unopened. Tess had to strain to pry them out of the cramped space. There looked to be over a hundred of them. However, before she was able to examine them too closely, her attention was caught by the small book resting in the bottom of the box. The tiny book’s rough, black cover was reminiscent of the old register books banks gave out before the age of computerized accounts. Utter bewilderment had her head shaking back and forth as she wondered what in the world she’d discovered.

After setting the envelopes aside, Tess picked up the bankbook, turned it over and her mouth opened in surprise, but no sound came forth.

Minster Savings And Loan, Pine Meadow, NJ.

Walloped with an overwhelming wave of weakness, she was relieved to be sitting because her whole body felt suddenly shaky. That name. Minster. It hadn’t been mentioned between her and her father in...years.

Seldom did Tess allow herself to even think it, because doing so only stirred up memories. Haunting memories of a love she’d felt so strongly the mere thought of it was enough to swallow her whole. But when she did indulge herself, when she did permit herself to get lost in remembering, she did so only in the very deepest part of the night, when there was no chance of her reminiscence being discovered.

However, the Minster name also conjured in her an ache. A terrible ache caused by a loss so complete it had left a hole in her life that would never be filled.

With well-practiced determination, she shoved the tormenting memory aside. It was either that, or risk getting completely caught up in the past.

She focused on the tin box instead. What did it . mean, this old account book? These unopened bank statements?

Her fingers trembled as she cracked open the spine of the small black book. The balance scrawled on the yellowed page made her gasp aloud.