Emily's Daughter

“Then, on the other hand, I feel she callously gave our child away. I don’t even know where my daughter was born or anything about her.”

“Why didn’t you ask?”

“I was in a state of shock and…I had to get away from Emily before I said something I’d later regret.”

“I see,” George muttered. “What do you plan to do?”

“I’m not sure,” Jackson said, taking a swallow of coffee.

“You’re not planning on leaving things like this, are you?”

Jackson inhaled deeply. “I can’t answer all these questions, Dad. Give me some space.”

“I always try to do that,” George said in a reasonable voice.

He knew that and he was snapping at his father for no reason. There was silence for a moment, then Jackson said, “Sorry, Dad, but there’s something on my mind and I can’t shake it.”

“What?”

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“You can always talk to me.”

He knew that, too. He took another deep breath. “I’m thinking of finding my daughter.” The words seemed to embrace the morning air and they sounded so right, so real.

“Hot damn! Now you’re talking.”

Jackson tried to smile at his dad’s exuberance, but his facial muscles couldn’t complete the task. “She has Talbert blood in her veins and she deserves to know that, and I deserve to know where she is and that she’s happy.” He wasn’t sure of much, but he was sure about that.

“Did you talk this over with Emily?” George asked.

Jackson fingered his cup. “No.”

Silence. Then George plunged on. “Do you plan to?”

“I’m having a hard time thinking about Emily.”

“Well, son, much as you want to deny it, you’re not blameless in this.”

Jackson sucked his breath in sharply. He’d never expected to hear those words from his father—the same words Emily had used. But it was the truth, and it burned through him like a wildfire, searing nerves that were already frayed and weak.

“Don’t you think I’m aware of that?” he shot back.

“I’m just saying there has to be a good reason for what she did. Find out what it is, then do something about it.”

“Dad, you make this—”

“Talk to Emily,” George broke in. “Then find my granddaughter, because I won’t settle for anything less.”

Jackson lifted an eyebrow. “Your granddaughter, huh? All of a sudden this is about your granddaughter.”

Without missing a beat, George replied, “You’re damn right it is.”

Jackson shrugged. “Well, whatever we call her, she’s probably happy and with a loving family. She may not even suspect she’s adopted.”

“And it could be just the opposite,” George said solemnly.

Jackson squeezed his eyes tight at the agonizing thought.

“You have to talk to Emily. The way to find your daughter is through Emily.”

“Dad.” Jackson sighed in irritation and sipped at his coffee.

“Last night you were glad enough to see her,” George reminded him.

“That was last night.”

“How did you leave things?”

“Not good.”

Silence ensued again.

George watched his son closely. “I raised you better than that.”

Jackson’s eyes slammed into his father’s, demanding an explanation.

“I raised you never to judge anyone unfairly,” George said quietly. “And you’re judging Emily.”

Jackson got to his feet and carried his cup to the sink. His father was correct, as always. He was judging Emily, something he had no business doing. He didn’t know what had happened back then and he’d never bothered to go and find out. He didn’t have a right to anger or much of anything else. It took two to create a baby, and he had to take responsibility.

His father was making him think, opening his eyes, and what he saw disturbed him. At the moment, he could only deal with the pain inside him, but he had to face the consequences of his actions—then and now.

He was not blameless.

“I didn’t say that to hurt you,” George said anxiously.

Jackson glanced up as the morning sun made its appearance. “I know, Dad,” he told him. “You said it to make me think—like you always do.”

George breathed a long sigh. “Then you’ll see Emily.”

“I don’t have much choice, but I’ve got some thinking to do first.”

George walked over to the cabinet and pulled out a frying pan. “How about a big breakfast?”

Jackson smiled as the muscles in his face relaxed. “I could use one of your artery-clogging meals.”

“Watch your mouth, my boy,” George said in a teasing voice, then in a more serious tone, he added, “I’m just saying one more thing and this is strictly an old man’s observation. You never cared for Janine the way you cared for Emily.”