Chapter 7
Maya’s father lived three hours away.
His name was Walter Price. I remembered him as a man with a deep voice who carried Maya on his shoulders. I had not seen him since I was nine.
We called first. Maya told him I would come with her. He was quiet, then said he would be home on Saturday.
I drove. Maya held Mom’s letters in a folder on her lap.
Halfway there, she asked whether we should turn around.
“We can,” I said. “You don’t owe him a meeting today.”
“I want to know.”
We kept going.
Walter opened the door before we reached the porch. His hair was gray, and he moved slowly, but I recognized his eyes.
“Maya,” he said.
She did not hug him.
Inside, she laid out the letters. Walter read the first one and put it down.
“Your mother sent these?”
“She wrote them,” Maya said. “Most never reached me. You told me she stopped trying.”
Walter stared at the table.
“I was angry with Denise when we separated,” he said.
“Mom was six,” I said. “I was nine. We needed to see each other.”
“I know that now.”
Maya’s voice shook.
“Did you keep her letters?”
“Some came to our old address. I sent them back. Later I stopped giving the new address to anyone from that side of the family.”
“You told me she didn’t want me.”
Walter covered his face.
“I thought if you kept waiting for her, you’d never feel settled with me.”
“You made me think I was unwanted so you could feel secure.”
He did not deny it.
I had imagined a dramatic answer. His small, selfish choice had lasted twenty years. Maya cried quietly. I wanted to take her out of that room, but she had come for the truth.
“Did you know I tried to find Marcus when I turned eighteen?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You said his family had moved.”
“I didn’t know where he lived then. That part was true.”
She looked at me.
“I might have found you if I kept searching.”
“I was looking too,” I said. “Mom and I never had Walter’s new address.”
Walter reached toward Maya’s hand. She pulled it back.
“I love you,” he said.
“I love you too. I need time to understand what you did.”
He nodded.
We left soon after. In the car, Maya leaned her head against the window.
“You can still love him,” I said.
“I know. I don’t know how to trust him.”
“You don’t have to decide today.”
I heard her own words from the day we found Mom’s will. She gave me a tired smile.
We stopped for dinner on the way home. She told me about childhood birthdays Walter had made special and school plays he never missed. Then she told me about every time she had wondered why Mom never came.
Both were part of her life. I listened to all of it.
When we reached Mom’s house, Maya went straight to the piano. She played a few notes, paused, and tried again. The melody came back slowly.
I sat on the stairs. I had not heard that piano since Mom’s hands became too weak to play.
The next morning, Walter sent a message to Maya. He apologized without asking her to visit again. She read it and set her phone aside.
“I’ll answer when I’m ready,” she said.
Our own relationship was growing in smaller steps. Maya came with me to a company picnic. She met my coworkers, including Daniel, who asked if she had any embarrassing stories about me.
“I have twenty years to make up for,” she told him. “Give me time.”
She also told me more about her work. She designed community health programs and had spent years helping families find services without getting lost in paperwork. Mom would have been proud of her.
At the end of the month, Aisha finished the estate accounting. The house and investments would be split as Mom had directed. Maya wanted to keep the piano. I wanted the box of letters and a small watch Dad had given Mom.
We wrote down what mattered to us and talked through anything we both wanted.
No raised voices. No one taking an object first and explaining later.
When the papers were signed, Maya and I stood outside Aisha’s office. She held the piano receipt for its move. I held the house keys.
“We actually did it,” she said.
“Mom helped. She wrote things down.”
Maya laughed.
Then my phone rang.
It was Vanessa.
I nearly declined, but she had not called in weeks.
“Marcus,” she said, “I found something of Denise’s in the box of clothes I took from your apartment.”
May you like
“What?”
“A small notebook. I think she meant you to have it.”
