Page 61 of Fate and Fortune

That’s not a yes. That’s a man leaving himself a door.

Sam didn’t push it. He filed it and moved on. Had Alli caught it, too? He had to wait to find out.

“Mr. Powell,” Sam said. “I need to ask you the thing I asked you yesterday. Not because I want to be cruel about it. Because I have five brothers and sisters at home waiting on the answer.”

“Whether it was your father.”

“Yes.”

“I asked her that myself.” Walter almost smiled, but his lips were more twisted than turned up. “Not in those words, of course. But I did ask. I had the same thought you did. She was a woman who worked eleven hours a day for a wealthy married man, and she came to us pregnant. She wouldn’t say by whom, and I am not a stupid person.”

“And?”

Sam’s fingers tightened on the arm of the kitchen chair as he waited.

“She swore to me it was not Joel Winslow.” He said it plainly and without hedging, and it landed differently from the last answer. Sam noticed that too. “She was angry that I asked. Not embarrassed. Angry. She said, it isn’t him, Walter, and I don’t ever want to hear you say that again.”

“Did she say who it was?”

“No. Only that it was someone else, and that he didn’t matter anymore.”

He didn’t matter anymore. Interesting.

“Did he know?” Sam asked. “The father. Did he know she was pregnant?”

“Yes.” Walter nodded slowly. “Apparently he did. She told me he knew, and that he had no objection to the adoption. She said it exactly like that. No objection.” He made a small sound of disgust. “A man is told there’s a child and his contribution to the conversation is that he has no objection. What a shit human being.”

So he knew. Some married man knew Leigh was carrying his child, and signed off on giving her away, and went on with his life.

And Leigh went back to Winslow Heights and sat outside my father’s office for thirty years.

“We have to get to the airport,” Sam said, checking his watch. “Is there anything else we need to know? Anything about the father?”

Sam was already cataloging the possibilities in his mind. Powell wasn’t kidding when he’d said that Leigh worked long days at the firm. It was a good possibility she’d met the father at work.

“No, I don’t know anything else,” Powell replied. “Leigh didn’t like to talk about it.”

“Mr. Powell. Thank you. I know this couldn’t have been an easy conversation.”

Powell stood when they did, walking them to the door.

“I want your word,” he said, his hand on the doorknob. “Both of you. You must not tell Hannah.”

“We won’t tell her,” Alli said, nodding in agreement.

Powell looked at Sam, clearly wanting his affirmation as well.

“You have my word,” Sam said. “It isn’t mine to tell.”

Because it wasn’t. Whether the man was right or wrong to keep it from his daughter wasn’t the question. It simply wasn’t Sam’s secret to divulge.

More secrets. So like Winslow Heights.

“Thank you. For what it’s worth, and I don’t suppose it’s worth much this week. She loved Hannah. She was the best aunt in the world. Absolutely the best.”

They thanked Powell, and headed for the airport. They’d returned the rental car and were headed to the terminal before either of them spoke.

“So she’s not ours,” Sam said.