Chapter 11: The Man in the Photo

I did not ask him about the photograph.

I turned the phone face down on the floor and said it was nothing.

Ronan said, "Go to sleep."

He held me until his breathing slowed.

I lay awake until the window turned gray.

At seven, a maid knocked and said that Mr. Kearney wanted us both in his study.

Ronan was already dressed.

He did not look at me.

He kissed my temple, and his mouth stayed there a second longer than it needed to.

"Whatever he says," he said, "I'm here."

I thought it was a strange thing to say.

Sean Kearney sat behind his desk with a long white envelope in front of him.

His hand lay flat on top of it.

His eyes were red.

"The lab called at six," he said. "My lab. Not Savannah's."

He pushed the envelope across to me.

I opened it.

There was one page.

Erin Calloran. Sean Kearney. Probability of parentage, 99.99 percent.

I read it twice.

I read it a third time, because the words did not seem to be about me.

"You are my daughter," Sean said.

He had to stop.

He put a hand over his mouth.

When he took it away, he was crying, and he did not hide it.

"I looked for you for twenty-six years. Your mother looked until the day she died. She would have, she would have..."

I stood up.

I did not know I was going to.

I went around the desk, and he stood, and the big old man put his arms around me and held on.

He smelled of pipe smoke and wool.

I had never been held by anyone who had waited for me.

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