Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91887 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 459(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
“You have a father, and I’m afraid he is gravely ill,” the mysterious caller says. “He’s asked to see you. Immediately.”
I laugh, but it comes out brittle. “This isn’t funny.”
“I assure you, Miss Button, I’m not joking.”
“My father is dead,” I say. “Or imaginary, depending on who you ask.”
There’s another pause. This one feels kind of charged, like I am starting to believe this guy, and he feels it too.
“Your father is definitely not imaginary or dead. For now. He’s fifty-eight years old, but his health has been failing for some time now, and he is now very ill. He doesn’t have much time, and he really does want to see you, Miss Button.”
My hands are shaking. “You’ve made a mistake,” I say, but I don’t believe he has.
“I haven’t,” he says gently. “He knows all about you. He’s known about you and followed your progress through your entire life.”
Then he starts reeling off enough random facts about me growing up. Stuff no one but my closest circle knows about, sports medals, a spelling bee competition I won at school, a trip I took to Europe to celebrate my eighteenth birthday. I have no choice but to believe him. My mind is racing. Why? Why did my father never want to meet me until now, when he’s dying? And yet, he cared enough to watch me from a distance. I don’t know how to feel about that. I don’t get it. Does the fact that he didn’t stick around, but watched from afar make it better or worse?
“There isn’t much time,” Gavin continues. “You need to fly out to New York. Tonight. There will be a car outside your apartment in two hours. The driver will take you to the airport. Everything is arranged. I will come to meet you at this end when you arrive.”
“This is insane,” I gasp.
“I understand it is a shock,” he says soothingly. “But you will be fulfilling a dying man’s last wish. Please consider it. You are very important to him… and, perhaps, he will be able to answer any questions you have too.”
There is a pause when neither of us speaks. Goosebumps scatter my skin, and I start to shiver. Someone shouts from across the road. A taxi honks impatiently. The door behind me opens, and the busy sounds from inside spill out. Gavin Hampstead stays perfectly silent on the other end of the phone. That is my life. It calls to me as I stand on the threshold of something new.
“All right,” I hear myself whispering.
“Good.” There is relief in his voice.
The call ends, and I stand there for a moment, dazed. My phone is still pressed to my ear even though the call is over. Slowly, I bring my hand back down and the city roars back into focus around me. A couple walks past laughing.
My heart is trying to climb out of my throat. I have to know if there’s any truth to this claim. There’s only one person who might know, but I don’t know whether or not she’ll tell me. I call my mother, and she answers on the third ring.
“Jo? It’s late. Are you alright?”
Automatically, I want to tell her it’s not that late; it’s only ten thirty, but none of that matters now. Instead, I blurt out the reason for my call.
“Mom,” I say. “Someone just called me. From New York. He said he’s my father’s solicitor. He said my father is dying and that he wants to see me before he dies.”
“Don’t be silly,” she snaps. Her reaction feels too fast, like she’s feeling guilty and hiding something. And just like that, Gavin Hampstead’s words start to ring true to me.
“You were conceived from a one-night stand. You know that,” Mum adds sharply.
“I don’t feel like I know anything when it comes to my father,” I say quietly, inviting her to finally tell me the truth about him.
Her breath catches slightly. “This is quite clearly a sick joke. Someone’s messing with your head.”
She didn’t take the chance I gave her, but I try again. “If he was a one-night stand,” I say quietly. “He shouldn’t even know I exist.”
“That’s right. He shouldn’t,” she insists. “This is some sort of fraud. And you should block his number and ignore him if he ever tries to contact you again.”
Something is wrong. I can hear it in the tightness of her voice, the way she’s over-enunciating, like if she’s careful enough, the truth won’t slip out.
Her voice softens. “I’m sorry, darling. I know you want to believe your father is out there in the world waiting to meet you, but it’s just not true.”
“Mom,” I plead. “Please, level with me. Is my father in New York? Does he know about me?”
There’s a long pause, and I think for a moment that she’s gathering the right words to finally tell me what I have always longed to know. “It’s late,” she says finally. “And I can’t talk to you when you’ve been drinking and won’t hear sense. Go home and go to sleep, Jo. I’ll call you in the morning.”