Chapter 6 - The Daughter Chicago Wasn’t Expecting
Three months later, everyone in Chicago knew Joseph Salvini had a daughter.
That part was unavoidable.
What surprised people was that I refused nearly everything his name could give me.
He offered me a car.
“No.”
An apartment.
“No.”
A security driver.
“Absolutely not.”
“Audrey.”
“Dad.”
“It’s dangerous.”
“You had three men follow me into a grocery store.”
“They were discreet.”
“One held my shopping basket.”
Joseph considered that.
“That was excessive.”
“Thank you.”
“I’ll reduce it to two.”
“Dad.”
“One.”
We compromised on one.
Mom enjoyed watching us argue.
Joseph began spending Sundays at our house.
Sometimes he arrived in an expensive suit.
Sometimes jeans.
He learned how to fix the loose cabinet door he had complained about.
Badly.
Mom fixed his repair afterward.
He pretended not to notice.
But some things were harder.
One evening, I found him standing in my childhood bedroom.
Pictures covered the walls.
School awards.
Dance recital photographs.
Graduation.
He touched a framed picture of me at eight years old.
“I should have been there.”
“You couldn’t be.”
“I should have known.”
“You didn’t.”
He looked at me.
“How do you forgive that?”
“I’m not forgiving what happened.”
His face fell slightly.
“I’m refusing to let it control what happens next.”
He nodded.
That became our rule.
No pretending the past hadn’t happened.
No living inside it either.
Joseph and Mom rebuilt their relationship slowly.
There were arguments.
Lots of them.
Twenty years created questions that couldn’t be solved over one romantic dinner.
But Joseph kept showing up.
So did Mom.
One night, the three of us returned to the Golden Crown.
Mr. Collins nearly fainted when he saw me walking beside Joseph.
“Audrey!”
“Relax. I’m still me.”
Joseph looked at him.
“She’s not working tonight.”
“I noticed, sir.”
We sat at the same table where Joseph had dropped his glass.
The waiter brought scotch.
I immediately moved it farther from him.
Joseph frowned.
“What are you doing?”
“Preventative measures.”
Mom laughed.
Joseph shook his head.
“I broke one glass.”
“You caused a restaurant-wide panic.”
“You caused it.”
“I mentioned a tattoo.”
“You announced that your mother wore the symbol I designed for the woman I thought I’d lost twenty years earlier.”
“Technicalities.”
He smiled.
Then Mom reached across the table.
“Joseph.”
“Yes?”
“There’s something I never told you.”
His smile disappeared.
I groaned.
“No more secrets.”
Mom laughed.
“Nothing terrible.”
She opened her handbag.
Inside was a tiny velvet box.
Joseph stared at it.
Mom placed it in front of him.
He opened it.
Inside was a small silver charm shaped like a constellation.
“You gave me this the night we designed the tattoos,” she said.
Joseph touched it carefully.
“You kept it.”
“All twenty years.”
His eyes met hers.
“Why?”
Mom smiled.
“Because disappearing wasn’t the same as forgetting.”
Joseph reached across the table and took her hand.
For once, I didn’t make a joke.
Some moments deserved silence.
May you like
This was one of them.
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