Caspian walked slowly up to the house, carrying a potted plant. It was a lame offering considering the damage. But Lydia had been busy today. This morning the garden had looked like a bunch of fairies had vented their anger on everything they touched. This afternoon the yard looked roughed up but otherwise ordered. The plants were in the garden beds and while they looked bedraggled and droopy, in a few days’ time with a bit of water and sun they would come back. Even the lawn would come in well.
He knocked and waited, but not for long.
Lydia had her hair pulled back in a messy bun, she looked tired, but her eyes lit up with warmth when she saw him. Then she threw her arms around his neck like he was the lifeline she’d been praying for. It had been so long since anyone had held him like that, he almost couldn’t breathe. He slid his free arm around her waist and for a moment just held her. He’d thought she’d slipped through his fingers, but she was still welcoming him with open arms. He closed his eyes, aware of how lucky he was. She was his link to all that was human as he was being surrounded by fairies. But more than that, she understood that he had a foot on both sides of the veil.
He breathed in the delicate scent of her skin and placed a kiss on her cheek. “You’re okay? Shea hasn’t been back?”
She shook her head, still pressed against him. “I haven’t heard anything strange. Whatever deal you made I think they have all gone.”
He wanted to believe that Shea had gone for good, but he knew that wouldn’t be the case. However, at least he wasn’t terrorizing Lydia anymore. “I’m glad. The garden looks better.”
She sighed against his neck and her breath tickled his skin like a lover’s caress. “It looked worse than it was.”
“I bought you a gardenia… and I will pay to get the paving relaid.”
Lydia pulled back. “You didn’t have to.” But she smiled as she took the pot.
“It was my fault it all happened.”
“You can’t help what you are.” She paused and looked at him. “It won’t happen again, right?”
The easy lie was to say no. “I can’t guarantee that. But I hope not.”
She nodded. “I hope so too.” She raked her teeth over her lip. “I didn’t call you to talk about your family—I think I’ve had all the fairies I can handle for today. I ah… I read some more of the diaries. I wish I hadn’t. I don’t know what to do.”
People’s diaries were private, but he understood her curiosity. Unfortunately some things should remain private. And he still had no idea what the best thing to do with them was. “There are names?”
“No, but I’m not a Callaway.”
Caspian blinked. How could she not be a Callaway? “What do you mean?”
“Gran wasn’t my grandmother; a woman died after giving birth and Gran raised the baby as her own. She lied to me. Said my mother was a late life surprise.”
“Hang on.” He shut the door. This didn’t seem like a conversation that should happen on the doorstep.
Her eyebrows were pinched and she was looking at him like he should have the answers… maybe he did. He wasn’t raised by his biological father. He put his satchel down by the hat stand. The iron should keep any curious fairy away. But he hadn’t seen one in the cab or any around the house.
“You said I should flick through and see if they named names. Well, I started flicking and caught up in the drama of a young woman who had partied here and then stayed when she became pregnant. She had the baby and then died.” She looked at him like he should be making connections. “That baby was my mother.”
“How do you know that for sure?”
“Gran named the baby Helen. Then I read a few of the later ones—that baby was definitely my mother. My mother had me at seventeen and ran to escape the Callaway name and house. She didn’t want to be trapped by history like Gran. Helen wasn’t even a Callaway.”
Caspian cupped her face. He couldn’t tell if she was angry, frustrated, upset, or all of the three. “I know it’s a shock, but take a breath and think about who put Band-Aids on your grazed knees and read you a bedtime story. Blood means nothing.”
She looked up at him. “But I’m not a Callaway. I don’t know who I am. Gran lied to me.”
“You are a Callaway. You’re tough and smart, just like your grandmother taught you. She loved you like a daughter, raised you. You owe her that respect. If she said nothing, it was to protect you. If she hadn’t claimed your mother, what would’ve happened? Would the child have been sent to an orphanage, placed in state care? Would that have been better?” He cupped her face, his thumbs brushing her cheeks.
She bit her lip and shook her head. “Maybe things would’ve been different.”
“You’d trade the love your grandmother gave you?” He couldn’t imagine doing that, but then he’d known since he could speak that he was different. But Lydia needed to see that it didn’t matter who her grandmother was. It was the woman she called Gran who was important. “The important people are the ones who love and care about you.”
And Dylis had been there his whole life, protecting him from Greys and telling him about his real father. The scheming she was part of probably ran deeper than he could ever know or want to understand and she wouldn’t sell him out to Shea. Dylis was part of his family.
“You really believe that?”
“With all my heart.”
“I feel like I’ve lost everything again.”
“You’ve gained. Your gran would’ve had to fight to keep your mother, and then she’d have battled again to keep you. She would have been an amazing woman. You’re lucky to have known her.” He placed a kiss on her forehead. “Come with me.” He led her into the living room. On the shelf was a plaster child’s handprint. He’d seen it and touched it out of curiosity.
As he picked it up Lydia looked at him as if he was a little crazy. “I made that for Mother’s Day when I was in kindergarten.”
“I know.” He nodded. “And she loved it. She loved you. When I pick this up that is the only impression I get. This boundless love. She’d have done anything for you. She wanted to do better than she had with Helen—I got a sense of failure and loss off the picture of the toddler.” He pointed to the wall of photos.
“Maybe you know her better than me.” Her face crumpled like she was going to cry.
“No. I get fragments of her life. You have the whole story in the diaries. Maybe some of it you weren’t supposed to read, but if you read on I’m sure you will see just how much she loved you.” He placed the handprint down. “It’s always a shock to find out not everything is as it seems.” And Lydia had found out more than the average person today.
“You’re not just talking about Gran.”
He shook his head. “I’m sorry you’ve got mixed up in my stuff.”
She gave him a halfhearted smile. “It’s what happens when you get to know someone.” She paused and met his gaze. “Please don’t tell anyone about Helen.”
“Does Helen know the truth?”
“No.”
“Are you going to tell her?”
She shrugged. “I’ve never spoken to her.”
Helen probably deserved to know about her parentage, but then what would it change? It wouldn’t bring Helen back into Lydia’s life and Lydia didn’t seem to want to know her. Whereas he wanted to at least meet his fairy father, or he had until this morning.
She covered his hands with hers. “Thank you for listening and sharing what you know. I knew you’d understand. But I still don’t know what to do with the diaries.”
“If there are no names, you don’t have to decide yet. They have no scandal value, only historical. Have you read the early ones?”