The Envelope

I walked down the white hallway that smelled of sickness and disinfectant. The only thing I could hear was the click of my heels as I exited the hospital where my father has passed away. It still seemed so unreal. I left Jane in the room to mourn him alone. We had never been close. As her tears fell on his cold body, her grief consumed the atmosphere and pushed me away, signaling she wanted him all to herself. As I stepped outside into the cool October breeze, the parking lot was dotted with beams of white light. I sank slowly into the driver's seat of my car. After a few minutes, I realized I didn’t have my keys in the ignition. My cold fingers fumbled through my brown leather purse for several seconds before they touched the metal of the few keys I owned: one to the car, one to the house, and one to my office. I drove home in a fog, not sure what tomorrow would bring. Tonight, however, would bring all the tears I couldn’t shed in front of Jane for the only person I loved in this world.

The next morning, I met Jane at the funeral home. She looked at me indifferently as I entered the parlor. “I’ve already given them the instructions for what your father wanted,” she spit out coldly. “He left this for you.” She handed me a faded and tattered envelope. “What is it?” I choked out through tears. My father had no money, no great wealth. Nor did I think he left anything unsaid to me before his death. “The truth”, she stated as she spun on her heel and marched away. What the hell did that mean? I glanced around the quiet and empty room, then sat down in a small, plush chair covered in a floral pattern. It looked like the one I so often sat in when we would visit Granny during the summer.

I turned the envelope over in my hands. It simply had my name on the front: Ellie. I carefully tore open the aged paper and pulled out a one-page letter. There was no date at the top. Written in blue ink, the letter itself was short. There wasn’t even a greeting. It began,

 I’ve had this conversation with you a thousand times in my mind. After your mother died, I didn’t know when or how the time would be right to tell you. You need to know I love you with all my heart. Almost as much as I loved your mother. Alice was the most beautiful person I will have ever known. She has never left my heart or my thoughts. You look like her. In you, I see her light, her love, her passion for life. You have been my lifeline to her all these years. That is why you also need to know, my dear Elizabeth, that I am not your father. When your mother went away to college that summer, I thought I had lost her forever. But the next year when she came home, I knew in my heart she had returned to me. She was carrying you at the time. I married her the next day and we picked your name out together. We began our life together and never regretted it. We never thought we would have to tell you this truth. But I need you to know. You are so loved by both of us.

I sat frozen, in shock and completely stunned by the words I had just read. It couldn’t be. This man was my world. I was his princess. We weren’t rich by any means but if I asked for anything, he gifted it to me. He spent every waking minute laughing or dancing or playing with me. How could he not be my father? What about all the birthday parties? The afternoon teas? The school dances we attended every year? This couldn’t be right. It’s not true. I stood up as if to run away from the terrible truth I had just learned. Everything began to spin. This had to be a cruel joke. Instead of fainting, I threw up.

        I drove to my father’s house to find Jane sitting on the porch swing, arms crossed with a cigarette in one hand. I ran up the creaky wooden steps and began sputtering. “Why didn’t he tell me? Why didn’t YOU tell me? Who’s my real father then? This isn’t true! You’re lying to me! You’re trying to hurt me, aren’t you? Because he loved me more!” I was sobbing by this point. I didn’t mean to hurl out that last line, but surely Jane was simply trying to return to me the hurt she felt all these years. Instead of a doting husband she had a good man who was a loving father. To a child who wasn’t even his.

Jane exhaled a puff of white smoke and turned her eyes to me. “It’s true. Why would I lie? You got all of him and I got whatever was left over after your mother”. Her voice was almost poisonous. “All I know is your REAL father lives in Massachusetts, and that your grandfather did not accept Alice.” With that, Jane tossed her cigarette into the dirt and went inside, closing the door behind her. I heard the lock click softly. I sat down on the steps and looked around. I felt lost. So very lost. I kept expecting to wake up any moment from this nightmare. The sick feeling in my stomach pushed me to my feet. I returned to my car and slowly pulled out of the driveway, unsure of what to do next.

It rained the morning of his funeral. My father always said it was the angels letting us know they were sad with us. In some strange way, it brought me comfort to think my father was one of them now and joining me in shedding tears. Shedding tears for the memories that we would never make. Crying for Jane, because she was losing him too. I wondered if my father and mother were together now, smiling down on me the way you always hear about in movies. The priest snapped me out of my thoughts as he took my hand and squeezed it. “Please know that we are lifting you up in our prayers, Ellie. Your father was a fine man”. I tried to smile, then wondered if he knew the truth about my father. I wondered if anyone here knew, besides Jane. I thanked him and the small procession of relatives who now offered me their condolences. I had come to love these people over the course of family dinners, holidays, and summer vacations. Now all I could do was question their knowledge of my father. My father. How could I call him that now? I still loved him, but this revelation was earth-shattering. He had never lied to me. Not once. Now, this lie loomed over me like the dark rain clouds filling the sky now. As people began to walk to their cars, I saw my father’s lawyer speaking with Jane. I rushed over to him as he turned his back to her to walk away. “Mr. Johnson, do you have a minute? I need to speak to you?” I called out. He turned to me and offered me shelter under his umbrella. “Ellie, I’m so sorry for your loss. What can I do for you?” I steadied my gaze and my nerves. “I need to know about my biological father. I think you have the answer I need”. Mr. Johnson sighed and put his head down as if in shame. He stayed quiet for a minute, then spoke. “Come see me in the morning. I have something to give you”. I nodded, elated that my hunch was right.

The next morning, it wasn’t raining but the charcoal gray sky promised more. Almost as if warning me that the day might not bring the results I wanted to hear. As I drove to Mr. Johnson’s small practice, I noticed his luxury car in the front parking space next to his secretary’s, a small sedan. I parked in the next available space and pulled my coat around my ears and I hurried into the building. He saw me immediately and invited me back to his office. “Can I get you some coffee?” he offered. “No thank you,” I declined politely as he motioned for me to have a seat across from him. I hadn’t slept much at all last night in anticipation of this moment. The possibilities seemed endless about what he might tell me. Was my biological father interested in me? Did I have siblings? Why didn’t my grandfather want my mother?  Instead, he handed me a large manilla envelope. “This is all your father left me to give to you when the time was right”, Mr. Johnson started. I bounced the very light package in my right hand. I looked at him with a quizzical look. “Your father told me shortly after he and Jane married that this was everything you would need to find answers to your questions.” I looked at the envelope again. “Did he ever speak to you about my real father? Did he have contact with him after I was born? What about my mother? Did she leave me anything?” Mr. Johnson shook his head as he reclined in his leather chair. “Charles never mentioned anything to me except that you were his, no matter what that birth certificate said.” My eyes filled with tears at the sound of my father’s name. In my heart, I agreed with him. I was his family, and he was mine. I opened the envelope and pulled out my birth certificate. There were a few other things inside too, but they were of little importance to me now. I read the name listed on the FATHER line of the document. I read it over and over. After a few minutes, I looked at Mr. Johnson again. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Johnson. I appreciate this”. I clutched the papers to my chest. “Glad I could be of service. Please call me if there’s anything else I can be of help with.” I stood up and shook his hand. All I could do was smile and fight back tears. He nodded as if he understood what I was feeling. I left his office with gratitude in my heart and resolution on my mind. I got home and rushed to my bedroom. I dumped the contents of the manila envelope onto my bed and sat next to it, staring at it as though it might speak to me. I combed through the contents and found that my father met my mother while they attended Harvard. It was written on the back of an old photo of him. Just him, not with my mother. Not holding her hand. Not laughing with her. Just him. Behind him was a large building. I stared at this tall stranger in the photo and wondered how he swept my mother off her feet. How she must have pined waiting for her next moment to see him and talk with him. On the back of the old photography was a single line, Widener Library. I studied the photograph again to see if there were some clues I missed that would tell me more. After sitting on that bed for what felt like an eternity, I knew what I had to do to find the whole truth of who I am: I would have to visit Massachusetts.