eyes. It didn’t feel as if a whole month had passed since her mother, Arneta Parrish, had last rocked in that chair, everything seemingly well. Then without warning, a pulmonary embolism had taken her away. Their family doctor had reasoned that she’d probably been experiencing symptoms days earlier, the blood clot traveling from her leg to her lung. But Phaedra had not been there to know, and now her mother was gone from her.
Swiping at the tears that fell down her cheeks, Phaedra closed her eyes and inhaled, filling her lungs with a deep breath. She couldn’t help wishing that she’d come home as originally scheduled instead of extending her photography assignment those additional days. Had she been home, then just maybe her beloved mother would still be there with her.
Even as the thought crossed her mind, Phaedra could hear her mother admonishing her, the woman’s deep alto voice echoing in her thoughts. “You’re wasting time, little girl! Focus on what you need to do and get your narrow behind to doin’ somethin’ worthwhile.” And just as the thought crossed her mind, she felt a warm breeze blow through the room and a gust of wind gently caressing her cheeks.
Phaedra rose to her feet, wrapping her arms tightly around her torso. Across the room she imagined that her mother’s chair was rocking, the movement ever so slight, and she couldn’t help smiling, sensing that Miss Arneta was still there, still watching over her, still intent on keeping her on the straight and narrow. She shook her head from side to side as she laughed. “Yes, ma’am,” she said out loud, chuckling softly.
Moving through the modest home, Phaedra checked that the lower level was secure, ensuring that all the doors and windows were locked. Leaving the one light on in the hallway, she headed up the stairs, hesitating for a brief moment in front of her mother’s bedroom door. She’d known that at some point she would have to sort through her mother’s things, and although it wasn’t a task Phaedra had looked forward to, she knew it had to be done.
Pushing the door open, Phaedra flicked the light switch on the wall as she moved inside the small room. Dropping down against the full-size mattress, she drew her hands across the handmade quilt that decorated the bed. She missed her mother with a vengeance. Her grief was so consuming that she couldn’t imagine how she was going to survive. She let out a deep sigh.
As she moved to stand back up, Phaedra’s heel brushed against a large shoe box protruding from beneath the bed. Reaching down, she drew her hand against the exterior surface, pausing as she thought about its contents. She’d found the container while searching for her mother’s favorite black heels to take to the undertaker. As she’d scanned the documents inside, none of it had made any sense to her. Refusing to acknowledge what she’d discovered, she’d tossed it to the floor, kicking it back beneath the bed. She’d known that she would eventually have to revisit it all and she’d chosen to ignore it until there was nothing else on her plate to deal with.
Slipping her tank top over her head and stepping out of her shorts, she dropped the garments to the floor. Pulling back the covers, she crawled into her mother’s bed, drawing the comforter around her small frame. The box rested against the bed beside her, and her hand shook ever so slightly as she tossed the container’s cover to the floor. Pulling the documents into her lap, Phaedra took a deep breath and then a second.
If anyone had asked her about her mother having secrets, Phaedra would have sworn on her own life that there wasn’t anything about Arneta Parrish that she didn’t know. But Arneta had carried the biggest secret of her life to her grave, never disclosing the bombshell that would soon be her only daughter’s life.
Arneta’s collection of diaries rested on top. Pulling the leather-bound journals into her hands, Phaedra pulled at a black-and-white photo that served as a page holder for the most recent entry. The image was of her mother and a man Phaedra didn’t know, the couple caught in a deep embrace. Her mother was smiling, joy shining in her expression. The handsome man’s smile was not as bright, something in his eyes telling a very different story. But he had a kind face and it was obvious that his presence was making her mother very happy.
Flipping the photo over, Phaedra read the name on the back side. James David Stallion. The photo was dated a year before Phaedra was born. Resting the photo back inside the book, she continued to flip through other papers on James Stallion’s life.
There was a letter dated just a few short months after the photo, Mr. Stallion apologizing for a quick departure, wishing his dear friend Arneta a bright and successful future. The ink had faded in spots, drops of moisture having dampened the paper. It was obvious her mother had cried over that letter, remnants of her tearstains having marred some of the words.
Tucked in the envelope with that single letter was a yellowed newspaper article that had been folded closed. It was the obituary that carried the news of James Stallion’s death. The man had died in a fiery car accident with his beloved wife, Irene, the couple leaving behind four young sons.
Four sons. Four boys who’d grown to be four very successful men. Phaedra’s mother had kept tabs on the Stallion kin, collecting articles of their many accomplishments. Flipping through the articles, Phaedra couldn’t help being impressed. But she didn’t understand her mother’s reasons for caring, the woman having never mentioned the family to her daughter. Phaedra had to wonder why.
Adjusting the pillows beneath her head, Phaedra flipped through the diaries until she found the one dated the year before her birth. She opened the journal to the first page, pulling her knees upright as she rested the book against her thighs. She was suddenly anxious to know her mother’s secret and the story that she’d never been told. And she was anxious to read them in her mother’s own words.
* * *
One week later flight number 1267 from New Orleans, Louisiana, to Dallas, Texas, departed, leaving Phaedra with one hour and thirty-five minutes to rethink what she was planning to do before touching down. Her stomach knotted, feeling as if her sugared beignet and chicory coffee breakfast was not going to sit well. Phaedra knew it was only nerves, anxiety pretending to be her new best friend since she’d read her mother’s journals, opening a chapter into her own life that she’d not been prepared for.
Phaedra drew her manicured fingers against her Coach bag, two of her mother’s journals and some supporting documents secured in a side pocket. It hadn’t taken any time at all for her to go through her mother’s papers and discover that there had been much about the woman that she hadn’t known. The writings had read like a bestselling romance novel, detailing the highs of her mother’s relationship with James David Stallion. And then the lows, James David Stallion disappearing from Arneta’s life like a dream lost too soon to a morning sunrise. James leaving before ever learning about the child Arneta would eventually raise alone.
James David Stallion. Phaedra’s biological father. The secret her mother had never wanted her to know. Phaedra shook her head for the umpteenth time since finding out, her eyes lifting to stare out the airplane window. An endless bright blue sky marred by an occasional tuft of cloud brought a slight smile to her face. The view was magical, soothing the inner turmoil that threatened Phaedra’s peace of mind.
All of her life Phaedra had believed that Daniel Parrish had been her father. Daniel Parrish had only been married to her mother for short two years before disappearing into the Louisiana penal system. Reading her mother’s story, Phaedra discovered Arneta had already been pregnant when she’d met and married Daniel.
After many years of therapy Phaedra had come to terms with having an absentee father who preferred a life of crime over his loving wife and daughter. Her mother had often used her own life as an example of what happened when a woman made bad choices over men who were not deserving of her. She’d been apologetic for not having served Phaedra better.
When Daniel had died, still locked behind prison walls, Phaedra had mourned the loving father she had wanted him to be, not the apathetic parent he had actually been. And through it all, her mother had never once considered that Phaedra needed to know the truth of her paternity. But reading her mother’s words, Phaedra had come to understand that her mother had wanted only to protect both her daughter and James Stallion, the only man she’d apparently ever loved. Holding the truth close to her heart had