Chapter 5 - THE HOUSE WITH THE BLUE DOOR
The house stood at the end of a quiet street in Wisconsin.
White siding.
A blue front door.
A narrow porch with two wooden chairs.
My father had purchased it twenty years earlier.
He never told me why.
The deed was in my name.
I found the keys among his personal belongings after the funeral.
Inside, everything smelled faintly of cedar.
There were old books on the shelves.
A quilt folded over the sofa.
And a photograph of my father standing beside a younger man.
They were laughing.
I recognized my father immediately.
The other man looked like him.
Same eyes.
Same smile.
I turned the photograph over.
Two names were written on the back.
Thomas and Daniel Bennett. Summer, 1998.
I stared.
My father had never mentioned Daniel.
Not once.
I sat on the floor holding the photograph.
Then I cried.
Not because Vincent had abandoned me.
Not because my marriage was ending.
But because I suddenly realized how much of my father's life I didn't know.
A knock sounded at the door.
I wiped my cheeks.
A woman stood on the porch.
She was about sixty.
Gray hair.
Kind eyes.
“Claire?”
I nodded cautiously.
“Yes?”
She smiled sadly.
“My name is Eleanor Hayes.”
I frowned.
“Do I know you?”
She looked past me toward the photograph.
May you like
Then whispered:
“I knew your uncle.”
