She also worked with Miss Patricia to hire two additional staff members, social workers who could actually help the kids with homework, applications, emotional support, the things they needed but never got because the existing staff was stretched too thin.
“The kids can’t believe it,” Miss Patricia told her during one of their calls. “Emma asked if it was real. If we were really going to get to keep the new beds.”
“It’s real,” Catherine said. “And permanent. I’ve set up a fund to ensure Riverside House has what it needs going forward.”
“Why are you doing this?”
“Because I should have done it eighteen years ago.”
Catherine paused.
“How is he? Daniel?”
“Confused. Angry. Sad. He’s processing.”
“Has he… has he said anything about me?”
“Not to me. But I see him looking at those photographs you gave him. The ones of his parents. He’s printed copies. Put them up in his space.”
Catherine’s throat tightened.
“Thank you for telling me.”
On the twenty-third day, her phone rang.
Unknown number.
“Hello?”
“Mrs. Whitmore.”
Daniel’s voice was quiet, uncertain.
“It’s Daniel Thompson.”
Catherine’s hand shook so badly she almost dropped the phone.
“Daniel. Thank you for calling.”
“I wanted to see if maybe we could talk again. If you’re still willing.”
“Of course. Absolutely. Whenever you want. Wherever you want.”
“There’s a library near Riverside House, the main branch. Could we meet there tomorrow afternoon?”
“Yes. What time?”
“Three.”
“I’ll be there.”
After they hung up, Catherine sat in stunned silence.
He had called.
He wanted to talk.
It was not forgiveness, but it was something.
The next day, Catherine arrived at the library twenty minutes early. She sat in the reading room, hands clasped tight, watching the door.
At three exactly, Daniel walked in.
He dressed carefully, a clean shirt, jeans that actually fit. His hair was freshly cut. He looked nervous.
Catherine stood.
“Daniel. Thank you for coming.”
“Yeah.”
He shifted his weight.
“Can we… Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
“There are study rooms upstairs.”
They found an empty room, small, with a table and two chairs, and sat across from each other.
For a moment, neither spoke.
“I’ve been reading about them,” Daniel said finally. “My parents. I found more articles online about Mom’s volunteer work. And I… I looked up Dad’s obituary. Read about his life.”
“They were both remarkable people.”
“Yeah.”
Daniel’s voice was thick.
“And I never got to know them because they died. And because you…”
He stopped himself.
“Because I chose not to tell you,” Catherine finished. “It’s okay. You can be angry. You should be angry.”
“I am. I’m so angry I can barely think sometimes.”
Daniel’s hands clenched on the table.
“But I’m also… I’m grieving. Not just for what I lost with you, but for them. For parents I never knew I had.”
“I’m sorry. I know that’s not enough, but I am so deeply sorry.”
Daniel was quiet for a moment.
“Then tell me about him. About my dad. The things that wouldn’t be in an obituary.”
Catherine felt something loosen in her chest.
This, this she could do.
“Robert was brilliant,” she began, “but not in a showy way. He was curious about everything. He’d spend hours reading about whatever caught his interest. Ancient Rome. Jazz music. How engines worked. When he was seven, he took apart my entire kitchen appliance collection trying to understand how they functioned.”
A ghost of a smile crossed Daniel’s face.
“He was kind like you. In high school, he tutored kids who were struggling. He never made them feel stupid, just patiently explained things until they understood.”
Catherine’s voice softened.
“And he had terrible jokes. The kind that make you groan. He’d tell them with this completely straight face, then crack up at his own punchline.”
“What was his favorite joke?”
Catherine thought back.
“Why don’t scientists trust atoms?”
“Why?”
“Because they make up everything.”
Catherine smiled through her tears.
“He’d tell that one every time we went to the science museum. Every single time.”
Daniel laughed.
A real laugh.
Short, but genuine.
“That’s awful.”
“It is. He had hundreds of them, all equally terrible.”
They talked for two hours.
Catherine told Daniel about Robert’s childhood, his dreams, his passions, how he had wanted to be an architect, how he had loved working with his hands and building things, how he had met Alicia and been absolutely convinced she was the one.
“Within a week, he said she made the world make sense,” Catherine said. “That before her, he had felt like he was just going through motions. But with her, everything had meaning.”
“How did they meet?”
“At a community center where she volunteered. Robert had gone there to help build playground equipment, volunteer work for his architecture program. He saw her reading to a group of kids and said later it was like time stopped.”
Catherine pulled out her phone and showed him a photo she had scanned. Robert and Alicia at the community center, both paint-splattered and laughing, surrounded by children.
“They were painting murals,” Catherine explained. “Your father couldn’t paint to save his life, but he kept trying because it meant being near her.”
Daniel stared at the photo, his finger tracing his parents’ faces.
“They loved each other so much.”