The Mystery Guest

“Molly, when I found out your grandmother was pregnant, I wasn’t upset. Not at all. I told Flora it was the best thing that had ever happened to me. I wanted to elope and live happily ever after. We made a plan to do it, but it never happened.”

“Why not?” I ask.

“On the day we’d planned to run away together, I went to her home, a posh three-story mansion in a neighborhood far from my own. I knocked on the door, but I wasn’t allowed in. Her parents didn’t even have the nerve to speak to me themselves. It was the butler who told me she was long gone.”

“She’d run away?” I ask.

“No. She was shipped away against her will. By her parents. They sent her to a home for unwed mothers, the kind where they take the baby away from its mother once it’s born.”

“But they didn’t take the baby away,” I say, my eyes turning to the photo on the curio cabinet. “Gran kept her. She raised my mother.”

“Yes, because she ran away from that loveless place. She escaped. She came back to the city. She showed up on her parents’ doorstep begging for forgiveness, but her parents disowned her. She was eight months pregnant, Molly. She accepted a job as a domestic maid, working for a very wealthy family. When her time came, she took a few days off to have her baby, and then she kept working with the infant bundled on her hip.”

“But why didn’t she come back to you? Why didn’t you help her?” I ask.

“She wanted nothing to do with me. Her parents had filled her with shame, told her she was a failure and a good-for-nothing who never understood the reality of things until it was too late. For years, your gran refused to see me. She rented this very apartment, Molly, and she lived here until the day she died. Did you know any of this?”

“No,” I say.

“I tried many times to help her. She wouldn’t let me. She wouldn’t let me see my child either. Eventually, I gave up trying. I met my wife, Mary, and we married, had our daughter, Charlotte. And we were very happy. But I never forgot Flora. And I never forgot your mother either,” he says.

“Maggie,” I say.

“So your gran told you her name.”

“No,” I say. “She didn’t.”

“After a lot of pressure, Flora eventually let me back into her life. I’d told Mary everything, of course. My beloved wife knew the whole story, that I’d fathered a child with Flora out of wedlock. My Mary was a good woman. She and your gran formed a lovely friendship over the years. When your gran struggled, all on her own like that, it was Mary who convinced her to accept our help. We did what we could when we could.”

“The rent money,” I say. “You gave it to us.”

“Yes. And later when your mother got mixed up with that…that…”

“Fly-by-night?” I offer.

“I was going to say ‘thieving drug dealer,’ but you’ve always been more polite than I am.” He looks at me, his eyes brimming with tears. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you any of this before. I tried, but I couldn’t find the words. I worried the shock would undo you.”

“It hasn’t,” I say. “It won’t.”

“No. You’ve always been stronger than anyone gives you credit for.”

I turn my eyes to Gran’s teacup in my lap. “I never had a mother. And I never had a father either. I lost my gran,” I say. I look up at the man before me. “Mr. Preston, I can’t believe it. I’ve never been happier than I am in this moment. It’s like magic. I’ve gotten a piece of my family back.”

I feel a warm hand on my arm, and it’s hard to see Mr. Preston through my own tears. “I don’t know what to call you anymore. Mr. Preston doesn’t seem quite right,” I say.

“What about Gran-dad?” he offers.

I reach for my cup and take a sip of warm tea. “Yes,” I say, resting the cup on the saucer. “Gran-dad. I like that very much.”

Just then, there’s a sound at the door, a key turning in the lock. The door opens and Juan Manuel appears, rolling in a large suitcase behind him. I jump up from my seat and rush to the door.

“Mi amor!” he says as he takes me into his arms. “How I’ve missed you…”

It feels so good to have him back. I hold on tight and don’t want to let go. I do so only when I realize I’ve left Mr. Preston on the sofa all alone.

“Mr. Preston,” Juan says as he walks over and gives him a pat on the back. “Are you well?”

“I am,” my gran-dad replies. “I’m better than ever.”

“Good,” says Juan, flashing his beautiful, bright smile. “First, let me tell you that my family says hello. If I forget to mention that, I’ll be in big trouble. My mother sends her love. My nephew sends his report card. He wants to brag about how well he’s doing in school. He also wants a dog, but my sister is against it. He’ll convince her, though, I’m sure of it. Here, look, this is a photo of everyone sending me off at the airport.”

Juan calls up a photo on his phone—his giant family, all gathered at Departures, grinning and holding up a banner that says Hasta Pronto—see you soon. There are so many of them, they barely fit in the frame.

As Juan chatters on, taking a seat beside Mr. Preston, I go to the kitchen and bring out an extra cup and a plate of treats, setting them down on the coffee table.