The Concealers by James J. Kaufman Page A

“I know I’ve hurt you deeply, Katherine. I’m sorry. Really sorry. I hope somehow you can forgive me.”
    Katherine fumbled in her handbag to retrieve her pen, and drew a straight vertical line on the Starbucks paper napkin. “You don’t want to hear this, but I have to ask you more questions.”
    â€œAsk.” Beth Kelly let out a sigh like air out of a punctured balloon.
    Katherine drew two small circles on the left side of the line on the napkin. “I know why you didn’t tell Grandma and Grandpa and why you didn’t want to tell Preston. But did you ever feel that they had a right to know?”
    â€œI had a lot of feelings. I was three years younger than you are now, unmarried, pregnant, and the man I loved was dead. I was scared to death, wondering how I could survive. What kept me going was the thought of raising my child—raising you. I couldn’t see how telling Preston would make that easier. Deep down, I was afraid he would want to . . . make the situation go away. I couldn’t do that. I decided to raise you myself, whatever it took.”
    Katherine put a check in one of the circles. “So you’ve never tried to reach him? Have you ever thought about him?”
    â€œI did reach him, finally,” Beth said.
    The rain beat down harder on the window.
    â€œWhen? How?”
    â€œA little over three weeks ago, April 5 to be exact. On the telephone.”
    â€œWhy? Why then?”
    â€œBecause I knew you wouldn’t let it go. I thought if I told him, it would be better for both of you.”
    â€œHow did you know where to reach him?”
    â€œI’d thought about him over the years. I knew where to find him.”
    â€œWhat did you tell him?”
    â€œThat he had a wonderful daughter, living in New York, that he would be very proud. And, that you could use a father.”
    â€œA little late for that, don’t you think?” Katherine said, sorry the second she said it, then, not sorry at all. She chose a different tack.
    â€œDid you ever feel Grandma and Grandpa had a right to know?” Katherine asked, drawing a third circle on the napkin.
    Beth seemed to think about the question but continued nibbling on her bagel.
    â€œDid you ever feel
I
had a right to know?” Katherine asked, her lip beginning to tremble.
    Beth stopped eating and turned her gaze directly at Katherine. “Let me ask
you
a question. Do you want a father?”
    â€œWill you
please
just answer me? Did you feel I had a right to know that I had a father?” Katherine said, crying in earnest now.
    â€œOf course you had a right to know. My mother and father had a right to know, too. And so did Preston. And I didn’t have the courage to tell them or you. I’ve been living a lie for twenty-four years,” Beth said, her face distorted with a twisted half smile. She wiped tears away from her own eyes.
    Katherine put her pen away and tore up the napkin. “I’m exhausted. Don’t know what else to say. Do you want another cup of coffee? I can make some.”
    â€œNo, no thanks. But there is something else I’d like.”
    â€œWhat?”
    â€œI’d like you to try to forgive me,” Beth said, blowing her nose, tears returning. “I need to know that this will not . . . that we . . . that you will get over this, at least as to us.”
    Katherine thought about her mother’s bottom line question. Would their relationship survive? How could it not be affected by a lifetime’s worth of lies? Not only lies to her, but to her grandmother and grandfather, her teachers, her friends, everyone. Not to mention what this meant to Mr. Wilson, wherever he was at this moment and whatever he was thinking.
    Katherine felt like a car hitting a huge pothole, not only wrecking the tire, but forcing a total realignment of the car’s body. Only it was her body, her mind, and her heart. She knew this would take time to