“Did you know Lincoln was your son all along? Is that why you sent the money all those years?”

His eyes narrow, and then he hooks the fingers of his right hand in the wire screen and shakes his head without a trace of deception. “No. I told the truth about that. I never even suspected Lincoln was mine. And Viola confirmed that on the tape, remember?”

“Yeah.”

“Then what . . . ?”

“Back in October, when you had your last heart attack, Caitlin and I were out on the river in a boat. When Mom called us, she told me you kept saying there was something you needed to tell me. Something you could only tell me. After you recovered, you denied ever saying that. I’ve been thinking that might have been about Lincoln. That you were going to tell me I had a brother.”

Dad’s eyes fill with pain and something else, maybe shame. “No, Penn. That was about Viola, though. I was going to tell you to make sure she didn’t want for anything during her last years. See, at that time I didn’t know Peggy knew about her, so I couldn’t put anything in my will. That kind of thing needs to stay between father and son. But after I got better, I thought I could procrastinate a little longer. I guess one of these days I’m going to have to face the fact that I’m not going to live forever.”

Before I lose my nerve, I say, “If Viola had wanted you to leave us, would you have gone to Chicago with her?”

My father’s eyes widen like those of man slapped without warning. He swallows, then drops his hands and looks away from me, pondering the question. I’m not sure I want to hear the answer. Maybe his delay is the answer.

“I think your mother worries about that a lot,” he says softly.

“She does.”

He sighs with infinite regret. “The answer is . . . she did.”

“Wait a second. Who did what? I don’t understand.”

Dad looks straight into my eyes. “Viola broke her promise to Peggy. She did ask me to come to Chicago. I lied on the witness stand, Penn. About the notes I sent with my checks.”

“I’m confused. What do you mean?”

“About four years after she got to Chicago, Viola sent one of my notes back to the clinic. She sent it in an envelope marked ‘personal.’”

My heartbeat is accelerating. “Was there a letter in it?”

“No. Just two words, written above my note asking whether she was all right.”

“What were the words?”

Dad looks down and takes a deep breath, as though summoning the strength to answer. Then he looks up with wet, bloodshot eyes.

“Save me.”

Chapter 74