One Last Lie (31 page)

“Philip?” Jonathan groaned, reaching out his hand. He tried to say more, but no sound came out.

The man picked up the chair beside the bed and moved it closer to Jonathan. He sat down and took Jonathan’s hand.

“Hello, Jonathan. Yes, I’m Philip.” He squeezed Jonathan’s hand and glanced at June. “And as June informed me, I’m also Philip’s son.”

Even his voice was the same. Jonathan moaned again, the emotion coming in such waves and with such force he could barely catch his breath. His hand shook as he softly touched Philip’s face with the back of his fingers, tracing across the eyelids of his deep brown eyes, down the length of his perfectly straight nose. He used his fingertips to brush Philip’s cheek, to gently press his lips. He touched him as he’d touched his Philip a thousand times before, decades and decades ago in another lifetime.

With his free hand, Philip fished around his pocket and took out an old photograph. Jonathan could hardly pull his gaze from Philip’s face to look at it, but when he did, he gasped and felt the warm tears rolling down the side of his face. It was a photo Angela had taken of them in front of her apartment building on that cold, fall day.

“I found this photo while going through my mother’s stuff a few weeks ago. I’d never seen a picture of my father before, but I knew right away which of the two men he was. I mean, I look just like him. My mother always told me he died in a car crash before I was born. She said he was the love of her life since college and that’s why he’d left us money, so we’d be taken care of. It wasn’t until last week, when I met June, that I learned the truth — the
whole
story, including how you were the one who took care of us for all those years.”

He squeezed Jonathan’s hand, his eyes filling with tears. “I am so sorry, Jonathan. For everything. For what my mother did. For how my father died. For waiting so long to thank you for your generosity. And for never getting to meet you until today.”

He let his head fall upon their clasped hands. Jonathan struggled to see through his tears and bit down on his bottom lip when he saw how Philip’s feathery blond hair fell over his face, just like his father’s used to do. He lifted Philip’s face by his chin and brushed the hair from his eyes.

“Philip. don’t. You have nothing to be sorry for.” He took a labored breath. A chill passed through his entire body forcing him to shiver and squeeze Philip’s hand tighter. “You’re with me now, and that’s all that matters.”

The cold continued to flow through him until it stopped suddenly in his chest and pierced his heart like an icicle. Jonathan flinched. He held onto Philip’s hand as another sharp pain pinched his heart and enormous pressure crushed his chest.

Katy gently pushed June aside and was about to press the emergency button behind the bed but stopped when Jonathan looked up at her and shook his head.

“No,” Jonathan said with a faint smile. “Please, no.”

He closed his eyes and let the numbness sweep over him. “Your father’s here,” he whispered. “He’s been waiting for me.”

He couldn’t be sure if Mozart’s Symphony #39 came from inside his head or radiated from somewhere within the brilliantly lit distance; the warm, enveloping expanse from which Philip approached. The only thing he knew for certain was that for the first time in his life, or his death, he was where he should be.