“…name,” the man finished. He walked past me and straight into the room, and Gil turned around, and I watched my husband’s face change. “Paul?” Gil said softly. “Paul from the Liberty Star?” The man nodded and took off his cap. “Four days, Gil. I couldn’t lift my head. You fed me broth with a spoon and told me stories about your little girl.” He looked over at our daughter. “I guess that’s her.”
Then he turned, and his eyes landed on Carter’s father, still holding his glass by the window. And Carter’s father went white. “Paul,” he whispered. The man nodded. “Hello, Richard. Long time.”
The whole party went silent. Carter stared at his father. “Dad, who is this?” Richard set down his glass. “This is my brother,” he said, very quietly. “Your uncle. We… haven’t spoken since before you were born.” Paul nodded. “We had a fight about money. I went to sea. When I got sick on that ship, they told me I might not make it. I asked the cook to write to my brother. Richard never wrote back.”
Paul reached into his coat and took out a stack of envelopes tied with string. “These are the letters Gil wrote to me every month for fifteen years after that,” he said. “Even after I left the ships. Even after I moved to Maine. Every Christmas, every birthday. Your future father-in-law was the only family I had. I saw his daughter’s engagement in the newspaper, and I just wanted to see him.”
Marissa had both hands over her mouth. She walked over to her father, the cook she had just laughed at, and threw her arms around his neck. “Daddy, I didn’t know,” she cried. Gil held her and said, “You were little. I told you I was making soup for a friend.”
Richard crossed the room to his brother. They stood there for a long, awkward moment. Then Paul opened his arms, and Richard walked into them. Later that night, I heard Richard ask Gil, very quietly, if he would cook for the wedding. Gil said he would. He said every ship needs someone to fry the eggs.
