Kelly’s blue eyes sparkled. “His birth name was Othniel. Be grateful he rid himself of it before you were born.”
“Does my name have any significance to you?” Gabriel waited with anticipation for her answer.
“I’m afraid not. Except that when Audrey was a teenager and my parents bought her a dog for her birthday, she wanted to call him Gabriel. Dad threw a fit and said no.” Kelly looked off into space. “I’d forgotten about that until this very minute. My parents had a fight about that, too.” She made eye contact with Gabriel again. “In the end, she called the dog Godfrey, which was a very silly name for a Pomeranian. But Pomeranians are a silly breed, I think. Jonathan and I always had Labradors.”
Gabriel was silent, not knowing what to say.
After a moment, he spoke.
“His name isn’t on my birth certificate. And I wasn’t granted his surname, obviously.”
Kelly appeared uncomfortable. “I’m afraid I already knew that. When my mother and sister decided to contest the will, that was one of the pieces of evidence they cited. But Dad had signed an affidavit before he died, affirming that he was your father and stating that he persuaded your mother not to name him on your birth certificate. I don’t know what kinds of promises Dad gave to your mother. But he must have felt guilty over what he did. Eventually.”
“Humph,” said Gabriel.
“In fact, I think he must have felt something more than guilt.” She picked up her large handbag and went through it. “Here.” She placed an old photograph on the table, next to Gabriel’s empty coffee cup.
The picture was of him and his mother. He looked to be about five years old.
“I don’t remember this picture. Where did you find it?” He peered at it closely.
“Dad kept a box of things on his dresser. When my mother died, it came to me. I was looking at it the other night and I noticed there was a place where the fabric on the inside of the box had been ripped. Inside the hole, I found the picture. He must have been hiding it from my mother.”
“I don’t know what to do with this.” Gabriel gestured to the picture.
“Keep it, of course. I have some other things for you, too.”
“I couldn’t.”
“Do you read German?”
“Yes.”
“Good.” She laughed, the sound soft and musical. “I understand a little German because Dad used to speak it now and then, but I don’t read it. So Grandfather’s books are of no use to me. And I won’t wear Dad’s cuff links. So you see, you’d be doing me a favor by taking them off my hands. In fact, given the size of our apartment and the amount of things in it, it would be a mitzvah.”
“A mitzvah,” he mumbled, as the waiter served their coffee.
“I’ve been very rude, Gabriel, doing most of the talking and not asking about yourself or your wife. I hope I’ll be able to meet her.”
“I’d like that.” Gabriel finally cracked a smile. “Her name is Julianne. She’s a graduate student at Harvard.”
“She has a lovely name. How long have you been married?”
“Since January.”
“Ah, newlyweds. Do you have a picture?”
Gabriel wiped his hands with his napkin before pulling out his iPhone. He quickly scrolled to a recent photograph of Julia sitting behind his desk at their house in Cambridge. Unthinkingly, he stroked the curve of her cheek with his thumb as he gazed at the photo.
He handed the phone to his sister.
“You must love her very much.” Kelly had been watching him intently.
“I do.”
“She looks young.”
Gabriel barely suppressed a frown. “She’s younger than me, yes.”
Kelly chuckled. “At my age, everyone looks young.”
She was about to return the phone when she stopped. She peered closely at the photo. Then she tapped at the screen to enlarge it.
“What’s that on your desk?” She held the phone out to Gabriel, pointing to a small, black object.
“That’s a train engine. I’ve had it since I was a boy. Julia thought it would make a fine paperweight.”
Kelly stared at the photo again.
Gabriel frowned. “What is it?”
“It looks familiar.”
“Familiar?”
She lifted her head to look at him.
“Dad had one, from when he was a child. He kept the engine, one car, and a caboose on his dresser. Then one day, the engine disappeared. When Audrey asked him about it he said that it got broken. We thought at the time it was a feeble excuse. The engine was made of iron. Where did you say you got it from?”
“I don’t remember. I’ve always had it.”
“Interesting,” she breathed.
“Why?”
“The train was his favorite toy when he was a child. I think his initials were scratched into the bottom of the engine.” She gave Gabriel a significant look. “When you get home, you should check. I’d be interested in knowing.”
“Would it make a difference?”
“If it’s the one I’m thinking of, then he must have given it to you. Since it meant so much to him, I think you must have meant a lot to him, too.” She returned his phone to him.
“I can’t believe that.”
She toyed with her coffee cup, swirling her spoon in the brown liquid before placing it on the saucer. “But you see, I knew him. I knew him for years. He was a complicated man, a driven man, but he wasn’t cruel. He found himself caught between your mother and you, and my mother and us. I’m not saying he made the right choice. If he’d been stronger or my mother had been more forgiving, he could have had all his children living in the same city. The whole thing reminds me a little of the story of Hagar and Ishmael from the Bible. I can’t help but suspect my mother played the part of Sarah. Even though her name was Nancy. I want to believe that he loved you. That he cared about you and that’s why he kept tabs on you and included you in his will.”
“I can’t believe that.” Gabriel’s tone was cold.
“But it’s possible, brother. He wasn’t a monster. And, ‘There are more things in Heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamt of in your philosophy.’”
“Hamlet,” said Gabriel, begrudgingly.
“I like to think our grandfather would be proud of both of us. You went to Harvard. I went to Vassar.” She smiled. “Is your wife—is Julianne religious?”