Free Sunrise Point by Robyn Carr

from here, you deserve some answers. I’ll ask Ellie to help with your girls.”
    * * *
    They chose a public park in Santa Rosa as a meeting place and Nora was so stressed out, she barely spoke all the way there. She did say, “Please don’t leave me alone with him and don’t mention that I have children.” Once Noah had to pull over because she was afraid she was going to throw up. When they got to the park at noon, Nora knew Jed immediately. The memory of him came back instantly—he was the same, though older. He was very tall, his brown hair was thin over a shiny crown with a lumpy shape, his eyes kind of sad, crinkling and sagging at the corners. He had thick, graying brows, had a bit of a soft center—a paunch—and wore his pants too high. And he wore a very unfashionable short-sleeved plaid shirt with a button-down collar that she thought she recognized from the last time she saw him.
    Apparently he knew her right away because he immediately took a few anxious steps toward her. And then he opened his arms to her and she instinctively stepped back, out of his reach. That just did him in—he almost broke down. A huff of air escaped him and she thought he teared up. “I’m sorry,” he said. He carried a large padded envelope which he held out toward her. He swiped at invisible tears, embarrassed by this display. “I apologize, Nora,” he said. “I was afraid I’d never see you again.”
    And what were her first words to her long-lost father? “Did you ever take me bowling? When I was too little to even think about bowling?”
    Sudden laughter joined his tears. “I had no idea what a weekend father was supposed to do—so yes, I took you bowling. It was a disaster, but you seemed to have a fun time. Your ball never once made it to the pins. Here,” he said, pressing the big envelope on her. “Copies of all the papers Reverend Kincaid said you’d like to have.” Then he stuck out his hand to Noah. “Thank you for helping with this. Thank you so much.”
    But Nora said, “Weekend father?”
    “Let’s sit down somewhere,” Jed suggested. “There’s so much to catch up on.”
    As he turned in the direction of a picnic table, Nora put out a hand to his forearm and stopped him. “Do you…” She faltered, then took a deep breath and asked, “Do you have any regrets?”
    “Nothing but regrets, Nora. I just don’t know how I could’ve made things better for you.”
    They found a table in the shade of a tree and even though there were lots of people around, began to forage through the past. “My mother said the bowling never happened. I remembered bowling, planting a garden, you reading me stories, that kind of thing, but she said…”
    “It’s going to be so hard to explain her,” Jed said, shaking his head dismally.
    “What’s in here?” she asked, holding up the envelope.
    “Reverend Kincaid said you had no documentation at all, that you weren’t even sure your mother and I divorced. It’s all there—copies of the marriage license, the divorce decree, the order from the court that Therese retain custody and that I would have visitation one day a week. Then I lost even that. I had a few pictures—you as a newborn, your first birthday, a day in the park, the first day of preschool. I didn’t get many.”
    “But why? ” she asked. “Why did you leave us?”
    He seemed to take a moment to compose himself. “I’ve wanted to explain and yet dreaded this moment for years,” he said. “Therese and I were at terrible odds—lots of conflict. I suggested a separation, suggested we might’ve made a mistake and could work it out amicably, and that did it. Pushed her right over the edge. I could say she threw me out, except that I’d already suggested separation. Her anger with me was phenomenal and I left because I’d had all I could take.
    “I was over forty when we met and though I was plenty mature, I wasn’t exactly a ladies’ man. I had so little experience with women. We