Brett Bell was finishing up making a tuna salad sandwich using his wife’s recipe and wishing for the tenth time that day that she was still around, when the doorbell rang. Pausing only to cut the sandwich in half, – ready for some ‘good eatin’ later’ as she would have put it, with exaggerated accent, – and wipe his hands on a kitchen towel, he walked to the door, wondering who was there, at midday on a Sunday. He wasn’t aware of any Amazon deliveries, and it was a little early in the day for the Mormon Missionaries who were currently targeting his neighborhood.

Given it was Sunday, he doubted he’d see any other human at all, unless he chose to go out, so a ring on the door was unusual.

When he opened the door, he saw two youngsters, as his father would have put it, – god rest his soul, – standing looking expectantly. One male, one female. Both had light blond hair, and they were obviously brother and sister, the family similarities were obvious. Both wore hesitant smiles - the hopeful kind, where a good first impression is desired. But what caused him to start in shock was when he looked in their eyes. One brown eye and one blue each. Just like his.

And when the lady said, with a distinct British accent, “Hello Dad. It’s nice to meet you,” it was the moment he collapsed.

“Are you sure you are okay?” said Amelia, looking very concerned. Brett was on the couch in his living room head in his hands, trying to comprehend what was happening. Amelia was hovering over him, the same kitchen towel he’d wiped his hands on now wet and pressed into service dabbing his forehead.

“I told, you I’m fine,” Brett replied, some steel in his voice. “You just took me by surprise, that’s all.”

“Told you we should have rung him up first,” said the man. Bradly, he had introduced himself as, right after they’d helped him up off the doorstep and into the house.

Both were decidedly British. That same clipped and clear accent that Brett associated with Downton Abbey and, of course, Fiona. Or using her full title, the Lady Fiona Birmingham Hart. Daughter of the Duke of Ipswich.

But here they were. He’d had some suspicions of course. The timing had seemed right. But, he’d never reach out and ask. That had been the agreement, and he wasn’t going to break it. He knew, like she did, there was no future. No chance. She was trapped where she was, and he was powerless to get her out. She had commitments. Responsibilities. Duty. He knew that, and he loved her enough to leave her alone when she asked. No contact. As he’d agreed, no matter how unwillingly.

He knew that his heart would unlikely survive another encounter anyway; best to live and let live. Or in his case, Live and let Love.

He’d nursed his broken heart for years. New places. New occupations. New relationships, if only temporary, until he’d met Caroline. She, as it turned out, was as damaged emotionally as he was. They’d clung together, two pieces of flotsam in a tsunami of life, holding on to each other for dear life, and making a life together. It was never a relationship dominated by passion, more a comfort. He’d loved her, – and he was sure she loved him, – but it was a relationship of convenience and attraction, not a white-hot passion like he’d had with ... her. If only for ten days.

And now here they were. The children he would never have.

He moved his hands and looked up. He had to cope. Deal with this. However unexpected.

He smiled at them ruefully, and they looked down at him, concern on their faces. The crease in Brady’s face one he’d seen in the mirror more than once. He glanced at Amelia and was struck again by how much she resembled her mother.

“I’m really sorry. I’m not normally that much of a wuss. You just ... well you really caught me by surprise. I’m okay now. Just getting on a bit.”

Amelia snorted, and then sat down, saying, “You are fifty-one, Dad. You are barely begun yet. Strong as an Ox, so mother says.”

“I think he needs a drink,” said Bradly, looking around the house great room to locate interesting bottles. His eyes lit up when he saw the small collection on the side table. It was an eclectic grouping - a bottle from every country he’d visited while he’d been in the merchant marine, plus some top end blended Irish and Scottish whiskeys. He’d never worked out it if it was Whisky, without an ‘e’, or Whiskey with a ‘e’. It seemed to change depending on the nationality of whomever he was talking to at the time. “I know I do,” he added, walking to the table to examine the different bottles.

“You think everyone needs a drink!” exclaimed Amelia, and then glancing at Brett, her expression softened. “Mind you, in this situation, we could all probably use some mothers ruin. Even if the sun isn’t over the yardarm yet.”

“You look so like your mother,” said Brett, wistfully. He suddenly gathered his wits and stood.

“But my manners. You show up, and I’ve offered you nothing. It’s lunch time, I was about to have a sandwich. Can I offer you something?”

Bradly looked over from the drinks table, looking pensive. “What are you having?”

“Bradly!” said Amelia, sharply.

“What? If it’s something good, I’m definitely in. I’m all still messed up from all that jetlag. What you got, Dad?”

‘Dad. Who the hell was that? Oh yeah. Him,’ Brett thought.

“Tuna sandwich. It’s the ... it’s Caroline’s recipe. Tuna, mixed with mayo, sprinkled with Sweetcorn and green onion. Tastes great.”

“Oh yes, that sounds marvelous,” said Bradly, smiling widely at Brett. “Definitely up for some of that.”

“Amelia?” inquired Brett, looking down at his ... daughter. “I’m sorry, should I call you Amelia? Do you prefer anything else?”

Amelia smiled wide at him, the same wide smile Bradly. Genuine, and showing big teeth, with a tiny gap between the two front teeth. Just like her mother.

“My family calls me Milly,” she said, hesitantly. “I’d really like it if you did too?”

Brett’s shoulders dropped at her obvious and genuine desire, and suddenly she was on her feet and in his arms, hugging him for all he was worth.

“I’m sorry. We didn’t know who you were. We didn’t even know you existed. Mother only told us a few weeks ago, and it took so long to find you. I’m sorry. We just want to know you. To know who you are...”

The words came out thick and fast, interspersed with sobs.

“It’s okay Milly. You are here now. I’m the one who should apologize. I wasn’t there. There was a reason and I’m sure your mother explained. But please, let me...”

Suddenly there was another arm wrapped around him, and Bradly was in on the hug. He was wordless, a few tears coming down his face, belaying the dis -interested hard man impression he’d been trying so hard to maintain.

“We have all the time in the world to catch up. You are here now,” murmured Brett, wondering how his life was going to be going forward. Well, it couldn’t be any worse.

Lunch completed, Brett finished off his beer and burped, contentedly. Suddenly realizing not only his guest, but their place in society, he pursed his lips and looked away. Then he looked back. He was damned if he was going to be made to feel inferior in his own house by his own children, regardless of who raised them or what position they may feel they had.

Amelia looked on amused, and when Bradly burped in almost the exact same fashion, he laughed. These were definitely his children.

Pretending to be disgusted, Amelia turned away. “Men. Such pigs. Did we at least wash our hands before sticking both trotters in the trough? At least I know where he gets that from.”

Bradly looked at Brett and spread his hands in a ‘what can you do?’ gesture, and Brett winked back.

“I’m just glad it wasn’t a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. I mean, that’s what you Americans eat, isn’t it?” Amelia announced, looking back at Brett.

“Well, on occasion. Have you never had one? I’m sure I have some here somewhere...” replied Brett, hamming up the accent.

She just smiled back, and Bradly finished his beer, making lip smacking noises.

“You know, they look down on your Yank beers back home. But this, this was rather good. Have to say. What was that?”

“Anchor Steam. Made up in San Francisco. It’s a favorite of mine.”

“I think we may have to look into grabbing a case before we head back,” said Bradly, appreciatively.

“So...” said Amelia, getting up and gathering up their plates, “I suspect you’d like to know why we are here? Why Mother finally told us about you?”

“I’m guessing it’s because of the death of the Duke?” hazarded Brett, eyes following Amelia as she deposited the plates in his kitchen sink, and then as she wandered to the fridge to gather new bottles of the beer for all three of them.

“Indeed,” replied Bradly, nodding to Amelia as she handed him a bottle. “Mum finally came clean after the funeral. On learning of your existence, we looked at her reports on you, had to do some research to find your current abode, and hopped on a plane as quick as we could. We had to meet the man who...” He didn’t finish the statement, going a little red.

“Yeah,” said Brett, dryly. He was not about to have that talk with his children. “I suppose you want to know the story?”

“Among other things, for sure. We have other stuff we want to know, obviously. I mean, for example, any hereditary stuff we should know? Do we have a history of heart disease, for example?” Amelia was right to the point. It made Brett chuckle, – another one of his own traits on display.

“Not that I’m aware of. The only thing I know about is the skipped generation of insanity. I mean, Uncle Tom and Dad both died in an asylum. That’s happened for five generations now. Skips every other. It should be hitting your generation I think ... Mad cow or something?”

There was silence for a moment, then both Amelia and Bradly burst out into laughter.

“Oh, very good. Very drool. You almost had me going there for a moment,” laughed Amelia.

Unable to keep a straight face, Brett joined the laughter. It felt good. It was unforced, and just spontaneous. There hadn’t been a lot of that recently. Not since Caroline died.

“But yes, we’d like to hear it. Mother didn’t tell us much. Just that you were ‘the best ten days of her life’, as she put it.” Amelia made quote motions with her fingers and then rolled her eyes.

“The concept of mother having passion filled days at sea is, honestly, both off putting and also quite hard to believe. She’s never been one for large displays of passion, except when one of us is threatened. Telling us this story about you was quite the shock, let me tell you.”

“Shall we sit in the living room? Comfortable chairs there, and the view is terrific,” asked Brett, wondering how much he should really tell them. How much do children really want to hear about their parents love life?

“Yes, lets,” replied Amelia rising, Bradly following.

They took their drinks into the great room, with its massive bank of floor to ceiling windows, that looked out over the cliff and into the Pacific Ocean, calm and flat as the eye could see, clouds rolling over the top of it. Distantly, breakers could be seen rolling in, and surfers trying to catch a wave in their wetsuits, in the post midday sun. The north San Diego surfing grounds in all their splendor.

“Nice view,” nodded Bradly at the bay windows, as they settled into a couch and easy chair, arranged for peak view.

Brett shrugged. He’d never tired of it, but he’d grown accustomed to it over the years, hardly noticing some days. When there was a storm though, it was one of his favorite things to do, to sit in the easy chair and watch the lighting fork and the seas roll. More than once, he’d woken late at night, with a blanket over him, where Caroline had tucked him and left him to his fascination and memories, a glass of Jameson on the table within easy reach, alongside a large glass of water.

Something occurred. “You said ‘reports’? That your mother had?”

“Yes,” replied Bradly. “She looked in on you every other year or so. Just to catch up with where you were. How you were doing. I don’t think she ever stopped loving you, to be honest. When she talked about you, she was more animated in years. Apparently, you were somewhat hard to find when you moved on from Chicago?”

“I’m not entirely surprised to hear it. I figured she was doing something like that. When I got married to Caroline, we got a wedding gift, from an anonymous benefactor. When we signed for the package and opened it, there was no note. Just five diamonds. Good ones, too. They paid most of the down payment on this place in fact. I figured then it must have been her, reaching out in her own way. No direct contact but still...”

Brett took a long slug of his beer, to mask his feelings. When it had arrived, and it had dawned on him the likely origin of the outrageous gift, he’d been very hard pressed not to reach out. But, his promise ... both to Fiona and also the promises he’d made to his new wife. It wouldn’t have been appropriate or right, for anyone. He’d been unsettled for days though.

“Did you tell your wife where you thought they came from?” asked Amelia, curious. She was sitting at the end of the couch, her legs tucked up under her, moving some stray blond hair from her face and tucking it behind her ear. So like her mother, it almost burned Brett. He looked away to keep his own control.

“Yes. We had no secrets. She knew of my broken heart. She was similarly afflicted, if your mother’s reports didn’t mention that. We were both of a same mold, and we helped each other become whole. Whoever your mother was to me, Caroline was too. I don’t know I would have made it to this age without her and her love and acceptance. I respected her too much to lie. And she understood. She did, it was amazing. Caroline’s ability to look beyond the broken to the rest was amazing. She pulled me out of my own self-destructive cycle and I owe her a lot. Everything, in fact.”

“I’m sorry. We didn’t come here to disrespect her or your relationship Dad. I know we came out of the blue. Out of the past, so to speak, but we are just grateful to be here. We know you have a life and we aren’t here to try and drag you anywhere. Just to ... know you?” Bradly was concerned at the emphatic nature of how Brett spoke.

“Oh, it’s okay ... son.” There. He said it. This was his son. How the hell did Dads work anyway? He had no clue.

“I have had a life since your mother and I won’t apologize for it. Caroline was important and amazing and we built a great life together. But she’s gone now, and I have to make a new life now. One without her. But I’ll never forget her or what she did or what she meant.”

There was silence for a bit after that statement. The quiet and distant roll of the ocean waves and the gentle ticking of a mantle clock all that could be heard. Brett could tell that both children were groping for what to say next. They wanted to hear about their mother, and he could tell, so he made it easy on them.

“But your mother was special too. In ways I can’t even begin to tell. Unless you’ve been in love like that ... well...”

“So, how did you meet?”

Brett closed his eyes for a moment, and unbidden, a memory of Fiona popped up. Clad in just his shirt, all prim and proper and yet devastatingly seductive, a bottle of cheap wine in one hand, a plastic wine glass in the other, standing in the door way of his cabin, where anyone might walk past, her head tilted against the door frame, as she said, “See anything you like, sailor?” and then began to talk.

“I was twenty-six. I’d been at sea in the US merchant Marine, for almost eight years. Ever since my eighteenth birthday. My parents died when I was seventeen, and I had very few prospects. I wasn’t any great shakes at school; too interested in girls and weed and rock music. And the concept of college for an orphan with no trust fund, well, it wasn’t going to happen. I tried to join the Navy - I had some fool ideas about going to sea and protecting the world. Damn silly now I look back on it. But they wouldn’t take me. I’d gotten caught selling some weed when I was seventeen, right after Mum and Dad were killed in a car accident. You have a conviction, well, you have to apply for a moral waiver to join any of the armed forced, and I was young and arrogant, and they said ‘thanks by no thanks.’ Probably the right thing I think about it now - I’d have made a shitty naval seaman. Too hard for me to not ask questions when given orders. Anyway, I wasn’t taking no for an answer, so off I went and signed on to some ship. An oil tanker. The Pearly White. What a name.

“I went from contract to contract. Some ships have you on contract for a time period - six months or whatever, and when you are done, you can leave the ship at whatever port she happened to be in when the time is up. Some hire you for a specific voyage or set of trips. I wandered around from ship to ship. I had no one to go home to, no home to really speak of. I was brought up in Atlanta and had always wanted to go to sea. So there I was. It was a container transporter I was on, The Lady Grey. Bit of a rust bucket, but it got the job done. I was an able seaman by then. I was going to go for the Bosun’s ticket next time I got to port with an academy office at it.

“We were bound to Hong Kong out from Argentina. We weren’t pushing it hard - we were pretty much fully loaded and had already lost two containers when we went through a squall early in the trip.”

Brett noticed both Bradly and Amelia looking a little shocked.

“Oh, it’s no big deal. Happens more often than you might think. All the containers have to be heavily insured anyway, and the reality is that you pay extra to be lower in the ship. If you pay the least, you go on top and it’s known that can be risky. Just part of the glamor of shipping containers.

“Anyway. We were about ten days out from Hong Kong, – you tend to skirt the pacific rim if you can, rather than going direct across sea. If anything goes wrong, it’s always better to be able to make landfall easily, or have people come to you quickly. You only go direct across if time is of the essence.

“We got this call, a general ‘keep an eye out’ alarm. I was doing bridge duty that day, and I remember it well. You don’t get many of those. There are all sorts of rules you have to follow when you get one. Reduce speed. Radar on maximum, look outs posted, coordination with other ships in the area and so on.

“So, we slowed down, – the captain wasn’t happy about that because his bonus was directly related to us being on time and now we wouldn’t be. But there are maritime laws you have to abide by. We had no choice, and rightly so.

“We’d just missed a major storm that had come through a week or so ahead of us, thankfully. Those are never fun. Apparently, someone had been sailing the area and hadn’t been heard from since the storm and there was a lot of fuss about it. Some one important.

“As it turned out, it was my friend Marcus who saw her. We’d picked up something on radar, something small, that didn’t respond to radio calls, so we’d made a small detour and then lowered the skiff the ship had aboard to go take a look. And sure enough, there is was. One very beaten up single masted forty-footer. Minus mast or sails. Or pretty much anything. No propulsion, and it had obviously been through it. Everything not bolted down was washed away, and quite a lot that was bolted down too.

“The whole ship was pretty destroyed. It was just barely staying afloat, to be honest. There were some canvas scraps rigged up to catch water, so obviously the water containers on board were broached. The whole thing just smacked of desperation. We were yelling and firing the horn on the skiff as we approached, and there was no motion, so we were imagining the worst. Obviously someone had survived the storm, since there were those canvas water catchers, but it was possible that they hadn’t made it past that. After all, you only survive a few days with no clean water.

“I was first aboard, since I was the one with what little medical training is required for container ships. I found your mother in the main cabin, on a makeshift hammock. She was weak, and not even completely conscious. The entire room was mostly flooded, stuff sloshing around our feet. We just grabbed her and bundled her up and carried her into the skiff. We put the boat on a tow, and dropped a small pump into the cabin to pump out the water. We figured there might be something in the boat she might want later, so easier to just take it with us.

“She was moaning and groaning as I carried her, – she was wearing a very torn set of pants and white top, which she’d torn the arms off, to make a head scarf. She was obviously suffering from dehydration, and her tongue was enlarged, and lips chapped. Thankfully, no sign of sun exposure, – she’d kept below deck when the sun was up to avoid that, which was smart.

“It took us about two hours to get back to the container ship. Dragging the smashed boat with us wasn’t doing us any favors, and the pump was working overtime throwing water over the side, as more seeped in, from the dragging we were doing. It was clear when we tied up next to the container that it wasn’t going to be long for this world. So as I carried our bedraggled victim up to what constitutes the medical bay, our chief engineer jumped down into the boat, and started grabbing stuff from inside and passing it back, as fast as he could. The pump just wasn’t keeping up, and it was clear it was going to sink pretty soon.

“We got a lot of stuff out of it, – all the personal stuff we could find, plus some other waterlogged supplies. There was no point in trying to salvage any of the electronics, since we had all that kind of stuff aboard, plus it was all mostly destroyed anyway. We got some charts, some clothes, a couple of books, as many sealed containers as we could find, stuff like that. It took the boat about three quarters of an hour to sink completely. We all watched it go down, slowly, solemnly staring. No mariner enjoys watching another ship go down. It’s not only bad luck, it’s the knowledge that someone, somewhere, is out a boat and probably a home. Davy Jones has a lot to answer for, at times.

“I’d got our passenger settled, put an IV into her to put some fluids in, with a sedative. She needed proper sleep. I’d checked her over, – as much as was decent, – and while there was a large bruise on her left hip and on the left side of her head, plus a deep cut down one forearm, from the just below the elbow to just above the wrist, she seemed to not be injured further. While we do have a medical bay on the ship, it’s not really a hospital room. It has a small bed like appliance in it, but that’s more for things like basic dentistry, or sewing up of wounds. It’s not a bedroom in itself, although there was a spare berth next to that bay itself, which is where I ended up manhandling her into.

“The reality was that she was slightly delirious, and mostly out of it. She was aware we’d got her, and that she wasn’t on her little yacht any more, and that she’d been rescued, but beyond that, she wasn’t making much sense. She needed fluids, protein and most of, uninterrupted sleep.

“When I talked to the Captain, to give him an update on her condition, he grumbled a bit and then ordered the engines full ahead. I could tell he was intent of making up that time and, more importantly, making up his bonus. He’d been with the company for over seventeen years, and he was only four more off full retirement, and I knew he was looking forward to it. He’d shown everyone pictures of the cabin he had picked out, on the Norwegian coast, for when it came. It was clear that his love affair with the sea had cooled considerably, and like a shitty marriage, he was tolerating being there until he could dump it unceremoniously, and be where he wanted to be.

“He informed me that he’d radioed in the find, her condition, and been told that unless she had life threatening injuries, which he now knew she didn’t, that he was to go full ahead and try and make the port facilities at Hong Kong as soon as he could. She’d be put ashore there, hopefully fully restored.”

Brett stopped to take a drink, – thirsty work, all this talking. He wasn’t used to it, since Caroline had died. He mostly just listened these days - the radio, pod casts, the TV, whatever. Anything to make the house seemed lived in. One thing Caroline has been great about was always having things in motion. There was always something happening, something to talk about or discuss and life felt very much lived. With her gone, it just ... didn’t.

He glanced at Amelia and Bradley, and they were intent on my every word, eyes shining. This was a story that had been hinted at but never really told, at least not to them. They just wanted to know...

So, he continued, shifting his view to the placid sea, outside the window.

“She slept for the next twelve hours. I moved my berth from my normal cabin to the one next to hers, at least temporarily. We actually had six passenger cabins on the ship - sometimes the company would ask us to carry someone or some company officers would be aboard, so we’d need somewhere to put them, so we had these six cabins, all with en-suite bathrooms. They were small, and didn’t have balcony’s or most of the amenities you get on a cruise ship, but they did have a small TV and VCR installed, ship board phone and radio. The ship itself had a small tape library in the mess, something like thirty or forty movies and TV shows, some of them English based and some not. People took and brought as they came on board, so it was constantly changing. Remember, this is twenty-five years ago, – no DVD’s or wifi at that time. It was all strictly video tape or physical books. We had a lending library for that too, with as many current magazines as we could find when we docked, plus a healthy bunch of thrillers and spy novels and the like.

“So, I grabbed a book and settled in next door. The captain had made it plain that she was my problem to deal with, and although a fair number of the rest of the crew had some interest in her, popping in to ask her condition, most of them had work to do. It doesn’t seem like there would be much to do on a ship that’s taking containers to another port, but you’d be wrong. Ships like that need a lot of preventative maintenance, to keep them running and to be sure that the emergency equipment would work if required. There’s a lot of work on a working container transporter, just like there is on an oil tanker, or a cruise ship, or any working vessel.

“Like I said, your mother slept for twelve hours straight, just dead to the world. I had left her door open a crack, so I could hear if she moved around or called out, and I managed to get seven hours in myself, which I was surprised at. But, I did her calling out, with that posh voice she has. She was calling ‘Hello? Anyone there?’ and sounding a lot more composed, so I hustled from my cabin and into hers.

“I can tell you right now, kids, I was smitten the moment I walked into that room. I’d had my fair share of instant infatuations in the past, but this ... this was the real deal. I mean, you know what your mother looks like, but right then, she was in the flush of youth. Beautiful porcelain flawless skin, the deep auburn hair, the flashing eyes, those perfect eyebrows, the small mouth with the full lips. Just ... wow.”

He glanced at the kids, and could see the expression on their faces, and then suddenly realized who he was talking to. This was their mother he was describing, probably in ways they’d never heard before, and in ways that were almost certainly making them uncomfortable. No child ever wants to hear of their parent what a hottie they were in their youth. For the first time, it dawned on him the story he was about to tell them. Did they really want to hear about their mother being unfaithful to the man they called “Father”? Would it change their opinion of her?

He had to ask.

“Hey, look, what I’m telling you ... this can’t be easy to hear, yeah? I mean, this may change how you view your mom, and I don’t want that. You sure you want to hear this?” he challenged them, shifting a little uncomfortably in his chair.

Amelia snorted derisively, and Bradley smirked.

“Yeah, the only thing this is going to do is improve our image of her. She’s not been the most ... passionate of people growing up, Dad. The most animated we’ve seen her was when she finally came clean about our parentage. Hearing this makes her far more alive than she tends to be most of the time, honestly. So please, continue,” Amelia said, matter of factly.

“Does she still look the same? I try and not search her out on the internet. It would hurt too much,” he admitted.

“Well, the hair has a fair bit of grey in it now, – mother is not one for putting on airs and graces, unless she absolutely has to, for some public event, so she doesn’t dye it most of the time. And there’s a few more crow’s feet around the eyes and probably the lips, – it’s hard for me to really tell since she’s always looked the same to me. But yes, I don’t think she’s really change that much over the years,” Amelia commented.