The last days of school were a torture. Ferry tried his best to avoid the sympathetic glances of his colleagues, the words of comfort from his teachers that brought no comfort at all, and the worried faces of his friends. Ben and Celia invited him several times to join them to the lake. They didn't have to swim, they just had to stay together. So he wouldn't be alone at such a hard time. But he refused. He saw May a few times, but every time she came closer to him, he found a way to avoid her. Everything she could say to him could not fill the void in his soul. The light that always accompanied her was too faint to penetrate the darkness of his world.
At Lavender's, he always clashed with their stubbornness in helping him find the true Donovan boy. It was too dangerous for a fairy in the Big City, they said. There were machines, factories, and buildings that rose to the sky taking the place of the trees. And the powers of a fairy weakened around such terrible things conceived by the greedy human minds.
And Matilda ... She was the only one who didn't bother him. Who hadn't come to say meaningless words to him. Who had not tried to bring him comfort where no one and nothing could bring it. Or maybe she just didn't care about him anymore ... Maybe her feelings for him had faded. Now that he finally knew how he really felt about her, it was too late. Maybe she thought he didn't deserve her love. They always had a bad timing, for some reason. Maybe they were just too different. And yet, why did her presence make him feel so good? Ferry quickly chased away the thought. He didn't need any more distractions.
In fact, he was beginning to like his loneliness. He was always looking for it, everywhere. And he even began to find it. At school, at work, but especially at home. Peter Donovan used to spend the whole day drowning his bitter in alcohol, then crawled to his room from where he came out only after a few days. Sometimes, Ferry could hear him crying for his wife and calling her name. They were barely talking to each other. They barely talked before, when his mother was alive, anyway. And now the words felt meaningless. What could he possibly say to him? He didn't even know him. Ferry spent hours on the living room couch, staring blankly. The days went by, always the same.
Fortunately, at work, he had been left alone. Ferry could have taken a few days off. But he insisted on still going. It was good for him to take his mind away from his sadness for a few hours. Everyone avoided him, not knowing what to say. During the five o'clock break, Ferry was retreating to the bench where his mother used to wait for him. He simply sat there, staring at the endless sky, with the empty seat next to it. Only Ol' Joseph came to him one day and put his hand on his shoulder. He didn't said anything. Ferry looked up and met his old, watery eyes from which a tear had fallen. Just one. Then Ol' Joseph left him alone with his sadness ... But that heavy, old hand on his shoulder had done him good. And Ferry had learned that Ol' Joseph had a heart just like the others.
That day, at the mansion, Ferry had to plant a sycamore tree under the window of Mrs. Pride's bedroom; she spent most of her time in that room, and needed something to make her feel better. Summer took over the town, and the afternoons had become hot. Ferry caught someone watching from the behind the curtains several times. But he kept digging. He was no longer interested in the Pride family and its secrets.
He was digging hard when he could feel someone behind him. He shuddered when he turned and found Billy looking at him. His eyes were wide and he looked paler than usual. His blue eyes had darkened and he had lost his gleam of arrogance.
"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to scare you ..." he said.
Ferry turned his back on him and continued digging. Ol' Joseph had told him that sycamores have long roots. He hoped Billy would get bored and leave him alone. But he didn't. He stayed there, watching him.
"Do you need help?" he asked Ferry.
Ferry shook his head no. But Billy still wouldn't leave.
"I'm sorry about your mother," he said in a low voice. "She was a nice woman ... In fact, she was the kindest person I've ever met ..."
Ferry swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. He felt hot. He wanted to run. Leave everything and just run. To leave this cursed place behind.
"Sometimes, we talked," Billy continued. "Sometimes, when I was upset or sad, she always showed up. As if she felt what was in my soul, you know ... And she said a word or two to me. Or just smiled... And that made me feel better," he said softly.
Ferry continued to dig, harder than before. His mother had never told him about her conversations with Billy. He knew his mother saw only the good in people. And if she had seen at least a shred of goodness in Billy, that meant it really had to exist, buried deep inside him.
"I didn't know my mother," Billy said after a while. "I was too young when she died. I don't remember her. But you must have felt blessed with a mother like yours. That's all I wanted to tell you ..."
Ferry stopped digging. He wiped his sweaty forehead and looked at Billy. The sun shone in his golden hair and his gaze were intense, and made him feel restless, somehow. And for the first time, Ferry believed his words. And his words made him feel a bit better.
"Thank you," he said.
But then he shuddered, noticing the white figure behind Billy. How long has she been there? He motioned for Billy to turn, and he shuddered at the sight of Mrs. Pride who was watching him, motionless, with a haunted look on her face. In her white nightgown, his disheveled hair falling on her back and her bony arms hanging beside her body, she looked like a ghost detached from a nightmare. She just stared at Ferry.
"Mum, what are you doing here?" Billy asked, walking slightly toward her. "Come, I'll take you inside ..."
But she didn't move and didn't take her eyes off Ferry. "I told you to leave this town," she hissed. Her pale voice made Ferry shiver. "You can still leave. There is still time. Why don't you leave?"
Billy tried to slowly take her by the shoulders and lead her back to the mansion. But she didn't give up. "You have to get out of here!" she shouted at Ferry. "Don't you understand? This place is a trap. A trap for you. Leave! Go and take Billy with you. You are not safe here!" she shouted, then crouched on the ground, moaning.
Billy kneeled beside her, "Mum, please ... You're embarrassing yourself."
She looked at him and touched his cheek with her palm. "Billy ... I know I wasn't a good mother to you," she said, and tears began to run down her cheeks. "But you have to listen to me. You have to get out of here! And you, Ferry. You have to believe me," she said, looking up at Ferry who came closer. "He-- He ... will destroy you. Both of you."
Ferry and Billy looked at each other, not knowing what to think.
"Who is she talking about?" Ferry asked.
Billy shook his head. "I don't know ... She's been distressed lately ..."
But she clinged to Billy's shirt even more desperately. "I'm not mad, Billy. You have to believe me," she begged.
Then Ferry saw Albert Pride running towards them, accompanied by the nurse. He raised his wife abruptly, not caring about her lamentations.
"Julia, you have to go inside," he said, squeezing her arm. The nurse grabbed her other arm and they both began to crawl her towards the mansion.But she began to struggle, "No! No! Let go of me! Let go of me!" Then she turned again to the boys who had remained motionless, "Get out of here! And burn this place! Burn it to the ground!"
Mrs. Pride's screams were heard long after she was taken to her room. Ferry hurried to plant the tree and leave from under her window where he felt thousands of eyes watching him. He was preparing to go home when a man approached. It was Albert Pride.
"Mr. Donovan, I'd like to have a word with you after you're done, please. I'll be waiting for you in my office."
Ferry gathered his tools with his thoughts wandering away. Albert Pride had never spoken to him. What could he possibly want from him now? On the way to his office, accompanied only by the echo of his footsteps, Ferry thought of all the tangled threads that bound him to that place. Which still drew him in there, again and again.
He lightly knocked, and Mr. Pride's serious voice invited him in. He pushed open the heavy mahogany door. The office was packed with massive, antique furniture that retained a fading smell of old wood. The windows were closed and the curtains were drawn. The walls were completely covered with thick book shelves, with satin covers, all the same size. The only light came from the lamp on the massive desk. The whole room was as dark as a cave. And just like in a cave, the air was heavy and oppressive.
Albert Pride looked up wearily from the papers scattered on the desk and motioned for him to sit in the leather chair in front of his desk. Ferry slowly sat down, but remained stiff, without touching the cold back of the chair.
Mr. Pride rummaged in one of the desk drawers and pulled out a notebook. A checkbook. "Mr. Donovan, I'll be brief. Tell me what amount you need to leave this town."
Ferry thought he misunderstood, "Excuse me?"
"Any amount," he added with his pen ready. "What keeps you here? You can find much more in the Big City. Anything you've ever dreamed of. And you will have the money to fulfill every dream ..."
"But sir, I don't want to leave," Ferry said, shaking his head. "Even if my mother is gone, all I know is here. My friends, school ..."
"You can go to better schools if you have the money," he said, looking irritated. As for friends ... Friends come and go. How many of your friends can you really call friends? How many are beside you now?"
Ferry shook his head, "Thank you, but no thank you," he said. " When I'll leave this place, it will be my decision. Until then, I have some unfinished business to take care of."
Albert Pride sighed and put the checkbook back in the drawer. He studied Ferry, narrowing his eyes.
"There will come a time when you'd wish you had listened to my advice," he said with a hint of sadness in his voice. "Your mother--"
"Why do you mention my mother?" Ferry asked, clenching his fists. "You didn't even know her. She was just an employee," he said, feeling his breathing increase. "And now, everyone mentions her as if they knew her. Everyone misses her and tells me how much they valued her. Why didn't they tell her that when she was still alive?"
"Your mother was a noble woman. You're right, I didn't know her. Not as it should have been, at least. How about you? How well did you know her?" he asked, leaning over the desk toward Ferry. "You only know her life here. In this town. But before that?" he said almost in a whisper.
Ferry rose from his chair. He felt his head explode. He got out of Albert Pride's office without saying anything, leaving him at his expensive office, in his luxurious mansion, surrounded by his loneliness. Mister. Pride, just like his wife, just like Billy, was a lonely person. Just like he was.
At home, Ferry sat at the kitchen table in his mother's seat. He wanted to get Mr. Pride's words out of his mind. He tried, but couldn't. How well did he know his mother? How much did he know about her life before Goodharts?
He remembered his mother keeping a box of letters and photos in the hallway cabinet, among medicines, sewing kits, and other small things. Once, he caught her looking at that tiny cardboard box, her eyes in tears. She had quickly closed it at his sight. He looked for the key of the cabinet on the kitchen's cupboard shelf. Then, he opened the cabinet in the hall with trembling hands. The box was there. He took it and slowly placed it on the table. He listened carefully. There was no sound in the bedroom, a sign that his father was not home.
Ferry stared at the cardboard box with the blunt corners for a long time. The light of the sunset poured on the table making the old cardboard look alive somehow, bathed in that honey light. He opened it with a sudden move. There were several photos inside. In one, he recognized his mother hugging a baby. Her real son. And Ferry felt again that he needed to know who he was at any cost. In other photos, Peter and Eillen appeared, young and confident. There was hope in their eyes. And in others, in which the passing of time could be read on their faces, he recognised himself. Or better yet, a bright outline that should have been him. Peter's face was frowning at him. Instead, her mother smiled, holding him in her arms. Ferry touched the face in the photo with his finger and his heart broke again. His head fell on the table and he cried for the thousandth time. Just when he thought the day had finally come when he would no longer mourn her longing.
When his tears dried and his sight cleared, he noticed the lid of the box. He touched it with his fingers. There was something inside -- a secret pocket. Ferry found the opening and pulled out the contents. An old letter and a photo. The oldest of all. In the photo, a girl with long blond tails was smiling next to an equally blond man with clear eyes. Ferry recognized the fine features and gentle eyes. It was his mother when she was a child. The man looked very much like her. He must have been her father.
He opened the letter with feverish hands and read it. The letter was from his mother's mother. In it, the death of her father was announced. The words were simple. The lines were short and concise. Her mother would tell her in the end that she would never forgive her for leaving her family for someone like Peter. That her father died of a broken heart and all just because she left. And Ferry thought how sad his mother must have been when she received that letter. He looked at the date. It was before he was brought to Goodharts. Before the real baby Donovan was born. So the grandparents did not know their grandson. So there was little chance that they would know what had happened to the Donovan baby. It was a dead end.
But then he saw his grandmother's signature -- Elisabeth O'Donovan. O'Donovan? It was too much of a coincidence that his father had almost the same name. That meant his father took his mother's name. But why?
Ferry felt his head began to ache. He layed down on the sofa in the living room and fell asleep immediately. He didn't know how long he slept.
When he woke up, there was light outside. It was Saturday morning. He heard Peter snoring in the bedroom. He got up and headed for the kitchen. The photos were still scattered on the table. He poured himself a glass of water and sat down at the table. He began to study the photos again. He read the letter again. There was no envelope, so he didn't know any address. But anyway, it wouldn't do him any good to know his mother's family. They could not help him find the lost son of the Donovans. Then he remembered Mrs. Cobbs' diary. Maybe he missed something. He began to reread the diary, page by page. The hours passed, and he was still caught between the pages laden with Mrs. Cobbs' pain and torment. When he reached the end, he was again amazed at how abruptly Mrs. Cobbs' love affair with the mysterious man had ended. But then he realized why -- there were missing pages at the end of the diary. How had he not seen it before? Who tore them? And why?
Ferry was so caught up in the pages of the past that he could not hear the knocking on the front door. He only heard it when it become harder. He got up from his chair. His neck was numb. He opened the door. In front of him, there was May, trying to smile at him. But her worried look said otherwise. Ferry let her in without saying anything.
"My mother sent me to bring this to you," she said, handing him a plate with food. "She said you might need it. And I also wanted to see you," she said, loweing her gaze.
Ferry picked it up and placed it next to the other food trays he had received from his neighbors and Ben's mother. The food began to spoil and the kitchen had taken on an unpleasant odor. But he didn't seem to mind. He sat down at the table again, his back to May, searching through the journal.
"What are you doing?" she asked.
"I was looking at some old stuff. I need to find the lost son of the Donovans. I promised my mother ..."
May stepped closer and gently put her on his shoulder. But he brushed off of her touch.
"Ferry ..." she softly said. "I'm worried about you."
"Don't be, May," he said without turning. "I'm fine."
"Ferry ..."
"I said I'm fine, May."
May said nothing. Ferry thought she was gone. When he turned, he found her still there, looking at him.
"It's not good for you to stay here alone. Come with me," she whispered, trying to come closer to him again.
Ferry shook his head no, "I don't want to ... I want to stay here."
May sat down next to him at the table. She looked at him with her big, deep eyes. She stretched out her delicate hand like a lily flower and caressed his forehead. But he slowly removed her hand, and saw the shadows descend in her eyes.
"I just want you to know I'm here for you ..." she whispered.
But he hit the table with his fist and got up from his chair. May winced and stood up as tears began to gather in her eyes.
"You're here for me ..." he smiled bitterly. "What about when Dad chased me and Mum away? Where were you, May? Or when I was threatened with adoption... Where were you? Or the past five summers when I was hoping I'd get at least a sign from you? Where were you, May? I've waited for you for five summers," he said, barely breathing, "hoping that maybe one day you would show up. And what did I get from you? Not a single letter, not a single word, nothing. Where were you, May? he said, clenching his fists. "I'll tell you where you were," he said, trembling. "YOU WERE NEVER THERE! So stop saying you care!"
"Ferry, I'm so sorry ..." she said, trying to get closer to him. "I've tried to tell you so many times..."
But he took a few steps back, "Tell me what, May? What was so bad you couldn't tell me? Me... The idiot that always opened his heart for you. But you kept pushing me away. For years you've been pushing me away. Tell me what? Why don't you tell me now? TELL ME!" he shouted, feeling his whole body tense.
But she shook her head as tears streamed down her cheeks, " I can't ... Now is the worst time of all."
He nodded, with the same bitter smile on his face, "I thought so... Now go! Leave me alone! GO!"
He sat down at the table again and began to search through the papers on the table as if she wasn't even there.
"Ferry, I know this isn't you ..." she said between sobs. "I know you. I know you're not like that. I know that now is the suffering and pain in you talking. But I'm here now," she whispered.
"Well, too little, too late, isn't it, May?" he said without turning.
He could hear her sobbing behind him. Then he heard her footsteps moving away and the door opening.
"For what is worth, " she said before leaving, "what happened between us ... I meant it. I've always meant it ..."
Then the door closed. Ferry thought he should run after her. Tell her he was sorry. That he had behaved like an idiot. But he suddenly felt tired. He was tired of chasing her.
Then, there was silence. Ferry returned to Mrs. Cobbs's diary, but the lines were running before her eyes. Then he heard a knock on the front door again.
"Go away, May!" he shouted without getting up.
But the knocking continued, more insistent than before. Ferry stood up, dragging his feet to the door. When he opened it, he discovered an unknown man, dressed in a suit, with a hat and a tie, and a briefcase in his hand.
"Is Mr. Peter Donovan home?" he asked.
Ferry remembered Peter's deplorable condition.
"Yes ... but it's not available at the moment," he said.
The man searched in his briefcase and pulled out a piece of paper."Could you call him?" he asked. "It's urgent."
Ferry heard Peter Donovan behind him. He was unshaven, his clothes unchanged for who knows how long and his breath smelling of alcohol.
"I'm Peter Donovan. Is there a problem?"
The man handed him the paper that Peter forced himself to read.
"My name is Jonathan Fine and I'm from Social Welfare. I came to get you a citation. In three days you have to bring the minor to the Town Hall, at nine o'clock. A commission has been organized to decide his fate."
"What minor? What commission?" Peter asked, rubbing his temples with his hand.
"This boy," the man said, pointing to Ferry. "He's not your son, is he? He's nobody's son. The state must find a foster home for him until he's major of age."
*
The news fell upon Ferry like thunder. After everything that had happened to him, he was now in danger of being chased away from Goodharts. Ben came to see him as soon as he heard the news.
"Dad went to Town Hall to talk to that social assistant, Jonathan Fine," he said as he walked around the kitchen. "My parents are willing to adopt you. You've always been part of the family, anyway. It's just ... They don't meet the conditions. You need a certain income per family member and my father's salary is not enough. And my mother doesn't work ... I'm sorry, Ferry," he said with a sigh.
"It's okay, Ben ..." Ferry said. "Thanks, but I can take care of myself. I still have the job at Pride Mansion."
"It's not about that, Ferr," Ben said, just as agitated. "It's about your age. You're seventeen this month. You're still a minor. There must be an adult to take care of you. That's the law."
"I know," Ferry sighed. "My mother wanted to adopt me ..." he said softly.
Ben put his hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Ferry. I'm so sorry..."
Ferry shook his head, "I can't leave this town, Ben. I just can't. I have so many unfinished business ... And besides, where do they want to take me?"
"Probably in a foster home until they find a family to adopt you."
Ferry collapsed in his chair and took his head in his hands. It was the last thing he needed.
"There must be a solution," Ben said. There must be someone in this town to adopt you. Matt's parents tried too, but it's the same situation as ours ..."
"Matt ..." Ferry whispered and his heart ached as he spoke her name.
"She's worried about you, Ferry," Ben said. "She would like to come and see you, but she's afraid you'll chase her away. She doesn't want to upset you."
"That's not it. I want to see her, too. So badly ... It's just-- what I feel for her only complicates things between us. She-- She doesn't feel the same way anymore. I can tell. And that hurts. But now, it doesn't matter. Nothing matters anymore ..." he sighed.
"Don't talk like that, Ferr ..." Ben said softly. "Everything will be alright. You'll see."
Ferry shook his head. "No, Ben. Everything has changed now. Nothing will be the same as before. Ever."
Ben finally left, more depressed than he had come. When it got dark, Ferry was surprised to find Lavender in front of the door, leaning on her cane. At the age of a hundred, she seemed as straightforward and determined as she had been in her youth. She went inside with a determined pace.
"For as long as I'll live, you'll always have a family, Ferry," she said, looking him dead in the eye. "I will adopt you, darling. You are more than my little brother. You are my family."
Ferry nodded slowly, feeling tears flood his eyes again. Lavender tapped his cheek lightly with her dry hand, which smelled of wildflowers and cookies. After a long time, Ferry felt a glimmer of hope creeping into his life.
*
At nine o'clock, Lavender accompanied Ferry to Town's Hall. He had never seen her more determined. She was wearing her best clothes. She had even put on a straw hat with a fresh lavender flower that matched perfectly with her purple clothes which seemed detached from older and better times.
They were both invited to take a seat at a long table that almost entirely filled a cold, dark room on the ground floor of Town's Hall. They sat awkwardly, without saying a word. Ferry felt the knot on his tie choke him and weakened it a little. They both shuddered when three men in suits entered the room and took their seats at the table in front of them. The mayor, in a suit too small for his robust figure, greeted them briefly. The second one was Jonathan Fie, the social worker who visited Ferry three days ago. He was wearing the same cheap suit and had already sweated. He took off his hat and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. The third man, dressed in an impeccable summer suit, the color of milk coffee, was Albert Pride. He studied Ferry without restraint while playing with his expensive watch strap.
The mayor's secretary came in and brought them all glasses of water; the social worker drank it all in one breath. He took out some papers from his fake leather briefcase and handed them to the mayor and Albert Pride. But not to Lavender.
"We're all here," he said, coughing to adjust his voice, "because the people of this town are worried about the fate of the minor known as Andrew Donovan. From official documents, we know that this is not the real child of Peter and Eileen Donovan, and that a confusion was created at the hospital. The real Donovan baby was changed by mistake with the minor here, almost seventeen years ago, and we lost track of him. The one we thought was the real child is an impostor who has now fled the town and whose purpose we do not know. Therefore, we must establish the conditions to find a new shelter for the minor here."
Lavender snorted, "Let's shorten this whole meeting and not waste time," she said in her hoarse but firm voice. "I want to adopt the minor here and please prepare the necessary documents for adoption."
The social worker forced a smile, "Miss Sky ... Lavender Sky, isn't it? What an interesting name ... I'm afraid you don't meet the conditions for adoption."
"What would those be?" Lavender asked without being intimidated.
"Well, first of all, your age. How old are you? Ninety? A hundred?"
"My age should not be an issue as long as I can take care of him."
"Secondly," said the social worker as if he didn't even hear her, "there is no document to prove your identity. Not even in the old archives, the ones that remained when the village existed, we have not found any document proving your identity. As if you would have appeared out of nowhere ..."
"Mr. Fine," Lavender said and Ferry read the irritation in her voice, "I'm the oldest member of this community. Mr. Mayor and Mr. Pride here can confirm that--"
"Third," Jonathan Fine continued, "you don't earn enough so that you can afford to provide for the minor. You can't afford the costs of the food and school. What do you do for living, more exactly?"
"I have a vegetable garden to support myself," Lavender said. It brings enough income to live decently ..." she said, this time, not so confident.
"In the summer. What about in the winter?"
"The fruits and vegetables in my garden bear fruit even in winter," Lavender said firmly.
The social worker laughed, "A garden that bears fruit in winter! I've never heard of such a thing. Maybe you're telling us the secret."
Lavender said nothing more, wringing her hands.
"Miss Sky," said Albert Pride, "your income is not your problem. I am sure that I can contribute a generous amount to the maintenance of the minor. Age is your problem. Forgive me, but you are very old. Even if you're in good health, people as old as you can ... fall very easily."
"I don't think you have the right to mind into business that doesn't concern you, sir," Lavender raised her voice. "What is he doing here, anyway?" she asked the social worker. "What does he have to do with this problem?"
"Miss Sky," the mayor intervened, visibly irritated, "Mr. Pride is a respected member of our community and the son of the founder of this city. He is a remarkable person who has always been interested in the good of this town and of each inhabitant."
"Given these conditions, your application for adoption is rejected," said the social worker. "The minor will be placed in a foster home until there is someone suitable to adopt him," he added starting to gather the papers.
Ferry felt out of breath. Did they really plan to take him away from everything he knew and loved? He began to tremble and looked at Lavender in panic. Her worried gaze brought him even more anxiety.
"You can't do this!" Lavender shouted, hitting the table with her fists. "You can't take him away from me."
"Miss Sky, the law says--" the mayor intervened.
"I don't care what the law says!" Lavender shouted. "The boy has just lost his mother, for Heaven's sake! What are you trying to do? Why do you want to see him leave this town so much?" she shouted, looking at him Albert Pride dead in the eye.
In all the growing uproar of voices, Ferry felt the world begin to spin around him faster and faster. It was hot and the room was getting darker. When he thought he was on the verge of fainting, the door opened and the mayor's secretary entered, bringing a gust of fresh air with her.
"I'm sorry, sir," she gasped, "but I couldn't stop him."
As if in a dream, Ferry saw Peter Donovan as he entered and stood in front of the three men, right next to his chair. He was wearing his best suit, was shaved, and smelled of cologne. And his breath no longer smelled of alcohol.
He put a file in front of them and said loud and clear, "Honorable committee, my name is Peter Donovan and I think I meet all the conditions to adopt the boy. In addition, the boy grew up in my house from birth. My wife, he hesitated for a moment, my wife raised and loved him like her own son. The boy has a house, he said, and put his hand lightly on Ferry's shoulder. He always had.
Jonathan Fine examined the papers, and then handed them to Albert Pride. He analyzed them carefully and Ferry saw his sight turning darker.
"Mr. Donovan and how will you support the minor?" he asked.
"I have my lifetime savings. I have a carpentry shop that worked well until my wife ... But I will start working there again. I can support the boy."
"It says here that you had an accident ..."
"Yes, but it doesn't affect my work at all," he said confidently. "Mr. Pride, here, had the generousity to offer me a considerable amount of money to use at my workshop."
"Mr. Donovan," Albert Pride said, "we all know you have a problem with ... drinking. You are not exactly the right person to be a parent."
"I stopped drinking," he said firmly, squeezing Ferry's shoulder lightly.
"You know there will be regular checks," Jonathan Fine added.
"You can send as many checks as you want," Peter said without being intimidated. "I will change. I'll be a good father to the boy," he added, and his voice trembled. "You'll see."
Ferry looked up and their eyes finally met. For the first time. Peter smiled at them, nodding.
"In that case, I'll prepare the documents for adoption," Jonathan Fine said.
Ferry, Lavender and Peter breathe a sigh of relief. They got up to leave.
"One more thing," Jonathan Fine said, stopping them on their way.
"What thing?" Peter Donovan asked.
"The boy will need a name."
"The boy has a name," Peter said softly. "He always had. Ferdinand, like his great-grandfather on his mother's side... he added, and Ferry saw a tear slipping into the corner of his father's eye. "Ferry, for short."
Thank you for the long wait! I hope you liked this chapter. Let me know your thought. Love lots!