by Jody Holford
“My girl was pretty upset when she went running to your house.”
“I know. I called her to say hi and couldn’t make out much of what she said through the tears,” Alex said, unable to keep the condemnation out of his voice.
“She has every reason to be upset. I’ll let her tell you what she wants you to know. But when she’s done crying—when she breathes long enough to listen— can you do me a favor?”
“Maybe.”
Mark rocked back and forth on his heels and nodded his head.
“I like that you’re looking after her. Just let her know that there isn’t anything that could change how much I love her,” Mark said, his voice cracking. Alex wondered what the hell had happened in the Aarons’ household that night.
“Sounds like something you should tell her,” Alex commented.
“And I will. Every single chance I get. But she won’t be ready to hear it from me for a while. She’ll hear you. Because she loves you.” Mark looked up at the night sky then back at Alex. “She loves you.”
“And I love her,” Alex said, in case there was any doubt.
“I know you do, son. Otherwise, I wouldn’t trust you to relay words that matter so much.”
Alex nodded and watched as Mark went back into his house. The porch light went out and he went to find Lucy—to see what the hell she had faced that night without him.
She wasn’t curled in his bed as he’d thought she would be. She was curled on his couch, tucked into one corner with a blanket thrown over her and the cat at her feet. His heart twisted and he realized that every time she was there, he breathed a sigh of relief. He wanted her there. Always. He unloaded his weapon and put it away. He debated taking a shower, but instead changed out of his clothes and put on some lounge pants and a T-shirt. She mumbled when he put his arms under her to lift her.
“Alex,” she said, her eyes snapping open when he stood up with her. “Nope. Prince Charming.”
“Hmm. Pretty close.”
Alex snorted and shook his head. He carried her to his bedroom and laid her on the bed. When he moved to extract himself, she clung to his neck.
“I was going to go shower, Sleeping Beauty,” he whispered, kissing the tip of her nose. She threw her leg up to pull him into her and knocked him off balance.
“Oops. You fell. You must be really tired,” she said, her arms still like a vice around him.
“Either that or I’m really clumsy,” Alex said, laughing and smoothing her hair away from her face. Her eyes fluttered open and shut, and finally, locked steadily on his.
“I’m a tornado,” she whispered, her eyes welling up. “What are you talking about, sweetheart?”
“I came in unexpectedly, stirred up all the bad, and left nothing but devastation,” she told him. The strings of his heart tightened. Another knot.
He scooped her up again and then settled himself on the bed so h e could have her on top of him while he soothed her and dried her tears. She told him about their dinner. About their fights. About their truths—her truth. She undid him completely when she dried her tears and took a few deep breaths to steady herself.
“I’m the one that doesn’t belong. I’m not like the rest of them, Alex.”
“That’s just not true, Luce. Your family loves you. Blood is about the least important element of truly being a family. Sharing all of the same DNA does not guarantee that a person will always be there for you. That you can count on someone. That there will always be a home for you to come to. There’s nothing that could make you any less to them. Your dad loves you so much and doesn’t see himself as anything other than your dad.”
She nodded her head as if she were trying to believe him—wanted to believe him—but she nestled her face in the crook of his neck, and he felt her body shake with more tears. He held her tight, hoping to take some of the pain—absorb it somehow so she didn’t hurt so much.
“The thing is, I’m a reminder of what must have been the worst part of their marriage, Alex. She cheated on him. I can’t even comprehend that, never mind the fact that she got pregnant with me and he forgave her. How can he not resent me?” Lucy asked through her tears. Alex let her cry, stroked her hair, and passed her Kleenex. When it seemed like she couldn’t speak, he went to get her some water. Handing it to her, he sat beside her.
“Maybe you’re looking at it wrong,” he said, watching while she gulped the water like she’d been in a desert. She handed the glass to him and tilted her head.
“How is that possible? What is the right way to see adultery and deception?”
“What if you’re what saved them?” Alex asked. She stared at him blankly.
He leaned against his headboard and pulled her astride him. He held her hands in his and kissed them before he continued.
“I’ve seen your parents together. There’s no faking that kind of love, that kind of commitment and connection. I don’t know what happened twenty-eight years ago, but obviously, something did. But you aren’t what cracked that foundation, sweetheart. I think you may have been what repaired it. Raising you. Loving you. Whatever tore them apart, it’s possible that you stitched them back together.”
She was looking at him with so much hope and surprise, he hoped to God that what he’d said had a chance of being true. Lucy Aarons would not be able to stomach being the cause of someone’s grief. He knew that and so much more about her. She’d stayed away ten long years to make sure that her very presence didn’t cause upset. She would rather bear that burden than watch those she loved suffer. It was one more reason he absolutely adored her, but it also reminded him how much she needed to know she was loved, believed, and needed. She needed to know that, regardless of anything else, she belonged. And she did. With him. And he would prove it to her. He already had a few ideas of just how to do that.
For now, he whispered to her softly, telling her he loved her. He laid her down on her back and placed kisses along her delicate, soft skin. He ran his fingertips along her, trailing repeatedly over the spots that made her shiver. He traced his tongue and mouth along the path his fingers had taken. He told her he needed her and that he always would. He breathed in every sigh and swallowed every gasp. He stared into her eyes as he hovered over her until she was pulling him down to her, into her, so there was nothing between them. Until they were completely and utterly connected. Every last heartstring tied together. Knotted.
Chapter Twenty-One
The real benefit of traveling—Lucy figured out over the next couple of days—was not being around during or after family arguments. The Aarons had had their share over the years. Char wanted a tattoo at fifteen. Kate had spent a week during sixth grade refusing to go to school because she’d gotten a bad perm. Then there was the prom that Lucy chose not to attend, which apparently embarrassed her whole family. She could laugh about petty arguments, or even the odd blow up, from the other side of the globe. But from across the yard, it was much harder to throw herself into her work, keep her head down, and pretend nothing was wrong.
Her dad had taken to weeding the stone pathway that separated the yards. Very slowly. She looked out the window a few times and saw him watching the house. Of course, her mother wasn’t going to come over. Kate and Char had texted and asked if she was okay, but since the answer was no and the question was stupid, she didn’t reply.
“You could go out there, you know,” Alex said from behind her. He wound his arms around her waist and kissed the side of her neck. She was looking out the dining room window to the area her dad was now weeding.
“And say what? Sorry I blurted everything out? Sorry I called my mom a freak, caused a big fight? Oh, and thanks for raising me when I’m not yours?” Lucy asked. Alex chuckled and she whirled on him. “How is this funny?”
“It’s not. But you’re being a bit dramatic. Things get blurted out in fights. Except by guys, because we don’t blurt, we shout. Your mom is not a freak, and you did not say that. And your dad loves you. Go talk to him,” Alex replied,
stroking her hair. When he did that, something uncurled inside of her chest and spread little waves of contentment through her. She sighed, angry at him for being right and rational and much calmer than she felt.
“Is that what you’re going to do? Go talk to your dad?”
“Trust me, sweetheart, if I could get my dad to talk to me, I would. I’ve threatened to charge him with obstruction, and he still won’t tell me where the damn paint came from.”
“I’m sorry. I’m being all moody and emotional, and you have stuff going on, too,” she said, putting her arms around his waist. Furball brushed between them.
“We need a date night. I need to take you out. How about tomorrow? We’ll go to a movie,” he suggested, kissing the crown of her head. “Ooh—”
“Something funny. Without subtitles,” he added quickly.
When Alex left for work, she realized she couldn’t stay in his house all day, staring out the window. She grabbed her things and headed back to her parents house. Both of them were in the kitchen when she walked in. The three of them stayed still, looking at each other, all of their words trapped in the silence.
When Alex pulled up to his dad’s, he parked behind a work truck that read “Clay’s Concrete.” A couple of guys were smoothing out the cement. Finishing the driveway would spruce things up a lot and make parking easier. Sam had done a good job fixing up the shed. Alex walked over the lawn and up his dad’s front steps. He knocked twice then opened the front door and called out.
“Back here,” Chuck answered.
Alex made his way through the sparsely decorated, masculine living room. Wandering through the house he knew as well as his own, he found Chuck just where he’d thought he would—in his office, working on one of his maps. His dad had a lifelong fascination with cartography.
A few Christmases ago, Alex had bought him a massive map of the world that took up one entire wall of the decently sized study. Chuck was at his desk, glasses perched on his nose, sketching on thin parchment paper. It was only in the last year or so that his dad had taken up drawing the maps. It was tedious work that would have driven Alex nuts, but it was interesting to look at. Chuck put his fine-tipped pencil down.
“You’re becoming a regular,” Chuck said, stretching his neck to each side.
“You phoned me. I’m stopping by like you asked. Driveway is going to look good,” Alex said. He wasn’t trying to be stiff and formal—he just couldn’t stop being irritated with his dad. Chuck stood and came around the wide-planked teak table that he used as a desk. The table would look good in Alex’s dining room.
“You’re right, I did. Let’s get a drink. I’m thirsty,” Chuck replied, moving out of the room, leaving Alex to follow. “What are you mapping?”
“An old route between England and Spain that wasn’t found until after a number of voyages had already failed.”
Chuck grabbed two cans of soda from the fridge and tossed one to Alex. They both tapped the tops a couple of times and cracked them open. Alex took a long swallow and set his can on the counter. He had helped his dad do the backsplash in this kitchen and, looking around now, he realized they had done a pretty good job. It was a beautiful house and, overall, Alex had been happy growing up here. His dad was a stubborn son of a bitch, but he was fair and, usually honest. Which is part of what was bugging Alex so much right now.
“So what’s up?” Alex asked. “Your mother phoned me.”
Alex was glad he had put his drink down. If he’d been mid-swallow, he probably would have choked. If he’d been holding the can, he would have crushed it. “What the fuck?”
“Watch your language, boy.”
Alex smacked his hand against the countertop. “Okay. What the fucking hell?”
Chuck shook his head and carried his pop to the living room. Jesus. Stay still. Talk already.
“You know what sucks about having kids?” Chuck asked, settling into the corner of one of the leather couches.
“When they want you to be honest?” Alex said. His thoughts flashed to Lucy, and he felt a pang of regret for what she was going through.
“Smart-ass. No. What sucks is when they have certain traits that annoy the hell out of you and then you suddenly realize that they got them from you.”
“At least you’re accepting the blame.”
“See,” Chuck said, gesturing toward Alex with his can. “That’s what I’m talking about. No one can talk to you about something when you’ve made your mind up. Your mother wants to talk to you, Alex. If I can give the woman a chance, so can you.”
Alex’s heart fell to his stomach and twisted inside out.
“What do you mean ‘give her a chance’? What kind of chance are you giving her?” Alex demanded, glad he hadn’t sat down. His fists clenched at his sides and his breath froze, making his chest tight.
“Shit, Alex! Not that kind of chance. She’s called a few times over the years. I’m not mad at her anymore. I think you should work on that,” Chuck said. “Oh, yeah. Why should I do that?”
“Sit down, Alex,” Chuck said in a tone that demanded he did. Alex sat on the edge of the couch, feeling fifteen again. Like he’d been caught sneaking out and Chuck was going to give him a talk that would make him wish he hadn’t been so stupid.
“I don’t want to do this. She didn’t want me sixteen years ago, I don’t need her now,” Alex said.
“Maybe not. But one day, she’ll be gone, and all you’ll have is your stubborn, bruised heart,” Chuck said gruffly. “My heart is just fine, thanks.”
“No, it’s not. Not that piece of it, anyway. She wrecked a piece of yours the way she did mine. We can either hang on to that and let it fester, or we can let it go. There’s a hell of a lot of relief in letting it go, son.”
“There’s nothing to let go, dad. I’m fine. I don’t need to reconnect with my mother.”
“She’s got cancer, Alex.”
And just like that, his heart twisted again and pushed its way upward to lodge in his throat, painfully. Alex said nothing. He looked at his father, trying not to let it matter. Three seconds ago, she hadn’t mattered.
“Her prognosis is good. She’s already had surgery. She’s not calling to say good-bye or anything morbid like that. I think she realizes that we only get one shot at this. She messed up a good portion of it. You can’t go back, but you can move forward. She just wants to move forward.”
Alex still said nothing. How could he when his heart was stuck in his trachea? He stood and walked to the window. He could see the guys pouring concrete. The thick, heavy liquid dispensed slowly. Someone smoothed it out, and then they left it to move to the next section. If anything got caught in that concrete, it would stay there, essentially, forever. Unless someone made a conscious effort to change what had been imprinted in the cement.
“What kind?” Alex asked.
“Breast cancer. She’s doing well. They caught it early. She was a shitty mother. A shitty wife. But she’s a good person, Alex. She’s your mom.”
Alex shook his head. He didn’t have the words. He didn’t know what he felt or what he wanted. Obviously, he didn’t want her to have cancer. He hadn’t thought he’d care about anything connected to her, but he knew, in this moment, he didn’t want her to have cancer, he didn’t want her to die, and—son of a bitch—he didn’t want her to die without him ever having a chance to talk to her again.
“Do you want some tea? I have some chamomile. It’s calming,” Julie said, puttering and fidgeting with the kettle, the tea bags, and taking out cups. Mark stayed where he had been sitting when Lucy had walked in.
“No, thank you,” Lucy answered, unsure where to look.
“How did you find out?” Mark asked, surprising Lucy. She looked up at him. Her heart seized. She loved him so much. She didn’t have his nose or his height or his blood, but he was her dad. A cup clattered onto the counter. Julie picked it up and put it away.
Lucy thought back to that night so long ago. She had vague memories, snipp
ets, of her younger sister being sick off and on, but as a kid, she only knew what her parents told her. “You were having an argument one night. Char was at a sleepover, and Kate came to sleep with me. She was stealing all of the covers, and when I went to shove her out of the bed, I realized that she was burning up. I came to get one of you.”
Julie gave a small, strangled sound that was half gasp, half whimper. Lucy sat down at the table across from her dad. Julie turned to face them but stayed with her back to the counter.
“We didn’t keep it from you because we didn’t want you to know. We didn’t want you to feel what you feel now,” Julie said quietly. “What’s that?”
“Like you’re not mine. How the hell can you think that you aren’t mine?” Mark asked, sitting up and banging his fist on the table. Lucy jumped and wondered if she had gotten it wrong all those years ago. Words were failing her as her breathing quickened.
“What? Are you … do you mean … are you my dad?” she asked, hating the tears in her voice.
“It depends on what you call a dad,” Mark said. His eyes were heated—the way they were when he gave a lecture that he felt passionate about. “Biologically, no. I am not. But that doesn’t change one damn thing, Lucy. I’m surprised at you.”
He shook his head and Lucy felt like hers was spinning. How could he be mad or surprised at her? She stood, suddenly wanting a drink and needing something in her hands. She went to the fridge to grab some apple juice.
“Mark. Don’t be like that. She’s shocked. Honey. What your dad means—”
“What I mean,” Mark interrupted, “is your first word was Santa. You pronounced it Sa-Sa. You were eleven months old when you took your first step. You fell headfirst into the coffee table, and I just about had a heart attack. I taught you how to ride a bike. I told you the truth about Santa Claus and the tooth fairy, and I held you when you cried over the first idiot boy who broke your heart.”
Lucy shut the fridge with nothing in her hands. Her dad stood, all but vibrating with his energy and passion and all of the conviction that made him, him. He moved around the table, glancing at Julie, who smiled encouragingly at him. The sweetness of the exchange just about broke the fragile grip Lucy had on her emotions.