Grant felt sick, his fingers clenching. He’d punch a brick wall, if it would do any good.
“Moving was drastic,” Stan admitted. “One of my clients vacationed in California and stumbled upon Poppy Creek on their trip. At the time, it sounded like the sort of town we needed. Of course, that’s the hard part about being a parent. Not every decision you make will be the right one.”
They sat in silence a moment. A lone bird warbled in the distance, its melancholy timbre sending shivers up Grant’s arms.
“For what it’s worth,” he said softly, turning to face his dad, “I think you made the right decision.”
Stan held his gaze and a healing glance passed between them.
Over the last several days, one thing had become undeniably clear to Grant. Things weren’t always simple and straightforward. Life was messy and complicated. And any worthwhile relationship required digging deep, occasionally venturing into dark and difficult places. But you often came out better for it.
“Want to finish our chess game?” Stan asked.
“That sounds great.” Rising from the love seat, Grant felt as though he’d left a crippling weight behind him.
And regardless of what Eliza thought—or anyone, for that matter—Grant would do whatever it took to be the best father possible…
For his son.
Chapter 23
The latch clicked, and Eliza leaned against the door, her heart still pounding, rebelling inside her chest as though it couldn’t stand to be near her, either.
“You told him, didn’t you?” Straightening from half-moon pose, Sylvia readjusted the tie-dyed sweatband around her glistening forehead.
“Wh-who?” Eliza stammered, wincing at the self-conscious catch in her voice. Between the fact that she’d steered Grant away from the house, and the loud flute music emanating from her mother’s yoga video, there was no way Sylvia could have overheard them.
“Grant, of course. I assume the shell-shocked expression on your face is because you finally told him he’s Ben’s father.”
Her knees weakening, Eliza slid a few inches down the door frame, like buttercream frosting melting in the sun. “You knew?”
“Sweetheart, I’m an actress. I know how to read people. Besides, you’re my daughter. You came to me with some cockamamie story about a tourist boy you barely knew. Please. It’s way too out of character.” Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, Sylvia hit pause.
“Who else knows?”
“Your father. Maybe Maggie. But we’ve never discussed it. I only assume because she knows you almost as well as I do.”
Eliza stumbled the few steps from the threshold into the living room and collapsed onto the couch, wishing she could bury herself in the oversize cushions and never come out. “Why didn’t you ever say anything?”
Sylvia shrugged, the wide collar of her neon workout top slipping off her thin shoulder. “I figured you’d tell me about it when you were ready.”
“So, let me get this straight.” Eliza hugged one of the plump throw pillows, seeking comfort in the soft folds of the fabric. “You grill me like a secret service agent whenever you get even a whiff that I might be dating someone. But you never once mention this? I have to say, Mom. That doesn’t seem like the best parenting decision.”
“Well, you would know.” Sylvia smirked, the twinkle in her eyes adding levity.
Despite herself, Eliza laughed at the somber irony, deep and cleansing, until tears spilled down her cheeks. Then, coming to her senses, she hurriedly muzzled her face with the pillow. “This isn’t funny. It’s horrible. Grant is really upset. And he has every right to be. I desperately want to fix things, but I don't know how.”
“Well…” Sylvia perched on the edge of the coffee table, stretching the thin spandex of her yoga pants as she crossed her legs. “We Carters might be a lot of things, but we certainly aren’t cowards. Whatever it takes to make things right, I’m confident you’ll find a way.”
Her mother’s words did little to reassure her. The hole she’d dug was too deep, and insurmountably wide. And she hadn’t even told her the worst part.
Peeking above the frilly lace trim, Eliza met her mother’s gaze. “There’s something else you should know.”
“What’s that?”
“The reason I never told Grant about Ben. Or, at least, one of the reasons I never told him.”
Sylvia leaned forward, revealing a hint of her leopard print sports bra. “I’m your captive audience.”
