Page 69 of View With Your Heart

“You wouldn’t have wanted to marry me.” I attempt to sound teasing, but the glare he aims at me kills the joke. He doesn’t deny it, though.

“What time is your flight?” I ask. I vaguely remember it’s sometime this afternoon.

“I canceled it.”

“You did?”

His eyes narrow, focusing on the lake before us. “I didn’t think it would be right to rush off, and I want to talk to Gee.”

I nod. That was thoughtful. It also means the pressure is on to tell Gee the truth of his parentage. Tears well in my eyes. Not that it will crush Gee to learn Gavin is his dad, but to learn that Patrick wasn’t could really hurt him. I fear for his confusion and his anger. He might hate me, as Gavin mocked.

Suddenly, Gavin stands and turns to face me. He swipes his hands over his pants pockets. He’s in jeans, so he changed at some point from his tux.

“I’m not sure where I’m staying yet as I need to vacate the rental later today. Maybe I’ll crash at Ethan’s for a few days. I don’t know yet, but I’d like to come back this afternoon to see Gee.”

I swallow the lump in my throat and blink back the tears at the rush of how final things will be.

“And you’re wrong, Britton. I would have married you because I loved you that weekend like I had loved you before it.” While my heart hammers at his words, it’s the unsaid that breaks me. He doesn’t love me now, and he won’t love me ever again.

Take 23

Scene: The Scott’s Cherry Farm

[Gavin]

After leaving Britton on her porch, I decide against going to Ethan’s because of the early hour and the desire to speak to another person instead.

“Mum?” The sun has just risen, and a new day dawns. Mum looks tired as I stand on the front porch of my family home after knocking on the door. My parents are early risers, and I knew they would be awake. However, I’m grateful it’s Mum who answered the door.

“Gavin, lovie, you don’t need to knock.” She steps back, allowing me space to enter the old house, and I’m thrown back by the nostalgia of entering. The faded plaid couch covered with a homemade afghan. The foot-worn carpet leading to the kitchen. The old piano we dreaded playing, but Mum loved. A million memories rush back to me.

“Is Dad home?”

Mum’s naked brow lifts in surprise as I glance over at her. “He’s already up and out,” she states, heading toward the kitchen. My father works hard. We often joked he purposely disappeared in the orchard, but he really is a hard worker. It’s all the better that he’s not here, though, as I really want to speak just with Mum first.

“I didn’t know where to go,” I say, which isn’t totally the truth. I’d gone to Britton first because after I’d driven around, lost in my head, she was the only place I could think of to go. I could have stayed at Ethan’s, as I mentioned to Britton, but for some reason, my heart told me to come here instead.

Mum takes her same seat at the kitchen table—the place unofficially assigned to her, yet she always sat there. In my head, I see us gathered around the wood oval, tight and loud. Ethan is yelling to pass something; Karyn is complaining. Mum and Dad silently smile at one another. Familiar scents also waft through my thoughts. Fresh coffee. Cherry pie. Sugar cookies. I take my unofficial assigned seat at the worn-wood table, feeling like a teen again, one full of weight on my shoulders and questions in my head. However, I’m not a child anymore.

“Why didn’t you ever say something, Mum? If you suspected he was mine, why didn’t you mention it?” I hate to leap to the heart of things, but there’s no other place to start.

“What could I have said? Like we mentioned last night, it didn’t add up. Britton never told us after you left about you being back in town for that weekend.” Mum looks down at her fingers, and my head lowers.

“I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you.”

Mum waves a hand, dismissing it, but I know I’ve hurt her. It’s more than the weekend escape. I’ve been hurting her by not visiting more often.

“I don’t know what to do next, Mum,” I say, tipping back my head and staring up at the ceiling. Without looking, I sense her shift beside me.

“You love that child, Gavin.” The firmness in her tone snaps my head upright, and I stare at her. “You love that boy because he’s your flesh and blood. He didn’t ask for his life to go the way it went.” Her meaning becomes very clear. Do not blame the child for the sins of the parents.

“But I’m going to ask you to go one step farther, lovie. Have patience with her.” She doesn’t need to say Britton’s name. “She was young, alone, and went through a lot all at once.”

“She didn’t have to be alone. I could have been there for her.”

Mum sadly smiles and shakes her head. “It’s easy to sit here, thirteen years later, and say what you would have done. We all have a certain perspective looking in the rearview mirror, but we can’t know anything for certain.”

“Because she didn’t give me the chance,” I interject.