Page 182 of Rescuing You

Under the table, he felt Leila’s hand touch his, and he held it, thankful for the connection. “I guess I should start by telling you that I’m not only a machine parts salesman. I do that, but it’s not all I do.”

Mom went very still. She wore a look on her face he hadn’t seen in a long time, not since he was a kid. Disapproval, disappointment. Because he’d lied to her.

He hated that, but he hadn’t wanted to worry anybody. And…it was easier to keep secrets than to be honest. It was easier to let people only see his mask, never the real man. It was easier to pretend than to be genuine.

Years before, way back when he’d thrown over his little brother—his best friend—for a bunch of loser high school kids, he’d gotten a glimpse of the real Michael Wright. The ugly person behind the veneer.

He hadn’t liked who he’d seen.

He never wanted anybody to see the real him again. He’d wanted to control what people knew about him—and thought about him.

It came back to that, his need to control everything.

Over the years as he’d grown closer to God, he’d learned that, yes, his flesh could be pretty ugly. But the man God had created him to be wasn’t, and the more he walked with God, the less ugly he became.

He didn’t have to hide anymore. And he didn’t have to control what people believed about him. He could be honest, let people in, and live with whatever conclusions they came to.

“You guys remember when I was in college and interviewed with the CIA?” At a few nods, he plowed ahead. “I got the job. I’ve been working for the CIA since I graduated.”

“Whoa.” Grant sat back. “I knew it was something, but⁠—”

“I knew it.” Derrick leaned out and spoke to Bryan. “I told you.”

“You called it,” Bryan said.

Sam smiled at Michael, supporting him.

Dad wrapped his arm around Mom’s shoulders.

Mom didn’t look happy, not at all. “Why did you lie to us? Is that how you really got that—” She waved toward him, and he touched the wound on his head.

“It’s a long story.” Not one he planned to tell his mother. Fortunately, she knew nothing about his other wounds.

“You’ve been lying all these years?” Her face turned red as she pressed her hands against the table as if she planned to storm away. But she dropped them to her lap. “Why?”

It would be so easy to claim he’d had no choice. “At first, I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to hack it. I didn’t want you to know if I failed. And then I didn’t tell you because, even though it sounded like an exciting job, mostly I was doing boring analysis at Langley. I loved what I did, but I couldn’t really tell you anything about it. It seemed easier to stick with the fib.”

“Fib?” Mom echoed. “Is that what it was?”

“That’s what I told myself. And then I went into the field, and I was glad you didn’t know. I didn’t want you to worry about me.”

“Grant was a Green Beret. You think I didn’t worry about him? I managed to survive.”

“I know. You’re right.” He scanned the room as a painful silence settled. “I hope you can forgive me.”

Sam spoke into it. “You don’t need my forgiveness, bro.” He took Eliza’s hand. “I owe you…everything.”

“You don’t owe me⁠—”

“Not that it’s okay,” Grant said, “but I understand the desire not to tell anybody what you’re doing. You can’t share most of it. Sometimes it’s just easier not to say anything.”

“That’s true.”

“And you sometimes want to just leave it at work, not bring the worry with you.” Grant focused on their mother. “There were plenty of things I didn’t tell you. There are things I still haven’t told you—and never will.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better.” But she was softening, the tight skin around her mouth loosening the slightest bit.

Leila cleared her throat, a tiny sound that had the table quieting. “I am sure it doesn’t help, but he didn’t tell me the truth at first, either, not about what he did for a living or where he was from, or even his last name.”