Page 77 of The Saint

“Why didn’t you tell us?” Tears welled in her eyes, though she didn’t blink them away.

My own eyes scoured her face, trying to understand what was going on here, while my brain and my heart were somewhere out in the hall. “Tell you what?”

“About you and Jael.”

I winced again, both from the words she said and the quiver in her voice. My father’s hand landed on my shoulder, and he stepped up behind my mom, the two of them controlling my view.

“How long has this been going on?” His voice was quiet, as close to a whisper as he could get.

My head shook. Mom’s hands fell loose, but locked on my shoulders, still not letting me free. My confession seemed to rip me in two, physical pain tugging at my chest. “Since she’s been back.”

“And before?” This time, it was Zio who spoke. He sat on the corner of his desk, hands folded across his lap, that hard look replaced by… something else.

Something like concern.

“Were you together before she left?”

I squeezed my eyes shut, and all the pain I’d felt when she’d left me here alone came racing back.

“Oh, Rolly. Why didn’t you say something?” Mom’s hands gripped my shoulder, tugging me toward her until her arms wrapped around my neck. Squeezing me in a tight embrace. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know.”

“You couldn’t. Nobody could.”

“But why?”

When I opened my eyes, I had to blink to focus, to clear my vision enough to concentrate on my mom. Words failed me, my mouth opening and closing like a fish dying on the dock, no water to wet his thirst. “I had to keep it separate.”

It was just a whisper, but she heard me. Her face fractured, a look of pain radiating off her beautiful features. “No. No, sweetheart, you didn’t.”

Dad’s hand pressed to my back. “Come, let’s sit down.” He led the way to the couch near the fireplace, each of them taking a seat beside me as Zio sat across from us in a chair.

Mom grasped my hand between hers, her fingers damp from her tears. “You never, ever have to hide from us, Rolly. Do you understand?”

“You do,” I told her. “You keep everything separate.”

“Not like this, my love. I may keep our family life separate from my charity work, from certain friendships, but it’s my family who knows me best. We will always accept you, no matter who you are.”

My father’s hand rubbed at my back, and my gaze rose toward my uncle. What I saw wasn’t what I expected. The dark mask he so often wore was missing. In its place, there was a smile curling his lips and brightening his eyes.

“I’m so sorry if I ever led you to believe you couldn’t be yourself,” my mother said, squeezing my hand. “If you ever thought you couldn’t tell us something.”

“You can tell us anything at all.” My father bumped his shoulder against mine, his voice lighter than before. “All your hopes and dreams. Who your friends are, who you’re dating.”

I flinched; I couldn’t help it. Because these things they were saying were like a foreign language. A foreign concept that I’d never heard of and couldn’t understand.

Hide it all.

Keep it separate.

That’s how I’d been living my entire life.

And it’d only gotten worse as the years went by. As school was no longer the main focus in my life, and the number of people I cared about grew.

“I don’t know that I can.”

“You can, my son.”

Mom dipped her head, grabbing my attention with her gentle smile. “When your father and I first met, I didn’t think I’d ever be able to tell a soul. I was terrified.”