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But I can’t brush this under the carpet and if we’re going to stay, I need to explain.
“Joe?” I walk over to where he’s standing and reach out a hand for his.
I release the breath I’m holding when he takes it right away.
“What’s going on, princess?” he asks in his kind way.
I look around the room and find everyone’s eyes trained on me.
“Joe, I think you’re the only here who doesn’t know…”
“Uh, no, Ryan doesn’t, I figured it was your story to tell,” Nadia pipes up.
Resignation settles like an albatross on my shoulders, and I nod in acceptance of what I’m about to do.
“Last summer, Carter…” My throat closes around the words and my swallow is embarrassingly audible. “Carter and I found that we have the same father. Before we found that out, we’d—” My throat convulses again, and I can’t think of the words to describe what we’d been before everything fell apart.
“We’d been involved,” Carter says, his voice clipped. I look over at him expecting him to look as hard as he sounds. But from the look on his face, he could be talking about what he ate for breakfast. When we discovered the truth, we went our separate ways. But Beth isn’t my sister. That’s a relationship that develops with time and intent.”
There’s no warmth in his voice, and I try not to take it personally. But, she’s the best friend I’ve ever had. And so, that makes her family.”
I look at him, grateful and yet so sad because I can hear the heartbreak in his voice as clearly as I could the day we said goodbye in that church.
“Life is so fucking unfair,” Joe says suddenly. His voice is thick with emotion and his hand is gripping mine so tight, it hurts. When I look into his eyes, the anguish I see there steals my breath. He’s not a stoic man, but I’ve never seen him cry.
“Joe, it’s okay. We’re okay…”
“No princess, it’s not. I haven’t told you the truth, either.” His voice breaks and alarm grips me.
I reach up to wipe away the tear that’s trailing down his cheek.
“It’s okay. Whatever’s wrong, you can tell me,” I say the words that Carter said to me on the day I told him the thing I was most afraid to say.
Joe takes a deep, shuddering breath. “Five years ago, I ran over my seven year old son with my delivery truck.”
A collective gasp ripples round the room. My heart quakes in my chest, but I don’t make a sound. The depth of his pain is on full display as he looks at me, fear and loathing war with a plea for understanding. It’s hard to see him look like that.
But I don’t take my eyes off Joe, because he’s looking at me like I’m his lifeline as he talks.
“He ran out into the driveway. I didn’t see him. He wasn’t there when I got in the car. He was so little,” his voice is a tortured whisper, and his eyes lose their focus for a minute. His grip on my hand tightens. The room is silent, and I realize that someone has turned off the music.
“I drove this big truck that I used for deliveries for my shop. I didn’t even realize I’d hit him until I got to the end of the driveway and saw him lying in front of my car. I realized that what I thought was one of the toys he used to leave in the driveway, was actually him. He was broken. And he died before the ambulance came. The police didn’t charge me. My insurance paid out the policy limits, but little Trevor was gone. He was the light of my life, and I killed him.” Joe’s voice is a kaleidoscope of grief, anger, and resignation. But he’s not crying. His eyes are burning into mine like he’s waiting for me to connect the dots.
His son.
My heart plummets to my toes.
“Oh my God. But… the son whose calls and visits you’re always waiting on… Is that another one?” I ask, even though I already know.
“We only had the one boy.” He drops his head as if keeping it up right was too much for him.
“Oh, Joe…” is all I can manage because my lungs won’t work.
“I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t hurt my knee in an accident. I drove my car off a bridge in Delaware. I wanted to die. But I didn’t. My wife, my ex-wife, Shannon - she won’t have anything to do with me. I don’t blame her.” His eyes hold the kind of despair I understand… you’ve accepted something, but you would give anything to change it.
My heart rages and weeps for him. The arbitrary and indiscriminate cruelty of life is so hard to understand. This man wouldn’t hurt a fly. He lost a child he loved. For the first time in a long time, I think of my father. How he has abused and neglected every single of of his children, even after he’d experienced the pain of losing one.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper and cup his face and duck a little so that I can see his eyes. The torment in them makes me want to cry. He covers my hands with his, pulls them off his cheeks, but holds them tightly.
