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Carter hooked his arm through hers and headed her down the street to a burger bar. “Are you hungry?”
She shook her head, but he settled her into a seat anyway. It was an old-fashioned fifties diner where the waitress slapped menus down on the table, then brought glasses of water, splashing and grumbling as she wiped the mess with a dirty cloth.
As the woman stalked away, Sienna found her voice. “I might throw up if I eat.”
Carter pushed into the same side of the booth and wrapped his arm around her. “You’ll be okay,” he whispered into her hair.
“I don’t think so,” she muttered in barely perceptible words. Then she looked at him. “He’s a monster.” She could feel her eyes wide in her face, and Carter let her go on. “He told me he didn’t want me in the wedding because I’m not family.”
“That’s maniacal.” He pushed the glass of water closer in case she needed it. “Maybe you’re better off being out of it.”
But she was thinking ahead. “I wish there was a way I could stop the wedding. Bron is too sweet and nice for him. He’ll crush her.”
“She’s going to have a baby. Would she really back out now?”
She was silent, ignoring the menu.
When the waitress arrived to find they hadn’t decided, her lips pinched with irritation, and Carter said, “We’ll be ready in a minute.”
Sienna blurted out, “I’ll have a cheeseburger and fries, no onions,” just to get rid of the woman. Carter ordered the same. He could have eaten hers, she thought, but whatever.
“What can I do?” she asked as the woman left to toss the order at the cook. “Should I send Bron a text? Maybe an email? Or I could be old school and send a letter?”
Carter’s arm was still around her, still comforting. “Don’t you want to talk to her?”
She trembled and, in a little girl’s voice, said, “I’m afraid to talk to her.”
He cupped her chin, forced her to look at him. “You’re not afraid of anything. The truth is probably more that you don’t want to be the one to tell her what a scumbag her future husband is. Or maybe you think he can be different with her. Or maybe it’s even that you know a person can’t be told something, that they have to learn for themselves.” He kissed her softly on the lips. “Just like you needed to learn about your father. Your mother could’ve told you long ago what he was like. But would you have believed her?”
He was so right. “Even on the plane, when my mother told me her story, I didn’t think he could be as bad as she said, trying to turn Matthew and me against her, emotionally blackmailing her. I thought she was exaggerating.” Her heart was in her eyes as she looked at Carter. “I didn’t truly understand until he callously told me I’m not family.”
He hugged her then, so tightly she thought he’d never let go. “You do have family. Your mom, your brother, your aunt and uncle and cousins, your grandparents. That man isn’t your only family.”
She drew in a breath, trying to fill herself up again. “He’s always held me at arm’s length, always preferred Matthew. And I’ve always tried to get him to love me. Now I know it’s all because I’m not his daughter.”
“That fact isn’t your fault, and yet he punished not only your mother, but you as well. From the time you were eight years old. You didn’t deserve that. He could say anything he wanted to your mother, but you didn’t deserve it.” He tipped her chin, held her gaze. “And that makes him a monster.”
She saw the truth with powerful clarity. “I always blamed my mother. At times, I barely tolerated her, at others I actively hated her. But I realized that wasn’t good for me, and I thought this trip would be a way to see if we could have some sort of relationship.”
He asked her the important question. “Do you still hate her?”
It took a minute, maybe two or three, but she finally shook her head. “She made a mistake. I wish she hadn’t lied to me. I wish she hadn’t married Donald Walker. But I understand in a way I never did before. She was scared. She didn’t want to face him or her mother. And she certainly didn’t want to tell everyone she was pregnant with another man’s child. I think my ex-father—or my father who never was or whatever the hell he is—I think he would’ve rained holy hell down on her. She would’ve been a pariah. And even though it was the early nineties and not the fifties, it would’ve been really hard on her.”
“Does that mean you forgive her?” His voice was gentle, and yet so loud inside her.
She said, with no preamble or platitudes, “Yes.” She grew stronger, more certain, less afraid. “Yes, I can forgive her.”
Carter wrapped her in his arms, holding her tight. “I love you, Sienna Walker. You’re the strongest woman I’ve ever met.”
She admitted to the emotion she’d never felt for any other man. “I love you, too.”
