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“I deserved it, didn’t I?” My tone is still cold and detached.
“Maybe.” He shrugs. “I didn’t mean to kiss you. I just…it just happened. I want to be with you, Rachel. I know that, but I also know there’s a lot of forgiveness that needs to be had, too. It’s going to take time, but I’m willing to try if you are. I just think that we should take things slow.”
We settle back in on the swing, both of us agreeing that we will need to move slowly. For Knox. We can’t be reckless. We have Knox to think about now, and I don’t want to do anything to ruin the relationship that she and J.R. are building now. I do want to try. I want us to be the family we were meant to be, but this time must be different. I couldn’t bear to break Knox’s heart.
My head rests on J.R.’s shoulder as he pushes the swing gently with one of his feet. My eyes feel heavy when J.R. speaks suddenly. “Tell me about your mom.”
His voice startles me. “What?”
“Your mom. We never really talked about her before. You told me a few things a couple of weeks ago, but I want to know everything.”
“On one condition,” I tell him. “I want to know about your parents. Everything.” I may have made a few comments about my mom in the past, but J.R.’s family was something we never even spoke about. They’re a secret that J.R. has never wanted to unveil.
“Fine,” he says with a sigh. It’s quiet for a moment, and then he says, “Why do you think, during the time we had together, neither of us spoke about our parents?”
“For me, I wanted to wrap myself inside the reality of you. I wanted to forget everything else. My mom. My dad.” I close my eyes, remembering life with J.R. “I just wanted you.”
“We should talk about them,” he says.
“Do you think that’s what happened to us? We didn’t talk enough about the people who destroyed us?” I tilt my head up to look at him.
J.R. kisses my forehead. “I think if we had, maybe things would have made more sense.”
Maybe he’s right.
“When we wake in the morning, will you regret this?” I ask him.
“I will never regret kissing you,” he says. “Ever.”
“I did a lot of wrong.”
“We both did,” he says. I can’t think of a single thing he did wrong. All he ever did was love me.
“I should have married you the moment I knew I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you,” J.R. says.
“And when was that?”
“The night I met you.”
I wonder if we’ll get married, or is it sort of cliché now? Is the pain still too raw? Maybe it’s too soon to talk about those things. We have only just reunited. I’ve changed, and I think he has, too. He seems older, calmer, and maybe even a bit more rational. Not that he was ever irrational. Well, except for the time he decided he wouldn’t propose when he was supposed to propose because we had a fight over it. That was definitely a stubborn J.R. moment that might have changed everything entirely.
I think we still have a lot to figure out, and maybe we should figure it out before we make any hasty decisions about us.
J.R. is a little older than he was eleven years ago, and he has a few wrinkles around his eyes that I haven’t noticed before. There are even a few specks of gray in his long, dark hair. The core of him is still there, though—everything that caused me to fall in love with him in the first place. It’s all still there.
As for me, I’ve put myself through a lot. I’ve overcome a lot. I’m older, but Knox really changed me, too. Motherhood seems to have that effect. Maybe the biggest thing that has changed about me, though, is the ability to have my own thoughts. I’m no longer tortured or controlled by the words of my mother. It wasn’t an easy thing to let go, but once I did, I was free. My heart was free. My mind was free. I could actually hear myself again, and maybe that’s why it took me so long to come home. Maybe I had to rediscover who I really am.
We’ve been quiet for a little while now, and I wonder if J.R. has fallen asleep next to me on the swing. It’s nearly two a.m., and I think that I should probably try to sleep. Who can sleep after experiencing the types of things that have made this night?
I tilt my head back a little and look up at him. He’s still awake, wide-eyed, staring at the wooden planked ceiling of the porch. He looks at me, and I say, “I thought it was my fault that my dad died.”
“What?” he asks, lifting his head a little from the swing.
“I never liked spending the night away from home with friends and such. It was all fun and games until it was time to go to bed, and then I would just lie there in the dark and think of all the terrible things that could happen to my family while I was gone. I would cause myself so much worry, I would make myself sick.” I fiddle with my fingers a little, uncomfortable with telling this story out loud. I’ve only ever written it on paper.
“So, I was at a friend’s house one night. I had gotten myself upset, as I normally would, so my friend’s mom made a phone call to my dad to come pick me up.” I close my eyes. “My dad never made it to the house. He was struck and killed by a drunk driver. That’s really when everything changed with my mother. She never looked at me the same after that. I was Knox’s age when that happened, and I can barely remember what life was like before that night.”
“Rach, your dad’s death was not your fault. It was an accident,” J.R. says to me.
