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“I know you aren’t staying at the manor,” I say.
“Why,” he asks instead, “you planning to stalk me too?”
“Why are you staying at a motel?”
Despite my perpetual reluctance to bring up the past, I remember that I’d used to think this a lot. Way back when I’d first met him. I used to wonder why he wouldn’t come home. I’d wait for him even. I’d…
No, Echo.
No.
Don’t go there. Not that far in the past.
He props his hip against my desk then, watching me for a beat or two. “Not sure people would want me here.”
His frank, matter-of-fact andtruthfulreply makes me even achier as I say, “This is the first time you’ve been here since that night, isn’t it? You didn’t even come for your… dad’s funeral.”
His expression shuts down now.
The beautiful, black and blue lines of his face close up like a drawbridge, and I have no hope of ever breaching his walls.
“I didn’t,” he says in a flat voice.
“Why not?”
“Didn’t want to.”
“He was your father.”
“I’m aware.”
“And you couldn’t… put aside your differences for one day and be there for him? When he died.”
“No,” he replies.
“Why do you hate your dad?” I ask finally, point blank.
Because I need to know.
Because there are so many things I need to know about him now.
So many things that I don’t understand.
Things that I’ve seen; things that he’s put me through in the past. And then there are the things he’s doing right now.
How do I reconcile them?
How do I reconcile him going from being my ex-boyfriend’s asshole best friend to this guy who stands only a few feet away from me. Who burns with guilt and regret. Who saved me the other night. Who wants to protect me. Who gifted me a freaking library in the palm of my hands and knows more about St. Mary’s than my own parents do.
“He was a good dad, wasn’t he?” I ask him when all he does is remain silent. “He was a good man. A good employer, akindemployer. He didn’t press charges against me when I… He could’ve though. But he didn’t. He didn’t fire my parents. We owe him a lot, your dad. Lots of people owe him. And when you didn’t even show up for the funeral, they all talked. They’ve all been talking for years. They’ve been…”
It’s not new information. None of what I’ve said is new or a mystery in any way.
But I want him to say something.
I want him to give me somethingnew.
I want him to tell me that all those people are wrong.
