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“Iamgood. Really good.” Then almost as an afterthought, she throws in a polite, “How are you?”
There are two worn wicker chairs on either side of a small table on the porch, but she doesn’t ask me to sit. I toe a tiny crack in the concrete, wondering if I should’ve sent one of the thousand messages I typed and deleted instead of doing this face-to-face. But now I’m here so... “I don’t know if you still watchThe Dallas Daily Dish, but I did something. I wanted to explain before you saw it on TV.”
The empty look on her face isn’t helping to pave the way for my confession.
I wrap my arms around my waist. “I read your diary. About you and Dad. I did more than read it. I wrote a book and put it on DigitalReads. It’s calledHaunted. I didn’t know anyone would read it, and then when they did, I took it down. But it was too late.” I’m tripping over my words just to get them out. “An agent found it. She sold it to a big publishing house, and now it’s out. But it’s your story. Yours and Dad’s. Not mine. Please don’t hate me.”
“Jess.” She tugs her hair over her shoulder the way I do. “That diary—”
“Was private.” I move toward her. “I know.”
“Jess—”
“I never should’ve read it.” I take her hands. “Never should’ve put it out there for everyone—”
“Stop.” She tugs free and rests on the edge of one of the wicker chairs. With a small pat to her thigh, she calls the dog to resettle at her side in an invitation I don’t get. “You think the diary was about your dad?”
Of course it was about Dad. “T for Trevor.”
Leaning forward with a huge sigh, she pushes her palms against her thighs. “T for Ty.”
I shuffle back awkwardly across the concrete until my hip hits the railing. “Who’s Ty?”
Her eyes fill, and she blinks a few times. “The only man I’ve ever loved.”
My head spins. All this time in the movie playing in my mind, in the scenes I created as I wroteHaunted, I’d cast Dad as T. I can’t see T as anyone else. “Those things you wrote—the phone calls, the hammock, the nights in the sleeping bag—they were never about Dad?”
She shakes her head and rubs her fingers over Chloe’s back the way Dad rubs his keyboard.
“Then... why were you... with Dad?” The question is as choppy as my thoughts.
“I can’t talk about it.” Straightening, she crosses her legs. “The best thing your dad ever did was let me go. We were miserable together.”
“Let you go?” I back my hips into the railing as far as I’ll go. “He kicked you out. Filed a restraining order so you couldn’t seeme.”
“Jess, that’s not—”
“I get it. People get divorced.” I pull myself up using the railing. “But it wasn’t fair you had to divorce me too. I thought maybe you’d come back if you knew I wasn’t mad about this.” I touch my face, and her eyes follow my fingers to my jaw. “I never should’ve run after you that day. You were upset. You weren’t thinking. What happened on the stairs, it was my fault. Just please, come back.” I don’t care if Dad is in love with Vi. I want my mom. I want my family.
“It wasn’t you fault.” She pales and runs her hands up and down her arms where the skin is breaking out in goosebumps. “If your dadhadfiled a restraining order, I would’ve deserved it. But he didn’t.” The sound of kids playing down the street hangs between us. “It was my choice to leave. Not his. Mine. Do you understand?”
I understand that I feel like spikes are being driven through my skin.
She rubs her wrist with her thumb. “Trev offered to drive me to rehab. Begged me to stop drinking. But I just couldn’t stop.”
“But you’re sober now. You can stay sober.”
“Not if I go back.” Her hands shake as she pushes off the chair to stand. “I was in a bad place after that day at school.” Her voice thins. “I needed a clean slate. To start over. Trevor knew that. Just like he knew you’d be better off without me.”
“I won’t be. I’m not.” She doesn’t want me. The truth hits with a clarity that drives those spikes soul deep. I’m backing off the porch, but I just can’t stop begging. “Maybe we could meet sometimes. For coffee. No pressure. It can be whatever you want. Just—”
“I’m happy here, Jess. I’ve got my life together. I’m sorry.” Her lips tremble. Her next step isn’t steady, but in a different way than the times I saw her drunk. “I just can’t do this. It’s not good for me.”
And even though she doesn’t touch me, it feels like she just reached out and pushed me down those stairs all over again.
chapter 64
Gabe
