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Strangely, there was an odd comfort...well, maybe not comfort, but it was reassuring to see that his fiery father hadn’t completely changed. No, it wasn’t comfort. It was a completely new perspective on guilt to which Nick had always thought he owned the exclusive rights.
It was an eye-opener.
He had no idea his dad had been shouldering the burden of blame, too. For the first time since he could remember, he and his father saw eye to eye on something.
But what was he supposed to do with that? It certainly wasn’t something he wanted to share a fist bump of solidarity over. They both felt guilty. They both blamed themselves. Arguing over who was guiltier or the bigger schmuck or the worst human being alive wouldn’t change anything. It wouldn’t bring back Caiden or Mom. It certainly wouldn’t give them back the lost years. Nick didn’t know what to say.
“You know, your mom and I didn’t just lose one son that day.” His dad’s voice was softer now. “We lost you, too. You were gone long before you left home. And it’s taken me all these years to realize that. But after you called me and told me I was going to be a grandfather, it was as if you’d given me back my life. That day last week when I heard your voice, it was as if you’d offered me a new start.”
Ronnie paused. Nick wondered if he was waiting for Nick to object or to throw something back at him. But words jumbled and knotted in the back of Nick’s throat. He couldn’t have said anything, even if he’d known what to say.
“I had to take sick days to come here and see you, but when I heard your voice, I knew I would rather get fired—hell, I would rather die—than waste the chance to make things right with my boy. You and your kids and Becca, if she’ll allow me, are the only family I have. Son, I screwed up with your mom. I didn’t man up because I was too busy wallowing in my own sadness to let her lean on me. She was the love of my life, and I just let her walk out the door. I let you walk out the door. I was such a self-centered jackass. If I could change one thing in my life, I would go back and make sure your mother knew how much I loved her. And I’d make sure you know how much I regret losing the past sixteen years with you. I hope you know how sorry I am.”
Ronnie’s voice broke. A tear trailed down his cheek. It cut Nick to the bone because he couldn’t remember a single time in his life when he’d seen his father cry.
Not at Caiden’s funeral.
Not at his wife’s funeral.
Certainly not the day Nick had left home to join the marines.
Or maybe it was the simple act of his father apologizing that was melting the ice that had formed in Nick’s heart all these years.
He slid a napkin across the table toward his father. It must’ve embarrassed him, because the older man said, “Yeah, hey, sorry about this. I’ll be right back.”
As Ronnie stood up and started to walk away, Nick said, “Dad, I’ll make a deal with you. If you forgive me, I’ll forgive you. And then we both have to forgive ourselves.”
Ronnie stared at Nick for what seemed an eternity. Then he offered a solemn nod before he turned and walked toward the restrooms in the back of the restaurant.
Chapter Thirteen
Someone was knocking at the door. In fact, Priscilla, the corgi, was going crazy barking and turning in circles as she tried her best to herd Becca off the sofa and into the foyer. It was ten o’clock at night and whoever it was wasn’t just knocking, he or she was being rather insistent.
If Priscilla didn’t wake the neighbors, her uninvited guest would. Becca rolled her eyes as she thought about the upbraiding she was sure to get from Mrs. Milton and Mrs. Cavett.
But soon enough annoyance gave way to an anxious hopefulness that left her a little queasy as her stomach twisted and plummeted. Maybe Nick had come back to apologize.
As quick as the glimmer of hope appeared, Becca squashed it. She was tired of these ups and downs. Tired of feeling as if she was walking on eggshells around him. Tired of trying so hard to do everything right. Dammit.
“Priscilla, please, be quiet. You’re a good watchdog, but I can take it from here.”
As if she understood perfectly, Priscilla dropped into a submissive stance—front paws down, corgi butt in the air—and uttered a quieter sound that was more embarrassed yodel than fierce watchdog bark.
“Good girl.” Becca bent to give the little dog an appreciative stroke. She was in no hurry to get to the door. If it was Nick, he could stew for a minute. If he didn’t want to be with her and his children, they would be better off on their own.
