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I lift my head to see Fred stretched out on his side in the grass not far from our feet. I giggle and lay my head back down, staring up at the sky through the canopy of leaves and branches. “I like it here.”
“Me too.”
I slant a glance back over at him. “Do you come here a lot?”
“Occasionally. Not for a long while.”
“Why not?”
He half shrugs.
“Why not?”
He works his mouth, visibly hesitating before he admits, “Because I’ve spent years cutting myself off from the parts of life I really want—even simple things like this.”
“Oh, Arthur,” I breathe, rolling onto my side to face him and reaching out to stroke his cheek and jaw.
“I’m not feeling sorry for myself. I was wrong to do that. I can see it now, but back then it felt... inevitable. Like I didn’t have much choice. But I am trying to do better now. That’s one of the reasons I’m reorganizing the Worthing holdings. I want to...” He trails off with an uneven exhale, like he’s silently laughing at himself.
“What do you want to do?”
“I want tolive. Someone not long ago told me I should.”
I smile because his resolve sounds right, sounds like genuine emotional progress. But there’s also a flicker of discomfort at the idea of someone else giving him advice like that. Who was he talking to? And does he trust that person more than he trusts me?
It’s jealousy, I realize. I don’t want anyone else to hold that intimate place in his life.
“Is something wrong?” he asks, always so observant he can see the smallest shift in my expression.
“No. Nothing at all.” My hand is still on his face. I can’t pull it back. “Youshouldlive. You should do the things you want to do instead of holding back because you feel like you don’t deserve them or are trapped by your past and your family. You shouldlive, Arthur.”
“I’m trying.” He tilts his head slightly, leaning into my palm.
I move my fingers until they’re tracing the line of his scar. I barely notice it anymore. It’s just another feature on his rough, striking face. “Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.” He’s very still. Almost like he’s holding his breath.
“How did you get this scar?”
His lips part, but no sound comes out.
“My dad said you’d never tell anyone.”
“He was right.”
“Oh. Well, if it’s too private, you don’t have to tell me.” I’m still kind of petting his face. I can’t seem to stop myself.
“I want to tell you. I’ve just never told anyone before. It’s... hard.” He takes a deep breath. Purposefully relaxes his face and shoulders. Reaches over and takes my free hand in his.
I squeeze his hand.
“How much do you remember of what I’ve told you about my dad?”
“He was mean and cold. Sometimes hit you when he drank. Very controlling. More interested in the Worthing name than he was about you as a person.”
“Yes. That’s all true. After my mom died, he got worse. I didn’t have anyone then, and I wanted his approval more than anything, so I kept trying to please him. When I was thirteen, I told him I wanted to be more involved in Worthing business, and he gave me a work project to do. I was way too young to do it, but I didn’t care. I was so proud of the responsibility. I worked for hours every day on it and was sure I’d done a great job.”
“I’m sure you did.”
