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“I think deep down Eric’s pretty insecure about that,” said my dad. “It has to do with Marla.”
“Marla?” I said. “Oh. His wife.”
I thought about that time in the Hiltman when we had lunch. When Eric told me about his wife. How she left him.
“See, when Eric first started his business, it wasn’t going well. And Marla didn’t like Boston. So, one night when Eric came home late from the office, she told him she was leaving.”
“Leaving?” I said. I had no idea that it had been so dramatic. “And what happened?”
My dad sighed. “She died.”
“Died?”
“Yeah. The poor woman went the same way as your poor mother. She was killed a week later, driving to Wyoming to see her parents. I think Eric blamed himself. From then on, he decided he was going to be successful, no matter what. He blamed Marla’s death on himself—on his failures.”
“But Dad,” I said. “It wasn’t his fault.”
My dad smiled at me sadly. “Yeah. I know. And believe me, there was many a night over a glass of brandy when I tried to convince him about that. But I think in the end it would take more than that for him to forgive himself. To let go.”
I thought about Eric, then. Properly. For the first time in a long time. I picture him, his dark hair, his deep brown eyes. I thought about all the times I watched him work himself crazy.
Could it ever have been that I was the one to change him? Could I have done such a thing?
“Sweetheart,” said my dad. “If Eric confessed that he wanted you—I mean really wanted you—do you think you’d marry him?”
I thought about it for a moment. There was no question. Not even a little bit. Despite his arrogance and his foolishness, something about that man just … made me come alive. I felt a way about him that I knew I never felt about anyone else.
But what was the point in pondering maybes and should-haves? That wasn’t our way.
I raised my arms in the air and let them fall to my side. “Who knows?” I said. “Who could ever know a thing like that?”
“Jamie,” said my dad. “If there’s one thing I know, it’s that you shouldn’t hide how you feel about someone.”
I felt ashamed. How did he know? How does my dad alwaysknow?
I turned to look at my dad. I reached out an arm and put it on his. Felt the rough skin of the hands of the man who’d raised me. Who, even now, is my best friend in the whole world.
“Of course, I would,” I said.
And then I heard Janine’s voice.
“JAMIE!” she called.
“JAMIE!” she screeched again.
I saw a twinkle in my dad’s eye. “What …?” I said and stood up.
First, I saw Janine. She was running along the sandy path through the wild grass back to the front door.
“Jamie, it’s …” Janine said, gulping for air and pointing behind her. “You gotta … I mean …”
I turned and looked at my dad. Saw the proud smile on his face.
Then I realized.
I sprinted down to the bottom of the porch and turned, looking over Janine’s shoulder.
It was Eric.
