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He takes my hand.
“Words never matter with you, Jillian. It’s actions. I need you to see what our future might hold.”
eighteen
LAST NIGHT WAS ROUGH.
Luke left, and I stayed at Melissa’s engagement party, doing what I do best—pretending everything’s okay. Eric left soon after my and Luke’s argument, and I bid him farewell, feeling terrible that he’d left the way he did.
His parting words were, “You told me you didn’t have time for a relationship. I didn’t listen.”
I should have felt worse about his departure, but this hovering news about what disease Luke’s family could have had me going down the rabbit hole of WebMD’s most horrific diseases.
The unknown had me tossing and turning all night.
Luke meets me at Melissa’s to drive the three and a half hours to his father’s home. He is bright and cheerful and takes some time to say hello to Ainsley, ending with a hug that is far longer than his previous ones.
Once we get in the car, his smile morphs to a pensive expression as he keeps his eyes on the road and plays upbeat country music.
We haven’t said much.
My mind has been running rampant the entire drive, wondering what it is he needs to show me and can’t just say. My hands have clenched and unclenched more times than I can count. The roller coaster of emotions has gone through me. Anger, sadness, confusion … more anger. I’ve stopped myself at least five times from yelling at him for being so secretive. Not because I’m annoyed. I am beyond peeved he’d keep information about himself that could affect my daughter. I’m enraged.
And yet I’m terrified.
Ignorance is bliss, and once he says whatever it is he’s bringing me here to tell me—nay,show me—I know there won’t be any turning back.
So, I’ve been sitting quietly for way too long.
Now, we’re near his father’s home in the country. My heart is racing, my palms are clammy, and I’m pretty sure my stomach is about to expel its contents.
On the eastern edge of the Hudson Valley is a country town, hidden in the thick of ever-changing pines beside lush maples and oaks turning over their leaves at varying rates. Luke’s pickup truck bobs on the gravel road. I listen to the small stones kicking up from the ground onto the side of the doors. The pings stop when we hit a dirt road that leads down a long driveway to a home on the hill.
A modern farmhouse with white siding and green shutters sits at the top of a clearing with a long farmer’s porch and a detached two-car garage.
Luke parks the truck and exits first. Walking around to my side of the car, he opens the door. He lowers his sunglasses to the tip of his nose, revealing eyes that are serious. “You coming in?”
I take a long breath and get out of the car. My feet are stuck to the ground as I look at the home and the stunning view of the valley below. New England’s best autumn foliage is on display with its gorgeous variations of yellows, oranges, and reds. The sun shines bright, shimmering off the treetops and down the valleys and gorges below.
My nerves start to settle.
It’s too beautiful of a place for anything bad to happen here.
The front door opens, and a man comes out in his jeans, a button-down flannel, and boots. I recognize Luke’s dad from the photo in Luke’s house, except he has gray hair now and his belly is a little rounder.
His smile exudes liveliness as he looks at Luke and barrels down the stairs to give his son a hug. I stand idle as the two men embrace as if they haven’t seen one another in years when, according to Luke, he visits often. Well, not as often as in the past, I suppose. Ainsley has been his sole focus these days.
His father kisses his cheek and pats his face, appraising Luke from head to toe. “You look good. Drive okay?”
“Yeah, Dad. It was easy. No traffic.”
“Excellent.” His father releases him with an outstretched arm to me. “Jillian.” His greeting is of a proud man who is pleased to see me, as is the twinkle in his eye. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
I take his hand for a shake and gasp when he yanks me in for a hug. I stagger at the gesture and stand frozen as he puts his burly arms around me and gives me a squeeze.
With brows that twitch toward one another, I look to Luke, who just shrugs. Apparently, his father is an affectionate man.
As a woman who isn’t hugged by her own father, I’m taken aback by the gesture. I raise my arms to rest my hands on his back to return the greeting and give an awkward pat, like I’m burping a baby.
