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“I was going to say it was probably a lot easier to bury a story if somebody wanted to.”
She jerked her head toward me. “What are you saying? That he covered up information intentionally?”
“I’m not implying anything.” I lifted both hands in surrender without taking them off the steering wheel. “Why don’t you ask him?”
“My father?” She looked at me incredulously. “I’ve begged him to tell me about her most of my life. All I get are these occasional snippets when he’s using them to point out my flaws.”
My dad had been the first to tell me when I screwed up, Ma right behind him, but it had always been for my own good, even if I hadn’t realized it at the time. Looking back, it seemed like my mistakes hurt them more than they did me.
I couldn’t imagine either of them using the other as a tool to hurt.
“What about your brothers? They were older.”
“They clam up.” She sighed. “I understand. It’s a difficult conversation, but I just want to knowsomethingabout my mother.”
I reached over and squeezed her knee. What could I say to that? Nothing that would change anything or make it better.
“Maybe you know more than you think,” I blurted.
“How? I was two when she died,” she challenged.
“Just that you always wear that necklace. That’s like she’s with you all the time. Maybe . . .” I shrugged. I sounded stupid. “Maybe she’s guiding you. Maybe you’re more like her than you realize.”
She blinked at me. Then she covered my hand with hers, oh so tentatively tangling her fingers with mine.
“I like you better when you don’t talk much.” She dropped her head back to the seat.
I snorted. “You’re not the only one.”
She snickered. “Are you trying to make me not hate you quite so much?”
I hate you for this.
It hurt to hear her say it, even though I already knew she did.
“No.” I deserved her hate.
“You want me to hate you?” she asked like she was shocked.
“No.”
She put a hand to her forehead as if I were giving her a headache. But she didn’t move the hand that was twined with mine.
“I don’t know what’s worse. Your one-word answers or talking a lot.”
“You should feel how you want to feel.”
She twisted to face me. Her mouth opened and closed a couple of times. I didn’t want to control her. Even if it was hard to accept, I just wanted her raw honesty. The real Beau. That was all I ever wanted.
“I’m not sure what that is anymore.” She sounded defeated.
I couldn’t stand that.
“You’ll figure it out.” I rolled to a stop, the traffic ahead at a standstill. I lifted our joined hands. “Looks to me like maybe you don’t hate me quite as much as you think.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Cal
