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The three of us watched half the movie before Amanda told us good night and went to bed, leaving Lark and me to deal with the silence. Leaning back on the couch, I look over at her, and ask, “You know how sometimes we say we’ll talk about things another time? Are we waiting for a better time, or will we never talk about them?”
Lark pulls the elastic from her hair and runs her fingers through the wild curly strands. “I took it as we were waiting for the right time to bring it up and discuss it.”
“Funny thing about time is that it never changes. It’s consistently the same. We’re the ones who change.”
She looks at me, the happiness she usually can’t hide from me void in her expression tonight. Her eyes, though, those greens aren’t taking time off. She’s listening, seemingly taking in what I was saying. She says, “I’m not afraid to open up to you, Harbor. It’s just not a great story. There’s no happy ending.”
“I don’t need happy endings, and I don’t need your life to be entertainment for me. I want to get to know you, but I can see how painful this is for you, so there’s no pressure from me to talk it through.”
Curling her legs under her, she gets more comfortable on the other side of the couch. “I don’t know every detail of what happened to her, and I’m certain some things my dad will take to the grave with him. But what I do know is that she grew up in The Pointe and graduated from Beacon Pointe High School. Somewhere in that period, she met my dad, and along came me.” She frames her face and puts on a fake smile. She doesn’t have to put on pretenses for me, but maybe it helps in some way.
I’ve done it plenty of times when it came to Lucas, and plastering on a fake smile has helped me out of plenty of situations.
I’m surprised by how few details she knows, or is she not ready to share? I’ll wait for when it feels right for her. Reaching over, I rub the top of her thigh. “Come here.”
She unfurls herself from the cushion and slips into my arms, her back to my chest. Her body is calm against mine, but I know her mind is spinning. She says, “I don’t know anything about their relationship, but something wasn’t working. That aside, how does someone leave a two-year-old?”
I promised not to pressure her. And I want her to know she’s in control of this. As much as I want to give her answers, I don’t have them, and I’m not sure I can find them. So right now, I just want to make sure she doesn’t feel alone.
I hold her a little tighter. She didn’t open up to me for answers. She knows I don’t have them. She just needs me to be there for her. I can do that.I will do it.Seeing her in pain in a way that hurts the core of who she is is all wrong.Lark deserves better.
She says, “No one’s perfect, but the little I’ve gotten from my dad is that she never asked for this life. She was from a whole other world and got stuck here in a run-down shack with a kid and a mechanic.”
“Your dad’s a mechanic?” This is new information. Amanda sharing with me that he likes cars is an understatement. He’s a trained professional. No wonder he knew what my car was just from a quick glance. This is something I can work with.
She nods against my chest. Angling to look at me, she fidgets with the hem of my shirt. “She was young, about the same age we are now, so I try to give her the benefit of the doubt. She was overwhelmed and cut off from her family. That’s all I know. It must be why she abandoned me.” Suddenly looking at me, she asks, “What do you think?”
What do I think?
“Um,” I start, not sure what to say. “I don’t know. It sounds like there’s a lot of information missing. That must make it hard to move forward.”
“Yeah. It does. It’s like, if I could just get a fuller picture of the situation, I’d be able to close that chapter. Instead, I’ve been left in limbo my whole life.”
“Is there anyone else you can ask? Grandparents? Siblings of your parents?”
“No, my dad’s parents split up when he was young. My grandfather took off, and my grandmother died before I was born. As for Liz, something in my gut tells me she’s still alive. I don’t know anything about her family, though. My dad was really kept out of their lives. They never approved of them or their marriage.”
Lark pushes off the couch and from my lap. She pads across the room into the kitchen, and without needing to ask, she pours us both a glass of water. I follow her in there, holding her by the hips and kissing the side of her head. That’s when it dawns on me that I’m holding her the same way Dad held Mom.
My instinct is to push away and change positions, but my head tells me to stay. Because they’re my parents, I’ve always given them a hard time about their PDA. But the way they publicly showed each other love was modeling the behavior.
Before I have more time to second-guess myself, Lark’s arms cover mine, taking my hands and holding them to her chest. Giving her the security of my arms is an extension of how I feel about her. It’s us, bearing our souls for each other. Though the words don’t come, the feeling is still between us.
I kiss her once more before she turns in my arms, leaning against the counter. Caging her in, I lean down and get the pleasure of her lips again. But gentle pressure has our mouths separating. Lark wraps her arms around my neck, and asks, “Who is Lucas Westcott?”
Hearing his name come from her mouth hits like a ton of bricks. Unable to answer what to her is a simple question, I move away, my back hitting the fridge. I run my hand through my hair, wondering if it’s time for me to go home.
“Harbor?” My eyes are on her as she approaches like she’s sneaking up on a wild cat. Caressing my face, she rubs the space between my brows and then my temples, the skin at the corners of my eyes, and then my frown. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.”
Taking her hands in mine, I lower them between us. “It just didn’t . . . I need—”
“What do you need?”
“A warning next time. I understand the interest, but you can’t trade my pain for yours. They’re two different things.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” she says, freeing herself and moving back against the opposite counter. “I could have asked Amanda who he was. She knew him.”
“Then ask her.” I leave the small kitchen, the space too confining for a confrontation.
