The Summer I Saved You (The Summer #2)(76)
I wasn’t fucking ready, and I didn’t know what to do, so I chose to believe it didn’t matter. That I couldn’t have cared all that much because if I had, I’d have been there sooner, and that one of us had to be rational and it would have to be me. So I handed Hannah over, and when Kate screamed and tried to lunge from the bed, I was the one who kept her from following.
I was wrong. I’m not sure what I should have done. But I should have done more than I did.
“I’m so sorry, Hannah,” I whisper. I’m surprised by how rough my voice is. I’m surprised by the way my hand shakes as I reach down to press it flat to her grave. “I’m so, so sorry I wasn’t there. I really wanted to be your dad.”
There. It’s out. I did want the things we lost, and it was harder than I ever let on, but admitting it doesn’t leave me feeling like a weight has been lifted as I return to my truck. It’s more as if one’s been added…as if a piece of me I shut off a long time ago is back again, and it fucking hurts. I’d have given anything, done anything, just to have my daughter back. I still would.
I turn toward the lake, cursing Beck for suggesting it in the first place. I don’t need this shit right before I head to Hawaii, and I somehow have to get my head back in the game.
Take another shower, I command as I crest the hill to my house. Change clothes, get a stiff drink the second you’re on the plane, and get your head in the—
I hit the brakes, staring at the car in my driveway, unfamiliar, with out-of-state tags.
Somehow, I already know it’s Kate.
I climb from the car and walk into the backyard, my dread growing with every step. She’s on the dock in shorts and a tshirt, smiling as her head turns my way. It’s her old Kate smile—confident, on top of the world. Until she started doing drugs, there was no one alive surer of herself than Kate. She climbs to her feet and bridges the distance between us, throwing her arms around my neck.
I step away as quickly as I can. "You should have told me you were coming.”
"I was worried you'd run in the opposite direction."
I try to smile, but honestly—yeah, if I’d known, I’d have asked her not to come here, at the very least. I look over my shoulder—thank God Lucie and the twins aren’t home. “I guess you got the papers?”
Her smile fades. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “Can we talk?”
God, this is the worst possible time for this. I run a hand through my hair. “Sure. Of course. I’ve got a flight to catch but—”
“I’ve been clean for three months, Caleb,” she says, cutting me off. “I know I fucked up and I shouldn’t have left rehab in the first place, but I went back. For you. For us. I want us to start over.”
A chasm opens in my stomach. I don’t want to hurt her sobriety, and I’m so sorry that I didn’t do a better job of helping her when she fell apart, but…it’s far, far too late. In some ways, it was too late even before she left. We weren’t necessarily wrong together, but that’s very different from being with the right person, the person you were meant for. Something I didn’t understand until Lucie reentered my life.
“Kate, you were gone for a year,” I reply. “I had no idea where you were or if you were alive until a few weeks ago. I had to move on. I did move on. I’ll help however I can, but anything between us is over.”
Her eyes widen, as if it never occurred to her that I might find someone else. “Look, I know I need to re-earn your trust,” she begins. “I’d feel the same way if I were you. So if you want me to take a urine test every hour on the hour, I’ll—”
“Kate, stop,” I whisper. She’s a born negotiator. I don’t want to hurt her, but she never thinks the door is closed and she’ll keep right on asking to be let in unless I give her the entire truth. “I'm with someone now. Lucie. I wasn’t looking to move on, but we share the dock and it’s just—”
“Her?” Kate demands, her face bleached of color. “You’re with her?”
My stomach tightens. “You saw her?” My voice is flat, utterly emotionless, the opposite of how I actually feel.
“She came out here about twenty minutes ago and took off. You can’t be serious. What could you and that girl possibly have in common?”
Fuck, fuck, fuck. I can see it all from Lucie’s perspective: I tell her I need to talk, and she discovers Kate here, lying out on the dock as if I invited her. “We have everything in common. Fucking everything that matters. What did you tell her?”
Kate wraps her arms around herself as if she’s been hit. Her mouth opens, then closes, and I’ll probably wish I’d been more diplomatic later on, but I really need to know how much damage was done so I can fix it.
“Nothing. I just told her who I was and she took off. Is it serious?” Her voice is so muted it’s barely intelligible.
No one has asked me this question. Not even Lucie. We danced around it because I was scared where the conversation would lead, but the answer comes easily now, clear as day:
Lucie and the kids come first. I failed Hannah and I failed my wife. I’m beginning to understand why it happened, and I’m also beginning to understand that there’s something worse, more unbearable, than responsibility and risk. It’s the idea that someone you love is in pain, and you’re its cause. Even the vaguest possibility that Lucie thinks I chose Kate over her has me ready to give up everything in order to set the record straight.