It’s not so much a question at this point, but the truth of it has knocked her sideways. Cecelia tries to stop me from reaching her, but I grab the hands meant to subdue me and squeeze them in reassurance.
“Tobias, I’ve asked her to leave.” Timothy, a boyfriend I’ve only read about in informative emails, emerges from the RV looking between the three of us, his eyes coming back to me. It’s odd how I’ve kept such close tabs on all of these people over the years, feeling as if I know them, and to an extent, I do.
Diane turns to Timothy, her voice shaking with fear. “Timothy, honey, will you grab a carton of cigarettes from the suitcase? I’m out.”
“Not before I give this little lady a hug.” He walks over to where we stand and pulls Cecelia into his arms before turning curious eyes to me. “Hey there, I’m Tim.”
“Tobias King,” I counter, thrusting out my hand. Releasing Cecelia, he takes it and pumps it eagerly. “So, I’m assuming Mr. King is what kept you from answering our calls last night?” Timothy asks Cecelia, sporting a clueless grin.
“Tim, please, my cigarettes,” Diane rasps out, her eyes glued to me.
“All right, honey,” he gives me a ‘women’ look before walking off to do her bidding.
“I forgot,” Cecelia says, dragging my attention back to her. “I swear, Tobias, it totally slipped my mind. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay, Trésor,” I whisper sincerely, before pressing a kiss to her temple. I sidestep her to reach Diane, who’s now visibly shaking.
“It’s been a long time,” I say softly as Diane rakes her lip with her teeth, her eyes shining with fear.
“I’ve wanted to reach out so many times since that day.”
I nod as Cecelia intercepts. “You’ve met her? You’ve met my mother? When?”
“I was eleven. Dom had chickenpox, and she gave me a ride to the pharmacy,” I turn to Cecelia. “She was pregnant with you. She almost named you Leann.” I lift my eyes to Diane. “Guess I had some sway on that?”
Diane nods, a lone, guilty tear gliding down her face.
“You never told me,” Cecelia rasps. The hurt in her tone has me attempting damage control on them both.
“I didn’t get a chance to, when…that day in my office before you left,” I offer, to indicate which day I’m referring to. “We never made it that far into the discussion.” And those details and revelations didn’t fucking matter because she was ridding herself of me for good. There was plenty left unsaid between us then, as there is now. And due to our own shit, I haven’t gotten to explain much more.
Cecelia mulls the latest dropped bomb and turns to her mother in question. “And you didn’t tell me you met him, either.”
Diane looks on at me in the most unnerving way, and I sense the ill feelings rolling through her. She’s transparent with her eyes, her expressions, much like her daughter. “It was only the once, and I didn’t think to mention it, well because I had no idea you two were… Oh, God,” she runs a hand through her cropped, brown hair. “I’ll go. We’ll go. We’ll go right now.” She eyes me over Cecelia’s shoulder. “I’m so sorry.”
“Come inside,” I say, and both women’s heads pop toward me. The resemblance unreal, mortification on both their faces. “Please, Diane, come inside.”
“Got ’em,” Timothy says, exiting the camper with a pack of cigarettes in hand. “Almost couldn’t find them in that death trap you call a suitcase,” he jests, reading the expressions of both women before looking toward me to relay.
“I could go for some pancakes and bacon, Tim. How about you?”