“Okay.” I nod and take another sip, feeling suddenly emboldened by the wine, or my stepmother’s emotional disclosure, or some combination of both. “Well, there’s a big part of all this that I haven’t been able to talk about with anyone. Maybe … maybe I could tell you.”
Nancy’s hazel eyes widen gratefully, glassy and red around the rims. “I’m all ears, Skye.”
“But you have to promise not to tell anyone what I’m about to say. That’s the thing … no one can know. Not even my dad. He would want to tell Davis, and Davis can’t know.”
“You have my word. This stays between us.”
I believe her. I take a deep breath, then explain everything. I tell her about Heather Michaels’s history with my mom and Heather’s brother’s death, which Nancy has already heard some of from my father. I tell her about the Moleskine journal and the letter I got in the mail. I even tell her about Max LaPointe and his emails, and how I no longer think they’re from him. I let it all tumble off my chest, and it’s such a relief to share it with someone other than Dr. Salam and Andie that I barely register how strange it is that that person is Nancy.
“Oh, Skye.” Nancy refills my glass for the third time, and I realize that I’m a little drunk. “You know, your dad doesn’t talk much about the year they spent in Langs Valley, but from the little he has said, it’s clear that your mom carried some serious guilt over what happened to Heather’s brother.”
“He was saying the same thing to me a few weeks ago.” I nod. “I had no idea—when Mom was alive, I mean. I just wish I knew what really happened.”
“So does your dad.” Nancy sips her wine. “I’m so sorry you’re dealing with this. It’s impossible to make sense of, isn’t it?”
“Yeah.” I twist the long stem of the glass with my fingers. “And yet, when it comes to Burke and me, some days I think it’s possible that he really does love me. That the things he said in his letter and in the Moleskine are true. That maybe he can’t tell me about Heather’s involvement because he knows I could use it against him in court, and he doesn’t want to bring her down, too, for the sake of their kids. And I know it sounds crazy because, even if Burke does love me, I could never be with someone who willingly deceived me like that. So none of this should even matter. But it just does.”
Nancy’s face softens, color flushing to the apples of her cheeks, and I realize just how pretty she is. “It’s not crazy, sweetheart. It’s not crazy at all. What’s happened is crazy, but it doesn’t make your emotions any less real. I mean, you love this man, Skye. Don’t you?”
A dull pain presses behind my eyes and forehead. “Of course.”
“And if there’s a chance he loves you, too … well, that’s everything.”
“Maybe, but it’s still not enough. Love isn’t enough. I know that, deep down, but I need to make myself know it. If that makes sense.”
“It does.” Nancy nods. She tops off our glasses, draining the rest of the bottle. I listen to the hum of the dishwasher and wish, for the billionth time, that everything were different.
“You know, I’d been divorced for eleven years when I met your father,” Nancy says after several moments of silence. “I’d been on so many dates—my friends bugged me incessantly to get back out there, and so I did. I dated for years, and I met so many different types of men, and nothing stuck. I’d basically given up hope that I’d ever find love again. When I met your dad, I didn’t want to fall for him. I’d always known I didn’t want to be with a widower, not if he had kids. I didn’t want to be anyone’s stepmom who’d lost their mother. My father got remarried a few years after my mother died, and I hated it. I hated her. It just destroyed me and I couldn’t accept it. And the last thing I wanted was to be that person to anyone else. So I stopped seeing your dad for a while.”
“You did?” I glance at Nancy, surprised. “I didn’t know that. But then … what happened?”
“I was miserable without him because I’d fallen in love with him.” She shrugs. “And I realized that life is tough, and there’s so much we can’t control, so when you can, you’ve got to choose love. Even when it’s the hardest choice, even when it feels absolutely impossible, you’ve got to choose it. You’ve got to keep choosing love and fighting for it, over and over, no matter what. There’s no other way, really.”
Nancy’s words seep into my heart, weighing there. A tear slides down my cheek, catching in the crease of my nose.
“Do you think my dad believes that, too?”
“I have no doubt that he does.” She smiles softly. “Your father’s been through the wringer. He knows all too well that love, regardless of the way it presents itself, is a miracle.”
“Thanks, Nancy.” Her name suddenly feels different on my tongue. I’m sorry I’ve been such a bitch to you, I want to tell her, but as I fight the words loose, the back door suddenly slams. A moment later my dad appears in the kitchen, a plastic bag in each hand.
“Sorry I’m late, ladies. The snow’s really coming down out there and the roads getting out of town were—” My dad pauses when he sees Nancy and me sitting together at the kitchen island, our eyes watery. “Is everything okay?” He places the takeout on the counter.
“Yes.” I walk over to my father and have to stand on my tiptoes to wrap my arms around his neck. “Nancy and I were just talking.”
My dad blinks, staring at us confusedly. But then a wide smile spreads across his face, lighting up his eyes. “Good. I’m glad to hear that.”
The three of us plate the Chinese food and eat in the living room, in front of the fire. After dinner my dad and Nancy nestle on the couch in front of the new episode of Billions, but I’m too exhausted and preoccupied to concentrate on TV.
I go upstairs to the bedroom that I always use when I stay here, but that has never felt like my own until tonight. Settling into bed, I let the sound of Nancy’s words reverberate in my mind: Even when it’s the hardest choice, even when it feels absolutely impossible, you’ve got to choose it. You’ve got to keep choosing love and fighting for it, over and over, no matter what.
I think about Burke, terror and exhilaration filling me at once. I think about the emails from Max, the messages I now know came from someone else. Burke is one of the only people on earth who knows about Max, who knows what he did to me. Yet even understanding how capable Burke is of deceiving me, of betraying me, I still can’t quite believe he was the one to write them.
As I drift toward sleep, I finally know what I need to do. I need to talk to Burke.
Chapter Forty-Eight
Burke
JANUARY 2020—103 DAYS WITHOUT SKYE
The plea hearing continues to get pushed back. It’s currently slated for the end of February, a thick rain cloud looming. All of it has taken so much longer than I expected, and the waiting is agony—I just want to be sentenced, get it over with. AA continues to be an immense help; some days the program feels like the only thing getting me through, the only way to see light at the end of a long, dark tunnel. But when I squint really hard, I do see light, faint as it may be.