“I don’t judge them for any of it. As a mother of someone who had his own demons, I can tell you with certainty that I would’ve done anything to keep him safe had I been aware of what he was doing. Even if that meant watching him destroy everything else around him.”
Maybe it’s good he’s dead, I caught myself thinking, and I quickly shook my head, chasing the thought away.
Because who the hell was I to judge? I had led my best friend to his death. I had protected my mother too. I had thrown ten years of my life away for her. How was that any different from my grandparents doing … whatever it was they’d done or Billy’s mother swearing she would’ve gone to the same lengths for him if she’d had the chance?
We were all just heartbroken people, trying to keep the ones we loved from succumbing to their inevitable doom.
“I’m sorry I never told you about the stuff he was doing,” I quietly said.
Laura shook her head and replied, “You were kids. I can’t hold a child responsible for remaining loyal to his friend, whether it was right or not.”
She was a lot more forgiving than I thought I would’ve been in her position, and to me, that was astounding.
“So, Levi Stratton …” I found myself saying, needing a change in subject. “He’s David’s brother, isn’t he?”
Laura nodded solemnly.
“The last time I saw my mom, she was with him.”
“I know.” She poked at the fritter, now sitting on the table, only half eaten and nearly forgotten. “If you’re going to ask me about that, I told you, I really don’t—”
“No, I know. I’m just …” I groaned, scrubbing my palms over my cheeks and beard. “I guess I’m just connecting the dots.”
“I understand, and I can’t say I blame you. But don’t let your curiosity get the better of you, okay? In the long run, none of it matters. Separate yourself from it. You’re here now, living a good life, and you know you’re better off.”
I hadn’t needed her to say it to know she was right. But I appreciated it anyway, and I expressed that gratitude with a nod.
But then a question I’d been wondering since I had known of David demanded to be asked. I knew I wouldn’t be happy until I got it out there, so I went for it.
“One more question before I get to my girlfriend’s meatloaf,” I said, swallowing in preparation. “Was David my father?”
Laura sucked in a deep breath, her somber gaze taking me in before she lifted one shoulder in a weary shrug. “I don’t know that anybody really knows,” she admitted. “Well, except for your mother, David, and maybe your grandparents and members of David’s family …”
“But?” I asked, almost hopeful in the way I put that little word out there.
“But … you know how tall your mother is and how tall your grandparents were, and, well …” She shrugged again. “David had to have been at least six foot five.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
JUST LIKE HIM
She had said it didn’t matter if David was my father or not, and I’d told her she was right. But that night, after I ate the meatloaf Ray had saved for me and then went home to feed Eleven, I couldn’t get the thought of him out of my head.
David Stratton, six foot five—tall, just like me. Dead at twenty-four—not much older than I’d been when Billy died.
Lying in bed, with Eleven curled up at my side, I pulled up the old article regarding the crash that had taken David’s life. I looked at his face in black and white. I studied the grainy structure of his nose, his cheekbones. The ridge of his brow and the curve of his smile. Just to try and see how many features we shared, if we shared any at all, but, fuck, the picture was so small and fuzzy, so it was hard to make anything out.
He probably wasn’t your dad.
Shit … but what if he was?
I climbed out of bed, mind racing and heart hammering, and dropped to the floor to do a vigorous stream of push-ups in an attempt to clear my brain. Eleven watched me curiously as I counted aloud, the way one might count sheep.
“One … two … three …”
Did he know about me?
“Four … five … six …”
Did Gramma and Grampa know about him?
“Seven … eight … nine …”
Did he ever meet me and I just don’t remember it?
“Ten … eleven …”
Did he care?
“Fuck.”
I pushed off the floor and onto my knees, thrusting my hands into the strands of my hair, still damp from the shower. My mind was never going to stop with the questions, and I knew it, but what the hell was I supposed to do about it? The guy was dead. He’d been dead for twenty-five years.
But his girlfriend is still alive.
No. I shook my head furiously. Don’t even go there.
But she would have answers.
“Fuck,” I groaned, stretching the word out until I had no breath left while sliding my hands over my face and beard.
The last thing I wanted was to contact my mother. She had made it very clear she wanted nothing to do with me, and I’d made it just as clear that I was making a clean break from her toxicity once and for all—and I had. My life was good. My life was exactly what I’d always dreamed it could be, and the last thing I wanted to do was jeopardize it by seeing Diane Mason.
But I hadn’t planned on this, had I?
***
At work the next day, after even less sleep than I’d gotten the night before, I made the reluctant decision to see my mother one last time—and this time, I meant it; it would be the last. But I knew damn well I wasn’t going to rest without at least asking her the questions I had endlessly parading through my head.
But I also knew I couldn’t ask Ray to accompany me.
Levi might be there, and even if he wasn’t, Diane might tell him.
I couldn’t have him know Ray and I were connected because he would run to Seth. I couldn’t risk Seth coming back—even though, chances were, he’d eventually come back anyway. But I had to let that happen of his own accord and not out of revenge for me.
So, on my lunch break, I called the next person—the only one—I could think of.
“Soldier!” Harry answered on the first ring. “How the hell are ya, son? How long’s it been? Two days?”
I chuckled. Harry and I talked a lot.
“I’m good. How are you?”
“Can’t complain. Vacation has been nice. Relaxing.”
“Good for you, man. What have you been doing?”
“Ah, just some stuff around the house. Painting the deck, fixing the steps … you know.”
I snorted. “I gotta be honest with you, Harry … that sounds like a really shitty vacation.”
He laughed with me. “Hey, at least I’m getting Sarah off my back about this stuff. Happy wife, happy life. Remember that.”
I couldn’t help but smile at the implication that I might actually have a wife one day.
Shit … would Ray say yes right now if I asked her to marry me?
We hadn’t even exchanged I love yous yet, but … something in my gut told me she actually might accept my proposal … if I asked, I mean. Which I wouldn’t. Not yet. But …