Page 37 of Loving You Always

“Your mother.” Martin paused to swallow visibly. “Your mother was everything to me. I know you find that hard to believe considering that I…that I cheated on her, but she was. And I got so mixed up, so turned around. When I found out who her family was—and I know you won’t believe me, but I really didn’t know when we got married.”

“I believe you.” Walsh leaned against the wall, tracing a dent from one of his childhood misadventures.

“I worked my ass off. I had so much to prove, and all I ended up proving was what a dick I was.”

Walsh wished he could protest; wished he could tell his father not to be so hard on himself, but he’d never forget the sound of his mother’s sobs through these very walls. Walsh watched his father’s fingers tremble over the ropes that would reveal his mother’s final sentiments.

“You gonna open that?” Walsh asked. “I can, um, I can leave if you want some privacy.”

“She died in my arms, you know.” Martin ignored Walsh’s offer, still contemplating the street.

Walsh didn’t respond to his father’s comment. The intimacy he’d witnessed from the confines of his mother’s closet—those last moments in his father’s arms—was too much to speak of. He watched mutely as his father reached into the bag, pulling out a small band of gold. Simple. Unassuming. Practically tarnished, and yet his father’s hand shook as he held it.

“Shit,” his father breathed, blinking rapidly against the tears gathering in his eyes. “She really turned the knife with this one.”

Walsh hung back, feeling like such an intruder. He wanted to ask about the ring’s significance; to find out why his father seemed so undone by it, but the words seized in his throat. His father raised the ring to his lips reverently.

“It’s her wedding ring.”

Walsh remembered his mother’s ring as a huge diamond of at least a few carats, with an accompanying band of platinum. He was sure he’d never seen this one before.

“We basically eloped,” his father went on, not waiting for Walsh’s questions. “And I barely had a pot to piss in. This ring was fifty dollars. All she asked was that it not turn her finger green.”

Martin chuckled, a sound that creaked in his throat.

“Thought your Grandma Walsh would pass out when she got a load of this ring.” He gave a slow shake of his head. “I took one look at the ring onherfinger and understood why. It was two years before I made my first million and got your mother the ring you probably remember. I hadn’t seen this one…well, not since then. Can’t believe she kept this cheap old thing.”

His father’s voice collapsed over the last word, a sob choking him. He laid his forehead against the windowpane, his face wreathed in tears. And Walsh understood. He knew what it felt like to believe the rest of your life stretched out in front of you like a barren land because the one you loved wouldn’t share it with you. Like you had missed a window you hadn’t known would close so soon, and would rue it all your life. Walsh promised himself he would not squander his second chance with Kerris.

“All those years.” Martin wiped his nose with the back of his suit jacket sleeve. “I worked so hard to prove myself to her and her family, to get all the things I thought her family expected, and she kept this. Of all the—”

He broke off again, this time burying his face in his big hands, tears sliding between his fingers. Walsh was at a loss. This was only the second time in his entire life he had seen his father unraveled, his composure completely absent. His arrogant assurance vanquished by this inconsolable grief.

Walsh touched his shoulder lightly, testing. Martin stiffened, seeming to remember that he was not alone. He pulled his face out of his hands, swiping his cheeks and struggling for a composure he just couldn’t seem to regain. His face crumpled again, his mouth opening on a soundless wail. Walsh wrapped his arms fully around his father, still prepared to straighten and pull away if necessary. But his father leaned against him, his tall, muscular frame shaking with the tears he could no longer hold back.

Martin finally pulled himself to his full height, peering at his son, searching his eyes. Was he looking for judgment? Any sign of lost respect? He wouldn’t find it. If anything, Walsh had finally found something in his father truly worthy of his respect.

“I kept this house”—Martin shoved his hands into his pockets and paced back toward the window and the now nearly darkened street—“because I thought one day we’d live here again together.”

Walsh almost laughed. Not from humor, but the dry, angry bark of a child needlessly cheated of so much. His parents had been stubborn, blind, and madly in love. And had never been able to get their shit together long enough to reconcile.

“You had a funny way of showing it,” Walsh said before he could stop himself, hating the wince his words caused on his father’s face. “I’m sorry, Dad.”

“No, you’re right. She had her charities and I had my business and we just let the years go by.”

“Was that all?” Walsh’s voice hardened without his consent. “You don’t think it had anything to do with your infidelity?”

His father looked back at Walsh, a patina of shame coating his eyes.

“I guess I have to take credit for that. That thing in you that kicks when someone’s down.”

“I’m sorry.” Walsh exhaled the anger that had dogged him for years whenever he was around his father. “I just wish things could have been different.”

“No, you’re right. It was only the one time, but she couldn’t forgive me and I couldn’t set my pride aside long enough to beg her to.” Martin pulled the small bag back out, stroking the rope. “I have to live the rest of my life knowing I could have had your mother back, that she loved me and that I loved her, and we didn’t try.”

Martin rearranged his features with efficiency back into their customary impassivity.

“So, this house has to go. I just wanted you to know.”

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