Page 70 of When You Were Mine

“Well, it worked.” She sliced into her hanger steak. “You know what I think?”

“I’d love to know what you think.”

“You were raised by martyrs. So, of course, you never found your passion. You weren’t allowed to do anything so self-indulgent.”

“Oh, I found it all right. I just didn’t keep it.”

Me.

He means me.

And the more he said it, the easier it was to believe. “Because you were taught your needs came second to those who relied on you.” When the full revelation hit, she sat back in her seat. “When you left me, you thought you had no choice but to take care of my family and your parents.”

“Right. I told you that.”

“No.” She shook her head. “What I mean is, you weren’t allowed to have the kind of happiness we had together. It made you feel like you were doing something wrong. You were supposed to put off personal happiness until everyone else in your life was settled. You parents raised you to believe your needs came last.”

“I… Yes. You’re right.”

She’d skirted around it before, but she’d never seen it so clearly. “Trevor, your dad had money in the bank. He could’ve moved to Florida and fished for the rest of his life. Instead, he died alone in a tractor eating the same ham sandwich he’d eaten every day of his life for fifty years.”

Trevor stopped chewing. He reached for his water glass.

“And you just told me you stayed in a career you never even wanted because you ‘owed’ it to the cast, crew, and townspeople.” She reached across and squeezed his hand. “Your parents were wrong. You get to be happy. You get to be fulfilled.” She drew in a breath before saying the one thing that might just kill her. But he needed to hear it. “And if Darby’s your happiness, you have to grab it with all your might.”

Frustration flashed in his eyes, and he pushed his plate away. “I think you’re right.” He shot her a look. “About myparents. I don’t think I realized what a chokehold they had on me.”

“Well, they’re the ones who taught you how the world works. But they were wrong.” The clarity gave her some peace.It wasn’t about me. It was the way he was programmed. “Your dad would be the guy on the plane who saves his wife and son and the people in the seats in front of him and next to him and behind him but dies because he never put on his own mask.”

“He’d think he died a hero. But really, he died on his principles.”

“Which didn’t exactly keep him warm at night.”

“No.” Lifting his water glass, he motioned for the server. “My father was not a happy man.”

“Remember that picture from the paper?” It was the Fourth of July, and everyone lined up on Federal Boulevard to watch the parade. As usual, a photograph hit the front page of theRiverton Ranger. Of course, his parents didn’t waste time on frivolous events like that, so they hadn’t attended.

“Oh yeah. Nothing sums up my dad better than that.”

And then, one day, Trevor and Jessica were wrapping presents for a treasure hunt, using newspapers, and they spotted his dad in the shot. Everyone was smiling—parents standing behind strollers, grandparents waving flags, children eating ice cream cones—having a great time. And there was Mr. Montgomery, doing a chore in town, scowling, squinting, and looking miserable.

“I never wanted to be him.” His eyes held deep sadness.

“Well, you’re not. You went out and had an exciting, different life. It was nothing like his.”

“You’re looking at it from the outside. I’m talking about in here.” He pressed a hand to his chest. “My life’s been about duty and obligation.” Flattening his palms on the table, he leaned forward. “I got it all wrong, but I hope you understand why. I didn’t see a way out. I didn’t see a way to get you that ranch in Calamity unless I took a big chance.”

“Well, guess what, Trevor?” Her tone turned defiant. “I got it all on my own.”

As they neared her hotel, the briny scent of the sea grew stronger. In the harbor, moonlight rocked on the water, and the masts and stays rose tall off sailboats. The hulking bodies of cruise ships lent a sense of foreboding.

It had been a good night. She not only understood him better, but they’d had fun together.

Which brought them to a scary place—were they looking for closure or opening the door to something more? And what if they didn’t want the same thing?

When she got to her room, she’d call Amber. Try to unravel this messy heap of feelings.

“What’s with all the shoes in the window?” He gestured to a store as they walked past.

---