Lynna blinked, a bit like she’d been struck. Then she managed a smile, but it was not warm.
“It was good to see you, Henry,” she said, not engaging in the topic of her father at all. She pulled her hand from Henry quickly. “If you’ll excuse me.”
Then she strode away quickly. To smooth over her abrupt exit, Athan walked Henry and his wife to their car, speaking effusively of Lynna’s culinary talents and inviting them to come back another time.
But he was a bit confused by Lynna’s odd exit, so he went to find her once the Davieses were seen off.
When Athan returned to the dining room, she was collecting dishes. Clearing the table. Which they had an entire staff ready and waiting to do. She must have stopped them.
“Well, I think that was a success,” she said brightly.Overlybrightly. Too brisk with it too. She was moving in quick, efficient movements, but there was something underneath it. A shake. Thatvulnerabilityshe always seemed so desperate to hide.
“Your father was a good man who made an impression on many people.”
She stopped what she was doing. Her eyes were hot as she pinned him with a glare. “I see no point in discussing that withyou.”
“Or with Henry, apparently.”
“We could sit here and tell old stories, reminisce about how wonderful he was,” Lynna said. Her words were clipped, her movements back to efficient but a little jerky as she pulled a stack of plates high. “But the truth and reality is he’s dead. Grief is a wasted emotion.”
He was shocked to hear her say so, if only because it reminded him a bit of his father. Who had never had any patience forfeelings. Things must be done regardless of them, or so he’d always intoned at Athan.
Usually when they had to deal with the topic of Athan’s mother. Athan’s feelings about her. Elena’s feelings about the custody agreement.
And Athan to this day felt regret for the way he’d dealt with his mother before he’d realized his father was the enemy. He’d tried to rectify the relationship with his mother, but it remained tenuous at best.
Hardly the topic at hand.
“Lynna.” He crossed the room. He had never once been gentle with his mother, and he’d regretted it these past few years of trying to rebuild himself into a decent enough man. So he tried to be gentle now, with Lynna. “There is nothing…wasted about feeling grief for your father.”
He stopped her movements by softly putting a hand at her elbow. There wasn’t so much as even a tremor in her voice or her arm as she pulled away from him and met his gaze with those blue eyes.
She kept everything so…locked away. Carefully hidden behind that cool distance she employed so well. He had believed this was a sign of strength, of confidence, but now…he wondered.
Because he had seen her at the funeral. Devastated. Undone. Shehadfeelings.
Grief is a wasted emotion.
Did she thinkallemotions were? Except maybe hate.
“There is no one in here to pretend for,” she told him, as if him offering comfort had to do with pretend.
“I was notpretending. I was offering comfort, as you seem upset.”
“I’m not upset. I’m fine. Or I would be if you’d leave me alone and let me clean up.”
Healmostbelieved her. She had a talent for taking all the emotion out of her voice. For seeming so perfectly fine you never worried about her.
Which was probably the point. It was no hidden mystery thatshewas the thing that had kept her family together.She’dtaken out the loan to pay for her brother’s education.She’ddealt with everything.
He found he liked knowing he’d released her of some of those burdens. He’d gotten what he wanted out of it—her married to him, so he knew he shouldn’t feel like he’d done somethingforher. It had been for him.
Because he wasn’t selfless.
Case in point, he found himself thinking about the moment hehadgotten underneath all those walls she held up against him. A moment she’dsurrendered.
When he’d kissed her on their wedding day. Wedding. Because she was his wife. And maybe she hated him, but that didn’t mean she didn’twanthim.
All these years, he’d only seen the cool, calm outside. But he’d never seen that flicker of emotion underneath.