Page 53 of Love, Hate, Love

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up a sensitive topic in an effort to make myself feel better.” She stared at me, reading the concern, if not the actual cause.

“It’s not you. I think of him every day whether he’s mentioned or not, especially on mornings like this. He loved sitting here and watching the sunrise.”

“I remember.” She was still trailing her fingers over the wood of the armrest and gazing out at the sky.

There had been mornings I’d be getting up to work and she’d already be out on the porch with my father. Sometimes she was here so much that it seemed like she’d moved in. I used to wonder what it had been like over at her house that she was always coming here, as if sitting with one dying man and one overworked kid had been preferable. There were so many memories now that I let myself think on them. I was starting to feel like I’d had self-inflicted amnesia.

The silence settled in again.

I let it drag out a few more minutes before I said, “I was thinking about inviting your parents and brother here for a weekend. Monroe has been worried about you. I’m sure it would make your mother feel better if you all got together.”

The hand that had been absently rubbing the wood stopped, and her eyes shifted to me and then away, as if she were trying to hide whatever emotion lay behind them.

“Why would you do that?” she asked. “It seems like a lot of trouble for you.”

“I was just thinking it might be nice for your mother to come out. It’s got to be hard for her, and I still care for the woman. Of course, I’m sure you’ll want to see both of them, and it’ll be easier on your mother to have your stepfather to travel with.”

She stiffened when I mentioned her stepfather, and I had to sit calmly, forcing my hands not to curl into fists.

She shook her head. “That’s not a good idea. She hates flying and she’d feel compelled to say yes if you ask. I really wouldn’t do that.”

“I’ll just put out a soft invite, no pressure,” I said.

It wasn’t her mother I was trying to pressure, after all. Feeling like I was in the dark, that there might be so much more going on with her situation than I knew, was becoming intolerable.

“No.” She got to her feet. “I don’t think it’s a good idea. She’ll feel compelled to come if you offer.”

“I think?—”

She spun. “It’s my family. It should be my call, and I’m saying no.”

She turned and walked back into the house.

So much for keeping the peace. I felt like the asshole everyone else thought I was for pushing her for a reaction.

I didn’t follow her right away, mostly because I was barely keeping myself calm. She hadn’t seemed to notice. She was too riled to see that I was right at the edge with her. What had happened with her stepfather? How could the world think so highly of him, and yet he was involved in this dark underbelly no one knew of? What else did no one know?

It was becoming clearer that Leah might know, though. I wanted to ask her, wanted to grab her and force her to tell me everything, but she wouldn’t. She’d trusted me once, but that was so many years ago, and so much had gone on between then and now that it might as well have never been. I’d obliterated any residue of trust since she got here.

Please, don’t let me have misjudged her. If I found out I’d piled on when she needed me…

A few more minutes passed before I followed her inside. By then she was sitting on the couch, tugging on her boots, her hands looking steadier, the emotions in her eyes shuttered and locked away.

“I don’t care if you’re mad. I’m not changing my mind, and it’s my call,” she said.

Okay, maybe she had been reading my temperature. She was simply wrong about what had triggered it. I had to calm down. The last thing I’d meant to do was get her upset. I probably shouldn’t have pushed at all. But this was Leah, and I’d never been able to leave things alone when it came to her. Never.

“It’s your choice. I’ll let it go. I’m just distracted about some other business. One of the suppliers is trying to overcharge me. Has nothing to do with you.”

She nodded, her spine relaxing, and I could visibly see the pressure that had built being released from her shoulders.

All I wanted to do was hug her, ask her what had happened, but I couldn’t.

She glanced my way a few times as she got to her feet. “It’s getting late. I need to go get changed and start work,” she said, before turning as if to leave.

“Your stuff was moved into the closets in the bedroom you slept in last night. I moved it while you were sleeping.”

Her lips parted, and it looked as if she were going to say something. Then she nodded and turned to walk down the hall instead.

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