Page 53 of Best Kept Vows

“Ada?”

“She’s good.” I rattled off about my daughter’s classes and then told him about Tristan’s job at the public defender’s office.

He suddenly looked forlorn.

“Abraham?”

“You know…your kids…what they do. I never asked…Sebastian or Coco.”

“We have different parenting styles,” I tried to console him.

There was no point telling a man who was going to die soon and had no way to go back and change the past that he’d fucked up his kids but good with his tough-loveroutine. Sebastian and Coco may have been shaped by their father, but they were adults now, fully responsible for how they chose to act and who they wanted to become.

Abraham’s smile was crooked but sincere. When he spoke, his words were slightly slurred but clear enough. “Ada was…here. She said…you moved out.”

I took a deep breath, not surprised at all that Ada had told him. She didn’t believe in hiding things from him because he was ill. “Yes, I did.”

He nodded slowly. He held out his good hand, and I placed mine in it. “Sorry.”

“Me too, Abraham.”

“He works…much. I did, too.”

My throat tightened with emotion. “Yes.”

“You…are not Dolly.”

I gave out a short, dry laugh. “No kidding.”

Abraham joined in with a bark of laughter, and I saw Hendrix’s big smile as he cleaned up our lunch. I knew I had to leave soon as Abraham would need a nap. He got tired so quickly. One stroke and his whole life had changed heartbreakingly. He not only lost control of his body, but his family abandoned him.

He squeezed my fingers gently. “My son is…stubborn. My fault. Sorry, I dumped…everything on him.”

I shook my head firmly. “Sebastian is an adult.”

He sighed deeply, leaning back slightly in his wheelchair. “You are…good for him.”

But is he good for me?

I set Abraham’s hand on the arm of the chair.

“I…didn’t…treat…you…well.”

His words were coming out slower now. I looked at Hendrix, who stood at the doorway, and he shook his head, his way of telling me to go on, Abraham would be fine.

“Sorry,” Abraham mumbled.

I felt a surprising tenderness. Abraham had never expressed vulnerability before his stroke.

“Past is past.” I had let it go.

“So…tired, Lia.”

“I know,” I murmured.

Hendrix joined us, smiling warmly. “What are you two talking about?”

Abraham waved his right hand and then dropped it, his exhaustion now palpable. I rose and kissed his forehead gently. “I’ll be back soon. Behave yourself.”

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