Page 76 of The Secrets We Left Behind
Charlie hadn’t been like that. Charlie had been kind and sweet. She’d known him her entire life.
But he never made me feel like Jack does.
She wept into the bedcovers as she remembered the day her father had passed, as she fought against the wave of memories: all the times she’d vowed not to be fooled or hurt by a man.
“He’s dead, Ma,” her brother said, his eyes wide with disbelief as he stood in the doorway. “Killed himself with his own gun.”
Cate turned to her mother, expecting tears, about to wrap her arms around her, but her mother’s face wasn’t full of tears; it was stretching into a smile. They’d been braced for him to arrive home drunk, his staggering footfalls on the verandah their alert that it was time to protect Ma, for her brothers to end up with black eyes for their efforts if he was in one of his drunken rages.
“You’re sure of it?” her mother asked.
“Oh, I’m sure. The police just came and said to pass on their condolences.”
“He’s dead,” Ma whispered. “Oh my Lord, he’s dead!”
She jumped up with a fervor Cate hadn’t seen in years, grabbing her by the hands and twirling her around as she screamed with joy.
“He’s dead! He can’t hurt us any more! The old bastard is dead!”
Soon her brother was dancing with them, like crazy idiots around the room, and before long her other two brothers had joined them, all singing and laughing as if they’d received the best news of their lives.
And it was only later, when they’d collapsed around the fire, her mother’s arms around Cate’s shoulders, that her mother had whispered in her ear.
“Don’t you repeat my mistakes, love,” she said. “Men will trick you and pretend to be something they’re not, just to get you to be with them. Your father pretended to be a good man, a kind man, and as soon as we were married I met his fist. He didn’t care whether I had a babe in my belly or in my arms, he hit me whenever he was feeling down about the world.”
Cate nodded, leaning into her, inhaling her mother’s familiar scent of perfume mixed with cooking.
“I won’t,” she promised. “I won’t ever let a man do that to me, Ma.”
As she pulled a blanket over her, shivering and crying still, she refused to believe that she’d repeated her mother’s mistakes. But Jack had hurt her; maybe not with his fists, but the pain was no less for that.
He’d known who she was, he’d known her fiancé, and despite everything they’d been through together, she didn’t know if she’d ever be able to fully trust him again.
She imagined him upstairs, lying on his bed, staring at the ceiling maybe as he regretted what he’d done, what he’d kept from her. But as much as she would have loved to go back to him and curl in the crook of his arm, whispering her forgiveness to him, she knew she couldn’t.
Ma would never forgive me.
And she would never forgive herself.
CHAPTER TWENTY
CATE
TEN DAYS LATER
Cate had barely spoken to Jack since the night she’d found the photo, and as she came face to face with him in the kitchen, she found it almost impossible to meet his gaze. She’d stuck to her guns, staying strong and listening to her mother’s voice. He’d been relatively easy to avoid the past week, as both men rarely left the attic unless it was nighttime, and she’d made sure to go to bed early each night.
But they were about to be in close proximity for hours as they tramped for the beach at Calais, which meant they needed to get along.
“Any word yet from Elise?” Jack asked.
Harry was pacing the living room now, raking his fingers back and forth through his hair.
“Nothing,” Cate replied.
“How long can we wait?” Jack asked.
“We’re not going without her, so we wait as long as we need to wait,” Harry snapped, glaring at them. “There wouldn’t even be an evacuation plan if it wasn’t for Elise.”
