Page 72 of The Monster I Loved
Thaddeus let out an unexpected chuckle. “Summer, be serious. I don’t hate you. I did, for a long time. What you did back then, I resented. I hated your father, and I always will, but not you. Not anymore.”
My heart sank. His words hadn’t made things any better.
“You’re not sorry. Not one bit about what you did to Dad, are you?”
He looked away, and his jaw tightened. “I won’t lie and pretend I am.”
The knot tightened in my stomach. “That’s the problem. Don’t you see that’s why we can’t move past this?”
“Would you like me to lie and claim to be sorry?”
“No.” I wanted him to actually be sorry.
“Good, because I can’t do that.” We walked down the hill, side by side.
Throughout different stages of my life, I’d walked this hill. Often, I’d run. Not because I enjoyed running, but because the angle was so steep. With my new passenger on board, the thought of falling scared me. Thaddeus slipped his hand into mine, seemingly reading my mind.
Without exchanging any words, I accepted the help. Somehow, that simple concession on my part overwhelmed me more than the possibility of rolling down the hill ever could. His palm was a warm, sturdy support that I probably clutched tighter than I should have. I felt cold where our bodies didn’t touch.
“Just so you know,” he said. “I’ve always been sorry that I hurt you. You were the last thing on my mind, and loving you as much as I did, maybe I should’ve considered your feelings a little, despite my rage. However, Clive’s death was the only thing that would ever make me somewhat okay with my mother’s death.”
We stood at the bottom of the hill. There was no place left to go in Tarrytown unless you jumped on the train or walked into the Hudson River. From here, we had to make a decision. Thaddeus removed his hand from my arm and looked at me.
“Where should we go?”
Thaddeus
I left Summer at home to rest and drove further up the hill to my house. Nothing could have prepared me for today. I was going to be a father to a little boy or girl. The woman I’d once loved, and now had adifficultrelationship with, was carrying my baby.
I pushed the door open, and Aston stared at me. “Everything okay?”
“She’s pregnant,” I blurted out.
The elderly man smiled. “Well, you always wanted to have kids with Summer.”
I drew my eyebrows together. “Wait. What? How did you know I was talking about Summer?”
Aston looked like I’d insulted him by asking and just matter-of-factly answered, “It was always her.”
Leave it to him to say it so clearly. Who else would I marry? Who else would be the mother of my children but Summer Cohen?
After our brief chat, Aston left the room. I phoned my father. It seemed to take forever for him to answer, and by the time he did, I had forgotten my rehearsed speech, opting instead for: “You have a grandchild on the way.”
The silence went on for so long I wondered if he’d hung up.
“Are you kidding me?”
I took a deep breath before continuing. “No, I’m being serious. Summer is pregnant.”
I heard a loud thud through the phone. “Hello? Hello?”
A strange voice rang in my ears. “Your father fell. Oh, he’s coming to now.”
“Give me the damn phone,” I heard my father order, so I braced myself.
Breathing heavily, he composed himself. “Are you sure she’s pregnant?”
“She went to see a doctor this morning.”
