Page 73 of The Monster I Loved
The old man squealed, actually squealed. I pulled the phone away from my ears.
“Take her yourself and get confirmation . . . wait, will you marry her?”
Silence.
“Yes.”
Silence.
“It’s your life. As long as I get my grandbaby, and you have control of the shares, do whatever you want to do.” As if he were reading my mind, Father added, “I’ll deal with Melissa and her father.”
I released a long-held breath. Good. It was him who got me into this, so he should get me out of it. I’d be happy never to cross paths with Melissa again. Summer had done me a huge favor in that respect.
After calling my sister and breaking the news to her, Henry was next to be told.
He coughed and spluttered for what felt like five whole minutes. “You knocked Summer up?”
I stared behind me at the very bed we made Baby Fitzgerald in and sighed. “We’ll have to lie and tell the baby they were made out of love and not anger.”
Henry scoffed. “Oh, please, you two have always loved each other. Nothing changed that.”
He spoke just like Aston did. Was everyone always so certain and loud about Summer and me reuniting, and I always ignored them? I suspected they kept it to themselves, afraid either of us would chew their heads off, and only now felt safe enough to say their true feelings.
“Nobody is happier about you and Summer burying the hatchet, but I think you’re rushing into marriage.”
“It’s not as if I wasn’t going to marry her anyway,” I reminded him.
Henry replied quickly. “But that was before you...it’s all just happening too fast, and I don’t want you to end up like me and Ashley.”
By my calculations, everything was falling right into place. I needed a wife and a child. Summer was going to be Mrs. Fitzgerald.
“Thad, hear me out. I love Wylie, but you know I didn’t want kids. Ashley got pregnant, and I did the honorable thing. That lasted nearly five years, and then I met Cora.”
“Wait, Summer and I are different from you two. You never loved Ashley. It was a one-night stand.” My guard was up.
My friend sighed loudly over the phone. “Anger, resentment, two deaths...you and Summer have so many things that Ashley and I didn’t have. All I’m saying is,slow down.”
I heard him, but I’d wasted ten years already. There was no Cora coming along to sway my interest. Respectfully, I listened to Henry’s advice for the next few minutes, but this train was leaving the station, and nobody could convince me that wasn’t the best decision. I knew what I had to do. I grabbed my keys, rushed out of the house, and made my way down the street.
I hurried to the cemetery. There was only one other person left I needed to tell. Mother.
As I looked at her memorial stone, a pang of guilt crashed over me. I was about to build a life with the daughter of her killer.
“Mother, I’m sorry.” My voice cracked, and the lump in my throat grew. Obviously, her stone didn’t grant me forgiveness and give me permission to enjoy the life I saw possible with Summer and our child. I hoped she’d forgive me, or at least understand. I placed my head against the stone and repeated, “I’m sorry.”
She was the only one I wanted forgiveness from.
When I was done and heading back to the car, I spotted Clive’s tombstone. I could go stand over there and tell him I’d take good care of Summer and make peace, but that wasn’t the sort of person I was. Despite everything Clive ruined, I was trying to carve out a bit of happiness, and even though I loved Summer, I owed him not one ounce of forgiveness. I’d spit onhis blasted stone if I went any closer to it, so I quickly left the cemetery.
Along the Hudson Riverstood a charming, cozy restaurant called Belle, where Summer and I had always enjoyed eating. When I learned it was still around, I made a reservation and convinced her to meet me. We had a lot to clear up, especially after our strained talk about arrangements yesterday. Because we were eating at a restaurant outside Tarrytown, I hoped we’d be free of interruptions. God knows how many times we’d have had to pause and explain why we sat together if we’d eaten at one of the local spots. Summer and I had become a source of entertainment for many in Tarrytown. Knowing them as well as I did, I guessed that people had placed bets on which of us would strangle the other to death. Eager to escape the town for a while, we took a seat in the back across from each other. My leg shook under the table, and my hands tightened around the glass of scotch, only because I didn’t want my fingers to fidget anywhere else. Why was I so nervous?
“Thaddeus, are we really about to have the marriage we desperately wanted to avoid all those years?”
I didn’t follow.
Summer continued, “One like your parents’, filled with arguments, causing our kid to wish we got a divorce.”
I took a sip of my scotch. It burned as it coated my throat.
