Page 77 of Tru Blue
“I knew you’d be stressed after your visit, and I had a frustrating day myself. I thought a picnic in the field would do us all some good.” She nodded toward a cooler on the counter. “Is that okay, or has your day been too difficult?”
She’d had a bad day, too, and here she was, selflessly lifting all of their spirits.
With a hand on her neck, he drew her to him. “Sounds perfect. You’re incredible. You know that?”
“I may need a little more convincing.”
He kissed her deeply.
He didn’t know if it was right, wrong, good, or bad, but this was the only man he knew how to be. A man who held and loved and protected. If that was detrimental, then they all had a long hard road ahead of them.
TRUMAN LAY ON his back on the blanket beside Lincoln after they finished dinner while the baby repeatedly whomped him on the stomach, giggling like crazy each time Truman made an oomph sound. Kennedy, busy playing with her dolls and using Truman’s legs as props, also gave in to fits of giggles at her silly brothers. Gemma sat back and took it all in, reveling in their happiness. It was a breezy, cool evening, but the kids were bundled up in sweaters and hats and were having too much fun to be taken inside. Gemma loved this time of year, when the leaves fell from the trees, reminding her that Thanksgiving was right around the corner. She and Crystal usually cooked a small Thanksgiving dinner together. She smiled to herself, knowing this year they’d need a bigger turkey.
Truman reached for her hand. He’d told her about his difficult visit with Quincy. Gemma was continually amazed at his ability to contain and separate his emotions. He never misdirected his anger, which was so different from how her father used to stalk around the house with smoke coming out of his ears.
“Are you ready to talk about your day yet?” he asked.
She hadn’t wanted to talk about her conversation with her mother earlier, partly because she was embarrassed by her mother’s ignorance and partly because she worried about how hearing it would make Truman feel. But he’d always been honest with her, and he deserved the same in return. She just needed to figure out a way to say it that wasn’t hurtful.
“My mother called this afternoon.”
“About the fundraiser?” He sat up, sliding one hand protectively around Lincoln as he did.
She nodded. “I told her about us, and she wasn’t exactly supportive.”
“I’m sorry, Gem. You told her about my conviction?”
She shook her head, feeling sick about the truth. “Are you kidding? The only question she asked was what you did for a living. She’s shallow and mean-spirited. It’s not a reflection on you personally, Tru. It’s who she is.”
“You mean she didn’t like the idea of you dating a mechanic?”
She nodded, dropping her eyes out of shame.
Truman lifted her chin and smiled. “Sweetness, don’t you know by now that we can’t be judged by who our parents are? Christ, imagine if we were. Look at my mother.” He leaned down and kissed Lincoln’s head. “Their mother.”
“I know, but it’s embarrassing that she’s that way. All the things she cares about mean nothing to me. Do you know she still calls me Gemaline? I’ve asked her to call me Gemma for as long as I can remember. She says Gemma is too common.” She paused, thinking about how much she hated the snooty way Gemaline sounded. “I love Gemma.”
“Gemma is a beautiful name. At least you’re not named after a president. My mother wanted us to have memorable names because she knew our lives would be shit.” He kissed Lincoln again. “Their lives will never be shit.”
“Of course not. They have you. You’ve given me more than my mother ever could. She and I are so different. She cares about things. I care about people. I don’t ever want to be judged by the way she is. She’s awful.”
“If there’s anyone who understands where you’re coming from, it’s me. What I don’t understand is if she’s that way, why do you put yourself through the fundraiser every year?”
“I’ve asked myself that a million times.” She lifted Lincoln into her lap and scooted closer to Truman. “I don’t know how to explain it. She’s my mother, and even though she’s terrible in so many ways, she’s still my mother. I feel a sense of obligation to her. And she’s my only connection to my father. Even though she’s not someone I can talk to about him, and I think she despises him for committing suicide, she’s still the only person who was there in the same house when he was alive. It doesn’t make sense, and hearing myself say it makes me feel like an idiot for doing anything for her.” She shook her head. “She’s not a nice person.”
