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Lizzy
“So what do you think it means?” Brett asks.
I shrug and pick at a loose thread on the hem of my running pants. It’s nearly ten at night, and we’re sitting cross-legged on the trampoline in Brett’s backyard. The moon is hidden behind some clouds, so the evening sky is dark above us. I went on a run after work, trying to release some tension. It didn’t help much.
“Do you think your dad had an affair?”
I drop my head between my hands, resting my elbows on my knees. “No, I don’t know. No. I can’t see him doing anything like that.” I lift my head and look at Brett.
He gives me sympathetic look, like he thinks I just don’t want to see the truth because it’s unpleasant.
“You don’t understand. He loved my mother. If you knew them, you would know my dad could never do that. Which is why I don’t understand how Rayce can think it. How can he think my dad would cheat on my mom?”
But what about that inheritance? I think for the millionth time. Because now that Rayce pointed it out, it’s been nagging at me all day and into the night. Why did our father leave property only to his children, my cousin who was practically like another daughter to him, and this Mason Reeves? Why?
“I get a sick feeling every time I think about it, and I feel like a traitor every time I wonder if he’s my father’s child.” Hot tears leak out of my eyes. “I wish I could just ask him. This isn’t right that we have to wonder. Why the hell won’t George just tell us? I don’t like that he’s hiding something from us. We’ve trusted him for the last year to take care of everything. We’ve trusted him.”
“And now you feel like you can’t?”
“Well...” I hesitate, frustrated with what I know is the honest answer to that question. Frustrated with everything. “No, I do trust him because he did admit that he knows something. He did explain that my dad just didn’t want us to know, but what didn’t he want us to know?”
“He also said this guy isn’t related to you.”
“Maybe he had to say that. If he’s the product of an affair my dad didn’t want us to know about, he can’t say we’re related.”
I get that sick feeling again and clasp my arms in front of my chest. I fall back onto the trampoline, which bounces slightly. My knees tuck up and rest together. “I hate this. I really hate this. If Dad didn’t want us to know so bad, but he still cared enough to leave this person what he did, what does that mean? All signs point to exactly what Rayce thinks it is.”
I start to cry more freely, my hands covering my face. The vinyl mesh of the trampoline bounces and dips slightly as Brett comes around and lies next to me, pulling me into his arms. I bury my face in his chest and cry harder. The thought of my dad doing something like that to my mom. I can’t stand it. I can’t.
“He loved her,” I say miserably, when my crying has abated a bit. “How could he do that?”
“Well,” Brett says softly. “Sometimes people can let us down, even if they love us.”
Even in my grief, I don’t miss the significance of him saying what he just said. “I’m sorry she let you down, too.” My voice is still choked with tears. I squeeze his waist, holding onto him for both of our sakes.
“Look, I think you need to remember that you don’t really know for sure. I understand why you guys would be worried, but the truth is, you don’t know. You’re speculating.”
“Yeah... but... whatever it is, it can’t be good. Because my dad convinced George not to tell us.”
“Maybe. But, maybe not. Why assume the worst when it could be something else? Who knows what his reasons were? It could be all sorts of things.”
I sigh. “I guess.”
“Whatever it is, maybe you should just try to let it go. Worrying about it is just going to make you sick. Besides, it’s in the past. You can’t change the past.”
“I know,” I say resignedly. But this gives me no comfort, because that is the thing about the past I like the least.
I do something I’ve never done before. I fall asleep in Brett’s arms, in his bed after we made love, even though Max is here. I jolt awake close to midnight, realizing what I’ve done, alarmed and apologizing, waking Brett in the process. But he soothes my hair back from my face, gives me a gentle kiss, and tells me he set an alarm for five o’clock in the morning, well before Max will be up.
“Stay,” he says. “I’ve got you.” So I do.
We never make it to the five o’clock alarm. At 3:36 that morning, I’m pulled out of a groggy sleep, barely aware of Brett’s phone ringing, and him scrambling to the nightstand to answer it.
“It’s my ex-wife,” he declares, as if I don’t know her ring tone by now. But the thing that’s really starting to pull me into consciousness is the concern in his voice. “Hello?”
Her high, rushed voice comes through the line. He sits up straighter, and my heart starts beating rapidly. I’m waking abruptly now.
“Wait,” he says. “Wait, slow down. What?”
Her voice comes through again, high and frantic. I can tell that she’s crying, but I can’t make out what she saying. My first alarmed thought goes to Max. I’m afraid that he’s hurt and this has to do with him somehow. Then I remember he’s sleeping safely in his bed in his room down the hall, so I know it isn’t that.
“Jess,” Brett says firmly, panic in his voice. “Are you hurt?”
His concerned tone makes me remember that there was a time when he loved her. I realize that right now, in this moment, he would care about her welfare whether he loves her still or not. I know this. He’s not a brute.
I’m not a brute either, and I’m concerned for her welfare as well. But that’s not enough to chase away the selfish fears that are rising to the surface. As I continue to listen to Brett’s call with his ex-wife, my heart beats uncomfortably, my skin creeping with dread.