“And he has no idea?”
“Not as far as I know.”
“I still hate him,” she said slowly, eyes catching his as she glanced up. “Do you?”
“I don’t know,” he replied honestly. “He’s old and frail and dying. It makes the whole hate thing a little hard to carry and he’s . . .”
“He’s what?”
“Not what I expected.”
“I don’t remember him.”
“I know.”
“But you do.” Iris pushed the bottle aside and leaned closer. “Mom never told me anything about Fire Lake or Dad. I have a brother and a sister I’ve never met, but she doesn’t talk about them. Don’t you think that’s weird? Like, how she could leave two kids behind if things were so bad?” Iris leaned closer. “How could she leave them behind? What kind of mother does that?”
“We’re not going to second guess our mother. I’m not doing that. She left, and if our father gave a shit about us, he would have found us years ago.”
“Do you think it’s that simple?” She frowned. “Don’t you think there’s maybe a reason he didn’t?”
God, she was asking all the questions he’d tried not to think about. “I don’t know,” he admitted.
“Why are you here? What is it you want if not to let him know who you are?”
Appetite long gone, Gus sipped his coffee and considered his answer. “A while ago I was in New York on business, and I read an article about the Catskills and in that article, there was mention of the Boone estate. Seeing that in print, our familyname, did something to me. Hell, I spent the first seven years of my life here.” He sat back and was quiet for a few moments. “I’d tucked him away, you know? Avoiding thinking about him or Sunday or Ford because it was the easy thing to do.”
“So, you never tried to contact them before now?”
He shook his head. “No. The whole avoiding the past thing took care of that. I wondered about them from time to time, but I never took that next step until now. I did some digging and found out he was ill and something in me changed. My need to know took over.”
“You want to make peace before he dies.”
“Maybe. Or maybe I just wanted to see him in person and tell him that he was a shitty human being and that we were better off without him. Maybe I want him to know all the things he’s missed out on. Maybe I want him to know that we did okay. That Mom raised us on our own and we’re fine.”
“Did you tell him those things?
“No.”
“Why?”
And here they were, knee deep in the hard stuff. “Because I’m not sure about a lot of things. Not anymore and because he . . .” Mouth tight, he focused on the butterfly that flitted near the window. “I feel something for him, and it isn’t hate.” He toyed with a napkin. “Ford and Sunday seem like good people. I can’t help but think they wouldn’t be if he was as bad as we’ve been led to believe.”
“Do you think Mom lied to us about stuff?”
And there it was. The million-dollar question he’d been afraid to ask himself.
“I think there are things we don’t know.” It wasn’t much, but it was all he had.
“Do Ollie and Harrison know you’re here?”
“No.”
Iris reached for a sausage and took a bite. “I’m not leaving Fire Lake.”
Fuck.
“I’m not saying I want to meet him or our siblings. I’m not sure how I feel.”
