“He wouldn’t approve of the fact that I’m still single,” I say wryly. “He advised me to marry by thirty and have a family before thirty-five. ‘You don’t want to be an old dad,’ he said.”
“I’m sure he’d rather you meet the right girl first though.”
I purse my lips. “Not sure about that.”
“Did your parents have a happy relationship?”
“Kinda. I think they both wanted the same things out of life. He missed her when she died.”
“But you don’t think it was a love match?”
“They loved one another.”
“Were theyinlove, though?”
I swirl the whiskey over the ice in my glass and don’t say anything.
She takes another chip. “You always speak about him with such reverence and respect. But there’s more to the story, isn’t there?”
I stretch out my legs and sigh. I feel as if I’m unraveling slowly, my ribs peeling open to reveal my tender heart. “He was a great man.Noble and self-sacrificing. Honorable and virtuous. God-fearing and charitable. He set high standards for himself, and never failed to reach them, and so he didn’t see why everyone else couldn’t live up to them, too.”
“He sounds quite the guy.” Her eyes meet mine. I can’t tell if there’s a touch of sarcasm in her words.
“He pushed me,” I say, a little defensively, “and I’m glad he did. He helped me become the man I am.”
She tips her head to the side. “But somewhere down the line, you stopped seeing him as human and started using him as a measuring stick. And you feel that no matter how far you stretch, you never quite reach the mark.”
Her astuteness shocks me into silence.
“He made you feel that taking what you want was a character flaw,” she continues. “That a good man should stand back and endure.”
I nod slowly. “Yes.”
“You equate self-denial with goodness.”
“I do. And I’m very, very good at denying myself.”
Our eyes meet.
Deep down, I’m shocked at her analysis of me, because I know she’s right. In any situation, I always ask myself, What Would Dad Do? And once again, I’ve fallen short.
Dad would not have asked his best mate’s girlfriend back to his place. He would have been honest, and told himself that bringing her home did not mean he had her best interests at heart. Instead, he would have called one of her friends, or her sister, and asked them to come and pick her up.
Once again, I’ve let him down—let myself down. And the reason I’m so ashamed is that, right now, I don’t care.
Chapter Five
Beth
I’m very, very good at denying myself.
His words confuse me. What is he denying himself? His gaze is direct, his eyes sparkling, but that might just be from the whiskey. He sends such conflicting signals. On one hand, I’m convinced he likes me. Call it a girl’s sixth sense. But on the other hand, he acts in ways I can’t make out at all.
I look around, thinking. A morepork hoots a few times from one of the trees in the garden. Orion shines down on us through the window to my left, while the moon shimmers over the sea in front of us. The room smells masculine, a blend of Archer’s cologne and whisky. There are no signs of a woman here like there are in my house—no magazines, hairbrushes, bottles of perfume and nail varnish, scrunchies, or colorful throws and cushions. He’s tidy, which I like. It speaks of an ordered mind.
Jude’s brain is like a maze, full of twists and turns, hidden nooks, and dead ends. It seems impossible to find the center, and if you do, you know you’ll never discover the way out. But I imagine that Archer’s mind has intersections, traffic lights, and roundabouts, and his thoughts process around it in a timely fashion. I like that, too, because mine is the same.
Well, if the whiskey has lowered his guard a bit, I might take the opportunity to ask a question that’s been bothering me.
