“Like?”
“A birthmark.”
My heart stops. My mother’s birthmark—Joy’sbirthmark—both hidden where only someone with intimate knowledge of a person’s body would ever see. I stare at him, but he doesn’t blink. Either he is an expert liar who is repeating something my father told him—though why the impersonal Tom Aldiss would tell anyone something as personal as that is beyond me—or he has seen that birthmark himself. Since I have never before had cause to think Paul Schuster a liar, and since there is no other way he would have seen it, I have to accept that he and my mother had an affair. And if I accept that, I realize with a start, I have no reason to doubt the outcome.
Overwhelmed, I back away.
“Mallory.”
I hold up a hand, warding off any paternal words as I struggle to accept. There’s still the matter of where he’s been all my life, why he didn’t come forward either after I moved to New York or after Mom died. There’s still the matter of where he was when my daughter—hisgranddaughter—was born. Tom wasn’t around. Paul might have been.
I feel bitter about it all, confused by a world that apparently considers the whole truth and nothing but to be optional. Mostly, I feel swamped. Too much is shifting underfoot—my relationship with my sisters, my faith in my best friend, my father’s death. And yes,I’ll always think of Tom Aldiss as my father. But the rest? I’ve lost control of things I thought I knew.
Paul says my name again. Ignoring it, I turn and run. I have no destination. All I know is that I’m grateful Joy isn’t here, grateful that the heels Margo bought me are low, grateful that the sea wall path takes me away from where I’ve just been.
After following it along a wide arc, I see the parking lot ahead. The hearse is gone, for which I’m grateful as well. I see Chrissie’s CR-V, Lina’s Civic, and Paul’s Lexus. I see the Volvo that says Anne is still here, and a dirty truck with the cemetery logo on the side and a wheelbarrow in the back.
I also see Jack’s Tahoe. Fortunately, it is unlocked, and while it’s hot inside, I don’t care. Pulling out my phone, I text him.
I’m in your truck. Can we go?
Chapter 26
Jack trots up to the truck minutes later. His face is damp with sweat, and his frown lines are pronounced. Eyeing me with worry, he tosses his blazer in back, starts the engine, and turns on the AC full force. Then he reaches an arm sideways and cups my head in his palm. There is a calm in the gesture that belies whatever turmoil those frown lines betray.
He does not ask who my biological father is. Does not ask about Tom or Elizabeth. Does not ask if I want to let Chrissie know I’m leaving or if I need to call Joy. All he asks is, “Where to?”
“I don’t know,” I whisper, feeling lost, but I’ve grabbed his hand and am holding on for dear life. Jack is a rock in my world of shifting sands. “Just drive.”
He heads out of the lot. “Home or away?”
“Away.”
He turns left. We pass the florist with purple petunias cascading from hooks on the porch, pass the pharmacy, pass a dozen homeswith wood siding painted each its own shade of gray. I see the strip mall in the distance, the one with the Urgent Care where I had first seen Dad last Friday, but before that particular memory can sink in, I spot something else.
The Hideaway, once known as Tuck’er Inn, nearly hidden under its prim canopy of ancient maples and oaks.
“Here,” I say, and a swarm of forbidden thoughts take root.
Jack eyes me in alarm when I wave him urgently toward the small parking lot. No doubt thinking I’m about to be sick, he swerves into the space nearest the road. But I wave again, this time toward the office.
Shooting me concerned looks every few seconds, he backs up and drives closer. By the time he has parked, his alarm has lowered to wariness.
I hold his gaze. “Take a room.”
“A room,” he repeats with a speculative emphasis on them,because something in my eyes has tipped him off.
“A cottage.” My phone dings; I ignore it. “The sign says there are vacancies.”
“I see that,” he says, “but we just buried your father—”
“—who lied to me all these years,” I say, and the dam bursts, “who was married to my mother, who lied to me all these years, who was best friends with a man who lied to me all these years—and speaking of best friends, I have one of those, who, thank you very much, hasalsobeen living a lie. Callmea liar for sneaking around with you when we were kids, but not a single person was hurt by what we did. Same with the way I conceived Joy, not a single one of them was hurt, and I actually did consider that. I nearly didn’t do it because I was worried one of my parents would be hurt, and when I decided to go ahead, I told them exactly what I was doing and why. Did they return the favor? No. Did they tell me what they had done and why?No.” I’m breathing hard. “So yes, I want a room—and don’t tell me it’s inappropriate right after a funeral. I want to do whatIwant to do for one solid hour, because all these years, no onehas thought ofme,and it’s abouttimeI’m a priority. I don’t want to think of another person.” I stop short. “Well. Except you. Unless you can’t.” We both know I’m not talking about his getting back to work.
I don’t tack on the last as a deliberate distraction, but it does the job. He snickers and says in a voice deep enough to have come from the part of his body that we’ll need, “Are you kidding? With you?” My phone dings again. “Want to check that?”
“No.” I switch it to mute. “Please? A room?”
He doesn’t need to be asked again. In a heartbeat, he is out of the Tahoe, striding toward the inn’s office and disappearing inside. I don’t agonize while he is gone, don’t have a second thought. Nor do I look at my phone. Joy is with Margo and is fine. Chrissie is with Lina and is not fine, but deservedly so. Same with Paul, who is likely alone. Neither of them was concerned about me all those years; I don’t need to be concerned about them now.
