Page 152 of Keller

“No.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because what was the point? She was dead. Dad never talked about it. After that night, he didn’t talk about much of anything. He just… hardened.” I shrug. “I decided that was proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“That love turns on you. That if you let someone close enough, they betray you or leave. Or you shove them out before they can.” I glance at him. “And then you become an angry bastard.”

The air on the deck is suddenly heavier.

Cain studies me. “And what about Savannah? What did you find?”

I exhale slowly. “He’s gay, Cain. He's been married to his husband for twenty-something years, and they have a kid about to start college.”

Cain blinks. “You're kidding.”

“There was no affair. Mom hired him for a restoration project. A surprise for Dad’s fiftieth birthday. That’s all it was. Professional meetings and design plans. Nothing else.”

The silence stretches.

“Jesus,” Cain says quietly.

“I built my entire life around a story that wasn’t even true.” I finally look at him. “I protected myself from a betrayal that never existed.”

Cain leans back, wood creaking under him. “You were eleven.”

“Exactly. For basically my entire life, I thought our mom cheated and that love was worthless. I kept a lot of anger bottled up inside, but I worked so hard not to become bitter like Dad. It was like two parts of me warring inside constantly.”

“That's fucked up.”

I stare out into the dark yard beyond the deck railing.

He studies me without speaking for a few seconds, probably thinking I've completely lost it and wondering why I'm dumping all of this shit on him now.

“So what are you doing with all of this new understanding now?” he finally asks.

“Who the fuck knows?” I stare out into the dark yard beyond the deck. “I'm a grown ass man, now. I'm already formed. You can't unbake a cake.”

The admission shocks me. I honestly hadn't thought about it, but the realization that I am who I am is jarring.

“Sure you can,” he says dryly. “You just throw it out and make a different one next time.”

I snort. “That might be the dumbest metaphor you’ve ever used.”

“Doesn’t mean it’s wrong. Plus, you came up with the cake metaphor, I just went with it.”

“At least I can let our mom rest in peace,” I finally add. “All of that fear and anger is still there, it's just shifted. I guess I can add guilt to that.”

Cain tips his bottle back and sets it on the deck rail. He studies me with an expression that is not pity or accusation.

“You’ve been carrying that alone since you were a kid,” he says. “That does something to a person. I'm not going to deny that. But now you know, so don't let it define you anymore.”

“It made things simple, actually,” I reply. “Love hurts, and you don’t depend on anyone. Simple.”

Cain watches me carefully. “Well, now you know that isn't the case, so you can not live that way. Simple.”

I run a hand over the back of my neck. “I wish it were that simple, Little Bro.”