To my surprise, we both end up in the shower after she sagely points out I also smell like a dumpster fire. We let the hot water soak us and take turns cleaning one another in complete silence. It’s pure intimacy and trust bonding our souls together. Even though my body reacts in the most obvious way to having her hands all over me, this is not the time.
She lets me dry her with the towel and put on the fluffiest socks I can find. This permission to take care of her is a gift that puts a knot in my throat. Eliza doesn’t say anything while I pull one of my sweatshirts over her head, just watches me with an intensity running hot over my skin.
“Get in,” I tell her, lifting the covers.
She’s running on fumes, her eyelids heavy with exhaustion. “Will you hold me?”
The crisp linen rustles as I slide in next to her. “Always.”
Her breath evens out in a matter of seconds but I’m too anxious to sleep. There’s something else weighing heavy on my mind, but she’s in no state to deal with it. So I stare out the window over the swaying treetops and the still lake, mulling over how I’m going to break the news to her until the sun is up.
I let her sleep until it’s almost noon, she needs her strength for what’s next, and gather my nerves while Eliza finishes her late breakfast.
“You’re quieter than usual.”
“I want to talk to you about something.” I pull her out of the breakfast nook, and we settle on the large comfy outdoor couch.
“Oh, no,” she gasps when she sees the cup of hot chocolate Quinn dropped off. “How bad is it?”
I half turn toward her in my seat and tuck her beautiful hair behind her ear.
“Walker told you how we found out who your father is,” I say slowly. This is going to be difficult.
Eliza’s eyes drop to a thread in the blanket, and she twists it. “You unsealed my adoption file.” Her voice is small, and I hate that she’s ashamed of what’s written inside. That I would see it.
“And made the connection. Your parents were never married, but it wasn’t hard to find out they were dating before you were born.”
I pull out the weathered photo that’s been burning a hole in my back pocket all morning and hand it to her. Eliza gasps and chokes on a sob, her hand trembling on the old portrait.
A pregnant young woman in denim overalls beams at the camera, holding her dark copper hair against the wind.
“You have her smile,” I say gently.
Eliza’s hazel eyes fill with tears. “Where did you get this?” she asks with a trembling voice.
“My team found some of her old friends.”
“It’s true she died?”
I bite the inside of my cheek. I hate this. “I’m sorry.” I rub her arms. “Ten years ago, she got diagnosed with cancer. It was too late.”
Her eyes screw shut and she takes a shuddering breath.
“Does…Did she—” Eliza can’t finish the question. It’s difficult for her to even show a little hope.
“Her family is still in Maine. Her parents…Your grandparents are still alive, and three aunts.”
Tears roll down her cheeks and her lower lip trembles.
“They don’t have any affiliation with your…with Hall’s illegal activities,” I tell her, running my thumb under her wet eyelashes.
She’s in pain, gently swaying. It kills me, but I have to let her go through it and decide what she wants.
“Do you think they’d want to meet me?” she finally asks.
“All you have to do is reach out. They had no idea. Were a bit shell-shocked when I talked to them.” I clear my throat. “There’s something else.”
“I’m not sure I can take more,” she says hoarsely, resting her head back on the couch.
