“You mentioned the mill problems the day you came to see me at Anna’s too.” She dropped one hand to her lap. Clenched her fingers. “Don’t you think it’s time you told me about those?”
He exhaled. Nodded. “Past time. But it’s not a pretty story, Diane.”
“Nothing in the past fourteen years has been pretty. I’d like to know what started all the ugliness.”
“That was on my agenda for today. Why don’t you go ahead and eat while I talk? Otherwise, your food will get cold.”
Despite her nonexistent appetite, she picked up her fork. It would be rude to leave the lunch he was buying her untouched.
But the longer he talked, the more he told her about the crisis that had dropped into his lap at the mill, the harder it became to swallow her food.
He hadn’t been exaggerating.
The story wasn’t pretty.
How could a father dump such a mess on his son? Yes, the elder Steele had been worried about his wife’s deteriorating health, butit had been unconscionable to turn the mill over to Martin with almost no warning about its precarious financial position.
Yet the scenario was consistent with the way Martin’s father operated. The way he’d taught his son to operate. Always keep everything close to your vest and never admit you’re in trouble. Don’t show any sign of weakness. Just carry on alone and get the job done.
So while his parents traipsed off to Arizona, Martin had undergone a baptism by fire as he attempted to save a faltering family legacy.
Diane tried to swallow the bite of quiche in her mouth, but when it stuck in her throat, she groped for her water. Washed it down.
How alone Martin must have felt during that difficult period. How cornered. How pressured. How overwhelmed.
That didn’t excuse his behavior toward her and Lucas, of course, but the difficult situation he’d inherited did explain the forces that had shaped his conduct.
At the end of his story, he let out a slow breath. “My intentions were good, but in trying to spare you and Lucas all the turmoil I was going through, I created a different kind of turmoil for both of you. I’m sorry for that too. Sorrier than I can say.”
“I wish you’d shared all this with me from the beginning.” She gave up all pretense of eating and laid her fork on the table. “A marriage is supposed to be a partnership. A collaboration.”
“I know. I’ve made a lot of mistakes. Maybe too many to forgive. But today I’m asking for forgiveness anyway—and a second chance. I’ve changed, Diane, and I’m not going back to the way I was. I plan to become more active in the community and at church, less consumed by work, and more involved with you and Lucas. If you agree to come back, you can set the terms for how we proceed going forward. I’ll do whatever it takes to restore our marriage. I’ll even sell the house if you want me to.”
He was willing to part with the house that represented concreteproof he’d weathered the storm at the mill and emerged triumphant?
That was huge.
But it wasn’t necessary.
“The house wasn’t why our marriage and our family fell apart, Martin.”
“I know, but I also don’t want it to stand in the way of us getting back together.”
She picked up her napkin. Dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “You’ve thrown a lot at me.”
“I realize that, and I know you need to think everything through. I don’t expect an answer today—but if there’s anything else I can do to convince you I’m serious about all the changes I’m making, let me know.” He picked up his fork and offered her another strained smile. “I know you have to leave soon, but I’d like to hear about your job and the show while I tackle this quiche.”
She inspected his entree. “It may be cold by now.”
“Trust me, it’s better than most of what I’ve been eating. Tell me about your typical day at work.”
In response to his first few questions, she offered short, perfunctory answers. But when he appeared to be sincerely interested in both her job and the show, she began to expand on her responses. They even laughed together over a story she told about Father Murphy’s antics at one of the rehearsals. Like they used to do whenever something tickled their funny bones.
It felt good to share that moment of humor. Very good.
The conversation was flowing so well, in fact, that she forgot about the ticking clock.
In the end, with a regretful tap of his watch, Martin had to remind her their lunch date was coming to an end. “I hate to break this up, but I don’t want you to get in trouble at work.”
