“You would be perfect for him. You have the patience for his idiocy. Only people in our family do.”
She laughed. “I guess so. Don’t say anything to him yet. I need him to sort his shit out on his own.”
“Are you sure you don’t want me to go over and punch him in the face for debauching you?”
“No. I asked him to.”
“God damn, you’re soannoying, Lydia.”
“Yeah. I know.”
There was silence for a moment.
“You’re also very brave,” he said. “Because it takes courage to go after what you want, even when you know it might hurt.”
She nodded. “Yeah. I guess it does. So I’m a brave loser. At least there’s that.”
“No, Lydia. The losers are the ones who never try. Now he’s going to have to prove that’s not what he is.”
Lydia marinated in that for the whole rest of the day.
Chapter 11
Remy was miserable. And he had never felt quite so alone. Because he couldn’t call Matthew, and obviously he couldn’t call Lydia. Because the only other place he would go was the Clay house, but . . .
He found himself there anyway. His chest was sore, and he felt disappointed in himself. But it was just . . . She loved him. And it felt like such a big thing. It felt like something that could be explosive. Wonderful even. But terrifying. Hell. It felt so damned terrifying.
Because he’d never wanted somebody to be stuck with him the way he’d been stuck with his father. Because everything about domestic life, the very idea of it, terrified him. Unto his soul. He didn’t mean to go see Nancy. He just ended up at that house. Ended up walking up the steps and knocking on the door. She opened it a moment later, wiping her hands on her apron. “Come in,” she said.
“Can I get a hug?”
She pulled him in without any questions. And he just let her hold him for a second. He had so many things he wanted to ask her. He had so many questions, so many . . . so many things he didn’t understand.
“Why don’t you have a seat, and I’ll make you a cup of tea.”
“You might revise that offer when you find out why I’m here.”
“I won’t.” She poured hot water out of her instant hot water tap, and stuck a teabag in it, sliding it across the table to him.
Express service, as if she knew this was an emotional emergency that needed immediate attention.
She sat down across from him and gave him the kind of maternal stare he had never gotten from anyone else. “What’s going on, Remy?”
“For starters I . . . I’m cleaning up some of the mess my dad left behind, taking care of his animals. I’m just so angry at him. Because he was the one who should have taken care of them. Given them normal lives. And he couldn’t do that one fucking thing. Sorry. Language, I know. But he couldn’t. . . . And then I think . . .”
“He couldn’t do it for you either,” she said softly.
He shook his head. “No. And it would be easier if I hated him,” he said, his chest aching as the revelation he had been avoiding rose to the surface.
“He’s your father, Remy. It was never going to be that easy. You were born loving him. He probably beat a lot of it out of you. But you’re a good person, with the capacity to care a whole lot. So of course, it’s hard. Of course, your feelings are confused.”
“It’s more than confusing. It feels impossible. And I just . . . I know those animals didn’t deserve the way he treated them. But sometimes it’s hard for me to believe that I didn’t deserve it.”
“Of course it is. That’s how every child in that situation feels. Because your parents are supposed to love you. But the problem was with them. Not with you. Think about it. There can’t be a problem with you, and Hank, and those horses. Right?”
“No,” he said.
“What’s the other thing you wanted to talk to me about?”
