“They’re outside.”
“I don’t want her to come in.”
My chest contracts at the sound of his voice. He sounds hurt and so much younger than he is.
“That’s understandable. Let’s talk out there.”
He snatches my hand at the bottom of the stairs. I give him a reassuring squeeze and don’t let go as we walk outside.
They’ve left the doorstep and are standing a little farther down the lane in the shade of a cluster of Barbie-pink oleander bushes. Sandrine is wearing her big round sunglasses. Jackson is shielding his eyes from the sun with his forearm.
As we venture toward each other, his gaze drops to my hand in Étienne’s. When he raises his eyes again, my heart contracts at the sight of his raw pain. It’s clear to both of us that he and I have reached the end of our story—or at least, our love story. But one day I hope we’ll write more chapters as friends.
I focus my attention on Étienne.
Sandrine takes off her glasses as we come to a stop. Étienne’s nostrils flare as he stares down at her dispassionately.
“I owe you an apology,” she says right away. “I was unkind to you and I was unkind to your mother. I am sorry.”
We wait for her to go on. And we wait. And—wait, was that it?
I recoil and stare at Jackson.
“Mom,” he says with embarrassment. “I think you might have more to say to him than that.”
“What?” She swivels her head to look up at her son.
Jackson’s eyes widen with frustration. “You denied him a chance to grow up with a grandfather! And a cousin!” He taps his own chest. “And a fucking aunt!” He points at her.
Whoa, Jackson isriled!
“And you denied Albie a chance to get to know him! He lost his son, but he could have had a grandson!”
“Hehada grandson!” Sandrine snaps. “He hadyou!”
“He could have hadbothof us!” Jackson yells at her.
“Please don’t tell him,” Sandrine says in a hushed voice.
Is she talking about Albert?
“Ofcoursewe’re fucking telling him!” Jackson exclaims.
“You haven’t told Albert yet?” I interrupt.
“No, he went straight for a lie-down when he got home,” Jackson replies.
“He’ll never forgive me,” Sandrine says shakily.
She’sscared, I realize.
“At this rate,I’llnever forgive you,” Jackson mutters.
Étienne squeezes my hand. I squeeze it back. We throw each other quick, startled glances, then return our attention to the scene playing out before us.
Sandrine’s bottom lip starts to quiver. Jackson notices and his expression softens, but only a little.
“You have to take accountability, Mom,” he says wearily. “It’s not the same as saying sorry. We can go home right now and you can tell Albie yourself, or we’ll go home andI’lltell him. Either way, he’s going to find out that Sébastien had a son, and he’s going to want to bring him into our lives. We’re not waiting another day longer for that to happen. So you’d better deal with it.”
