Jonathan is something akin to terrified.
“Rue ... ?” He palms his tie to his chest and slowly lowers into his sleek office chair, regarding the chaos like it might attack him. Even with the worried lines creasing his forehead, he’s the perfect image of man meets dentistry. Meanwhile, I look like my whole life has barely survived a zap in an electric chair.
“What is all this?”
“My mother,” I say flatly. “And my husband. And my father.”
“Okay . . .”
“I lied about Nash dying,” I blurt, immediately hoping the words haven’t been heard. Jonathan’s slack jaw lets me know they indeed have. I’m nauseous but have nothing to lose. “He was so insufferable I think I wish he would have. But really, he just left. Took the position in DC the same day I found out I was pregnant.”
Now his eyes are wide; I don’t bother telling him Nash doesn’t know about Bennie. It won’t change anything.
“I sent him divorce papers. I thought we were over. My mother had other plans—no shock there.” I laugh; it’s demented. I’m demented. “And I’m still married.”
“Married?” he echoes, calm.
I want him to yell. I need a reason to scream. To be screamed at. All I’ve felt for the last two days is hopeless desperation as I try to keep some semblance of control over my life. My body is vibrating with how bad things are and I need a release. To fight. To fuck.Something.Instead, he thumbs through the postcards and blows out a long breath, silent.
“Say something.”
“This is a lot.” The lines on his forehead deepen as he stares at the postcards. “You lied.”
“Not just to you.” It’s a shitty excuse. “I didn’t know what else to do. It was a mistake. He was ...”Too many things to list. “I was trying to forget. I’m sorry.”
He picks up the newspaper article about my father. “And this?”
“Another surprise.” I explain everything as he reads—my old dad, my new dad. “I’m the secret love child of a treasure hunter.”
Jonathan surprises me by laughing and my eyes narrow.
“Sorry.” He clears his throat. “This is a little amusing, don’t you think? Your dad is a treasure hunter, and you’re still married to a—what did your husband do again?”
“A traveling substitute teacher.” It sounds just as absurd now as it did eight years ago and the lift of Jonathan’s lips lets me know he agrees. “He was a high school history teacher for years,” I add, like it changes how stupid I was to fall for him.
I should have run for the hills when he said staying in the same school year after year was for the dull at heart. Should have pumped the brakes when he told me he preferred living out of hotels and short-term rentals to having a house laden with to-do lists.
Instead, I—a woman who never had a desire to leave the town I grew up in—ignored every warning sign and fell in love with a transient teacher like a dumbass.
And worse, as wrong as we were for each other and even all these years later, knowing where he is and having a stack of postcards from him in my possession has my heart pounding faster than it has since the day he drove away.
“Traveling substitute,” Jonathan repeats with a chuckle. “That’s right. Forgot about that. Who knew such a thing existed?”
“He’s a tour guide now,” I snap, blowing my bangs out of my face. “And why is that funny?”
“C’mon.” He angles his head, gesturing with the article. “You don’t see how unlikely this is?”
I know he is right, and yet I am livid. “Why?”
His smile dims—slightly. “Rue. You have to see how ironic this all is. You like order as much as I do. The predictability of things. It’s why we’re so good together. This is like you saying you married a clown and found out your dad is one of the Three Stooges. It’s just so far from who you are.”
“I was ...” I do not say besotted. “Confused.”
Jonathan rounds his desk to where I slouch. “I don’t like that you lied to me,” he says, “but ... I’ve been divorced. I know it’s complicated.” He smiles sympathetically. “We can take care of this. Probably resend the papers within the week.”
He shrugs, like it’s no big deal. Like me having a husband who is alive instead of dead and a treasure-hunting dad who doesn’t know I exist is just another day of filling cavities and reminding people to brush their gums.
“The other thing is—” He clears his throat. “And don’t get mad—I reached out to a friend who sells commercial real estate about Old Vines.”
