“Is there a downside to that one?” Brooke asked.
“I’m worried about the political situation,” Pete admitted. “Conservation isn’t exactly a big priority with the current administration. If there are layoffs or budget cuts, I’d be the first one to be let go.”
Brooke tried to clandestinely wipe her sweaty palms with the crumpled paper napkin she still clutched in her fist. “So,” she said cheerfully, “would you want to go back out west?”
Pete’s gaze was level and direct. “That would depend on where I stand with you, Brooke. I mean, I’ve been thinking about this ever since I saw you last week. I still have no idea how you feel about us. I mean, give me a clue here, will you?”
He looked down at her hands and frowned. He gestured toward her hand. “What the hell? Is that an engagement ring? You got engaged since I last saw you?”
“No! I mean, no, it’s not an engagement ring. It’s a gift from my mom, who just inherited it, which is another long story.”
She took a deep breath and reached into her pocket. She handed him a color photo of Henry as an infant, his hair downy, eyelashes thick and lush.
“This is Henry at six months, right after he started sitting up. I named him that after my grandfather, my mom’s father, who we called Pops. He died before I was born. You want to know something funny? Last week, I found out that Granny had a secret affair with her best friend’s older brother. His name was Gardiner Bettendorf. It was at the very beginning of the war. She’d been in love with him most of her life but never dared let anybody know. They had a one-night stand, and then his plane was shot down over France.”
Pete looked puzzled.
“Granny got pregnant that night. But by the time her letter arrived, telling Gardiner he was going to be a father, he was already dead. Being an unwed mother back then, in her social circles, would have been unthinkable. So she married another man, Henry Updegraff, my pops.”
He was still looking deeply confused.
“Here,” she said, thrusting the bag at him. “I brought us lunch. Have a sandwich. They make these amazing sandwiches at Back in the Day. From their own bread. There are cookies too.” She was babbling, and she knew it.
He unwrapped a sandwich and took a bite, chewing slowly. “Why are you telling me all this? I mean, it’s interesting, but what’s it got to do with us?”
“Take a good look at that picture of Henry, please. Tell me what you see.”
“I’m not sure. I mean, I guess he looks like you. He has your lips.”
She sighed. “And he has his father’s eyes. And nose. And jaw. Henry’s yours, Pete. He’s your son.”
Pete’s sandwich dropped onto the bag on his lap. “You said the other day it was some guy who wasn’t in your life anymore.”
“Which was true. I let you slip out of my life, Pete. You were so far away, and things were so new and raw between us. You were so excited about your work in Alaska, I told myself I couldn’t ask you to give that up and come back here. You said it yourself, remember? A once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. I thought you would have resented the baby and resented me.”
“No!” Pete said. “Goddamn it! You had my baby and you didn’t even tell me?”
Brooke bit her lip. “I know now how wrong I was. You had a right to know. And you have a right to know your son now, if that’s what you want.”
Pete’s eyes narrowed. His voice was hoarse, choky. “You mean you didn’t want me to come back when you found out about the baby, isn’t that it? I would have come back. I would have been here for you, no question. Don’t you know that about me? Do you think so little of me that I would resent you or our child?”
“It’s not you that I think so little of, it’s me,” Brooke said, looking away. “When I figured out I was pregnant, I wouldn’t allow myself to believe that you would want me. Who would? I was a mess. And now I am a mess with baggage. A kid.”
Pete stared down at the photo of Henry.
“I’m telling you about him now, Pete, because I finally realize what a horrible thing I did. I hope it’s not too late. Henry needs a father. He deserves a family, whatever that means.”
She reached out and touched the hand holding the photo. “I’m so sorry I screwed this up. Seeing you now, all my careful reasoning doesn’t hold up. It never did.”
Pete got up and slammed the bag lunch into the trash. He whirled around to face her. “So what am I supposed to do with this information? You spring this on me out of nowhere. ‘Hey, guess what? You’ve got a three-year-old son.’ What the hell, Brooke?”
“You do whatever you want with this information,” she said, her voice strained. “I can’t say I’m sorry enough, I know. But I couldn’t keep this secret any longer. It should never have been a secret.”
He paced back and forth in front of the bench, staring down at the photo of Henry. “What time is it?”
“Quarter to one,” she said.
“I gotta go,” he said abruptly. “My flight’s gonna leave soon. You think I can catch a cab or an Uber or something from here?”
