three.”
Now Owen laid a hand over hers. “That’s a hard thing to hear.”
“Yeah, I bet it was a lot harder for my father to hear—after the fact. She went, had an abortion, had her tubes tied, and never discussed those decisions with him. Never told him she was pregnant. Who does that?” she demanded, turning drenched eyes to him. “Who treats someone that way? She knew he wanted more kids, but she ended that possibility without telling him. It’s another, horrible kind of cheating.”
He said nothing, but got up, found a box of tissues in the bathroom and brought them to her.
“Thanks. Crying about it doesn’t help, but I can’t get a handle on it yet.”
“Then maybe crying about it does help.”
“According to her, what she’d done came out when they were fighting, and gee, he was upset and mad. What are the odds? She agreed to marriage counseling, but hey, she felt trapped and unhappy. So she had an affair. And another. She admitted to two, but there were more than two, Owen, before she left. Even I figured that out.”
She looked at him now. “You knew. Pretty much everyone knew she was fooling around.”
He considered a moment, looking into those devastated eyes. She didn’t want soothing evasions. “Yeah, pretty much.”
“My mother, the town slut. It was easier, really, when she left.”
This time he took her hand, brought it to his lips. “It’s never easy.”
“Maybe not, but at least it wasn’t in my father’s face, in mine, anymore. She stayed with the guy she left us for. That’s what she said, and it felt true. Steve. That was his name. I got all the how unhappy she’d been, how she’d needed more. How she loved this Steve guy.”
“She can justify what she did with that, to herself. You don’t have to accept it. You feel what you feel.”
“I felt hard. I didn’t like feeling it, but I did. I got lots of sorrys, lots of how pretty I am, how proud she is of what I’ve done with my life. Like she had something to do with it. Then it came out this Steve died, a few months ago.”
“So she’s alone,” Owen murmured.
“Yeah, and broke. That came out, too, when she asked if she could borrow a few thousand.”
He pushed up, walked to her window, stared out at the thickening snow. He couldn’t imagine, just couldn’t imagine a parent using a child for gain.
But he could imagine just how deep a wound it would score, especially in someone like Avery. “What did you do?”
“I said a lot of pretty harsh things. She cried more, Jesus, and begged. She wanted to stay here, with me. A couple weeks, she said, then just for the night. It made me sick, all of it, just sick. I gave her what I had in my wallet and kicked her out.”
“You did what you had to do, and that’s more than a lot of people would have.” He turned back. “Why didn’t you tell me, Avery? Why did you push me away instead of letting me help?”
“I didn’t tell anyone at first. I just couldn’t.”
He walked back, stood in front of her. “I’m not anyone.”
“You can’t understand, Owen. You can sympathize, and I wasn’t looking for sympathy. I don’t think I could’ve handled sympathy. But you can’t understand because you’ve never felt unwanted, not once in your life. You always knew your parents loved you, would’ve done anything to protect you. You don’t know, you don’t know how much I envied you your family, even before she left. How much I needed all of you, and you were always there. My dad and the Montgomerys. You were like my true north.”
“That hasn’t changed.”
“No, it hasn’t. But I had to make something of me, for me. No matter how bad things are, and sometimes they were bad in our house, you want your mother to be there, to love you. And when she doesn’t, you feel . . . less.”
Unable to think of another term, she lifted her hands, let them fall. “Just less. It didn’t matter what my dad said, what your parents said, and God knows they said and did everything right, I still felt she left because of me. That I was bad or unworthy or just not enough. The truth is, I wasn’t enough.”
“That’s not on you, Avery.”
“I know that. But sometimes you know one thing and feel another. Maybe what she did is part of the reason I worked so hard, pushed so hard, and have what I have. So, good for me.”
After a moment’s hesitation, she plunged on. “Even with that, there’s this thing—the thing that asks why I’ve never been able to maintain a strong, long-term relationship, why I’ve never felt enough to stick, or why I jump too soon, then look for a way out. So I worry that’s what she gave me.”
“It’s not.”
“I pushed you away.” Steadier, she looked at him again. “You’re right about that. I hit a rough patch, so my default is push away instead of pull in.”
“I’m right here.”
“That’s you, Owen. That’s because you don’t give up. You just work the problem until you have an answer.”
He sat. “What’s the answer, Avery?”
“You’re supposed to have it.” But she leaned her head on his shoulder. “I’m sorry. I hurt you, and I let you think you’d done something wrong when you hadn’t. I’ve already got issues, I guess, and seeing her just screwed me up. Not just with you—maybe mostly with you, but not just. I didn’t even tell my father. Then I was going to. I’d worked through it that far.”
He laid a hand over hers. “What did you cook?”
“God.” She blinked back tears. “So predictable. Soup. I took a big container of soup over to Dad’s, and she was there.”
Shifting, he pressed his lips to the top of her head. “Harder yet.”
“I don’t know. It just sort of flipped a switch. I was so mad, that she’d go there, make him feel any part of what she made me feel. He looked so sad when I burst in. So sad with her sitting there crying. I couldn’t
“He gave her five thousand, and told her she could have it if she never contacted me again. He told her to send him her number when she settled, and if I ever wanted to contact her, he’d pass it to me.”
“That’s Willy B,” Owen said quietly.
“I couldn’t understand why he’d give her money, and after she’d gone he told me it was because she was grieving. That’s the goodness in him. And it was because it closed a door he and I needed to close. That’s him thinking of me, him loving me.”
“He’s the best there is. But he’s not the only one who thinks of you.”
“I know. I’m lucky, even blessed. I couldn’t tell you, or Hope or Clare or anyone who really, really matters. I just couldn’t admit my mother came back after all these years because she’s alone and broke. No matter how sorry she may be for what she did, she only came back because she needed something. Knowing that makes me feel less. I wanted to close everybody out until I felt me again.”
He waited a moment. “I have some things to say.”
“Okay.”
“She’s less and always will be for turning her back on you, for walking away not just from her responsibilities but from the potential of you. She’ll never have a daughter who loves her absolutely, without reservation and with real joy. The way you love your dad. She’s less, Avery, not you.”
“Yes, but—”
“Not finished. Is your dad less?”
“God, no. He’s more than most people could be.”
“She left him, too. She walked out on him, without a word. Chose another man over him. She didn’t even give him the respect of truth, of a clean break with a divorce, but it didn’t make him less of a man, of a father, of a friend. She came back because she needed something, and she took his money.”
“It’s her, not him.”
