Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 410(@200wpm)___ 328(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
I gulped. Worth’s coolness toward Monroe at Holden’s house made more sense now. And while I cared for Monroe and all the others as friends, my main concern was Worth. For him, I’d do battle with anyone.
“Let me talk to Monroe. I can suggest he go in a different direction. At the very least, we can ask him to downplay the hints of an actual affair.”
“Why? Monroe is probably right.” Worth sounded so resigned that I was afraid to touch him, fearing he might crumble like old paper. “And you’re right too. It’s not her fault.”
“Of course—” I started to agree, but he held up a hand.
“It’s mine.”
“What?” I swallowed hard, the air turning dry and raspy, the lovely summer breeze all but gone now. “No way.”
“It’s my fault she was unhappy.” Worth stated it simply, but anger laced each word, sharp and deadly. I’d been wrong. He wasn’t mad at the killer or his mother. All his loathing was directed inward.
“Because you chose a pricey college? She was so proud of you. I might have been younger, but I remember how she bragged on you.” I squinted into the late-afternoon sun. “Kids grow up. They leave home. It sucks. I see it with my program even. It’s bittersweet when kids age out or finish school, moving on with their lives.”
“Not unhappy over me leaving, although there was that.” Worth’s speech slowed, each word more deliberate than the last. “The marriage. The one everyone thought was so perfect. It wasn’t only the money arguments that summer. There were cracks around the edges for far longer than that.”
He exhaled hard. Inhaled. Exhaled again as if building up to some monumental task.
“You can tell me anything,” I whispered. I’d take whatever he was about to say to the grave. Worth had borne the burden of blame far too long. I wanted to help him carry the weight of his secrets. And so I waited, breathing alongside him.
The dry air crackled.
“I’m not my father’s son.”
Chapter Fifteen
Worth
In my lifetime, I had spoken any number of difficult sentences aloud. The first time saying something was always the worst. Clammy hands, racing pulse, churning gut. A whole list of sensations that tended to get better as soon as the admission was out.
Tended.
As soon as I told Sam the one secret I’d never told a single soul, my stomach revolted, all that fruit turning to vinegar.
“Breathe.” Sam’s voice seemed to come from a great distance, but his hand was warm and steady on my back. “In. Out.”
He rubbed circles on my back and murmured soothing nonsense as I followed his simple instructions. Breathe. Sip water. And slowly, the urge to vomit, flee, or both dissipated.
“You were adopted?” Eyebrows knitting together, Sam glanced at Buttercup, who was cavorting in the dry dirt. “Wouldn’t that have come up in the case?”
“If anyone had known.” I followed his gaze to Buttercup. Watching the dog was far easier than watching Sam’s face. “I wasn’t even supposed to know. It wasn’t an adoption. His name is on my birth certificate. But he’s not my biological father.”
“How’d you find out?” Sam used his hand on my back to pull me closer against his side.
“I was nine or ten. Too old to be having nightmares and trouble falling asleep.” The same old-fashioned attitude that had led my father to declare me too old for baths had also made bedtime contentious for a number of years. “My parents argued over whether I was allowed to have a little light on. Mom lost that argument, and one hot summer night, I couldn’t sleep. I crept downstairs for some cold water, and they were arguing in the living room. I went halfway back upstairs, out of sight.”
“But still listening in.” Sam’s tone was fond as he lightly massaged my shoulders. His lack of judgment made it easier to keep going.
“Yup. They’d recently been to Portland to see a fertility specialist because all attempts to give me a sibling had failed. And they’d just learned Dad was sterile.”
“Oh crap.” Breath quickening, Sam stopped the massage, leaning forward slightly.
“Apparently, back when they were dating, there was a period where they were an on-again-off-again deal. He was older than her, more old-fashioned, and already owned this house, and she wasn’t sure she was ready to settle down and get serious. During one of their breakups, she hooked up with someone else during a one-night stand and thought it was no big deal.”
“Big deal?” Sam whistled low.
“Yeah.” My voice turned hoarse. “When they argued that night, she said she’d always thought he was the father, had never even entertained the possibility except when the evidence was undeniable.”
“So she never intended to dupe your dad.” That was Sam. Always quick to see the good in everyone. With Sam, intentions mattered. But for the rest of the world, outcome and appearances tended to be the decisive factors.