Page 151 of The Promise Of You

“That’s enough,” I hiss, my gaze darting between the three of them. “Justin!” He’s the only one I can count on to tell me the truth.

He gives me a small shake of the head. “Not my story to tell.”

Dad rubs his forehead with the back of his thumb. “Uh.” He smacks his lips. “Son, mind giving me a minute with my daughter?”

Justin tenses, and not lightly. It’s a full-on body reaction. At what, I’m not sure. Being called son? Being told to step away?

“It’s okay, Dad,” I gently nudge. “I don’t keep secrets from him.” I tuck my body closer into Justin. “We… we’re really serious. Whatever’s going on, I’ll share with him anyway.”

Dad chuckles. Does the back of the thumb rub again.

Mom bats her eyelashes at me. “Dahling, not tonight.”

Dad looks at me. “Tonight’s actually a good night. Let’s go for a walk. You and I need to talk.”

I glance at my staff serving dinner. “I—can this wait ’til tomorrow? How long are you in town for?”

“It’s a’right, Clover. We got you covered here.” Justin kisses my forehead tenderly and then turns to Dad as he lets go of me. “You handle her carefully, now.”

My eyes bug out, and I lose my breath. I turn to Dad—expecting some kind of cataclysmic incident—but then Dad answers, “Count on me.”

And what was that?

The conversation with Dad is one-sided and lasts more than a minute. And when it’s done, my world is shattered and put back together. It looks different. Worse in some ways. Maybe better in others.

At any rate, a lot of things make sense now.

Justin hands me a beer and sits next to me on the steps off my deck, Moose at our feet. “You good?”

It’s night. We just got to the cottage. The evening ended on the early side. Mom and Dad left shortly after my long talk with Dad. The Wards’ memorial dinner wrapped up early. “I’m good.”

“Been quite a day for you.” He reaches for my free hand and links our fingers together.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I whisper, tears rushing to my eyes.

“It wasn’t my story to tell,” he says, repeating his earlier statement.

It was, but I get him.

Ten years ago, Dad was in Emerald Creek with Uncle Kevin for the closing on the purchase of the restaurant and the signing of a new lease on the space. They drove back at night. It was dark and visibility was low because there was a storm, but they were excited, they were in a hurry to get home, Uncle Kevin eager to celebrate. Dad was having a good day with his brother-in-law, which is not something to gloss over, since I’ve never heard Dad say anything good about his wife’s brother. But it was one of those days where Uncle Kevin seemed to be getting his shit together, and that made Mom happy.

Dad sharing that surprised me, as it was the first I’d heard that Uncle Kevin didn’t have his shit together, for pretty much all his life.

Lots of things are starting to make sense now.

Back to that night, Uncle Kevin was driving in the pouring rain, too fast, too careless, not paying attention, not having his eye on the road, not realizing the road was slippery. He didn’t see an upcoming curve, and got to the curve too fast, overcompensating, hitting a car stopped at the intersection.

Hitting it full force, sending it barreling and tumbling.

It was an old car, unequipped with airbags or all those fancy systems that prevent cars from catching fire.

It caught fire.

Uncle Kevin and Dad were in a newer car. They had all the bells and whistles. Still, it took them minutes, long minutes to emerge, dizzy and confused.

They called nine-one-one.

They stumbled to the other car, maybe a hundred feet away, such was the force of the impact, hastening their steps to bring assistance, then holding back when the car caught fire, not believing their eyes when they saw one silhouette pull another one out of the inferno. Then moving again because although they’d caused the accident, they weren’t monsters.

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