Page 60 of Winter's End

Although, it was my parents who’d announced they’d been in a long-term open marriage in front of four men, three of whom they didn’t really know, so perhaps my judgment was way off on that one.

I kissed Travis goodbye as we left my apartment together.

“Call you later,” he promised, leaving me to drown in my overwhelming apprehension.

I was being dramatic; after all the truly dangerous things we had hanging over our heads in the last eight months, here I was, terrified to have an adult conversation with my father.

The drive to my parents’ house whizzed by on autopilot. I swallowed every angry bee buzzing in my gut and steeled myself for whatever would be said in the next hour. Good or bad—most likely bad—I could handle it.

I used one of the breathing techniques Logan had taught me. Basil and I sat in the circular driveway, my limbs too heavy to move on their own. It was more effective than I’d hoped; a contented calm crept into my veins and stopped in the recesses of my heart—enough for my legs to carry me into the cavernous foyer of my childhood without an accompanying panic attack.

“Hi, honey.” Dad’s voice came from somewhere beyond the kitchen at the same time I closed the heavy wooden door behind me. “We’re in your mother’s office.”

My mother’s office was on the opposite side of the house. Nestled behind the garage, it had an expansive view of an exposed ravine on one side of the property. Normally a beautiful sight, this morning’s dense fog obscured the lush forest. I took that for the ominous sign it was.

Mom and Dad were chatting quietly on the gold velvet couch centered in the room and got to their feet when I walked in. I submitted awkwardly to their hugs beforevacating to the overstuffed slipper chair across from them. I rested my feet on the wicker coffee table that acted as a buffer between us.

“You’re alone?” Mom questioned after they had both settled again. “I assumed you’d bring one of your boyfriends with you.”

Bemused, my brows rose quizzically. “This seemed like a Wallace family matter, so here I am.”

Dad cleared his throat. At the clear sign of his discomfort, I took the moment to appraise my usually handsome father. His hair seemed to be graying a lot faster at his temples, and puffy bags of skin hung below his eyelids. He looked like he hadn’t slept in days and he’d rather be anywhere but here.

That makes two of us.

Mom looked unflappable as always, but then again, she was always the hardest to read. I seldom knew what to expect from my mother—I just knew she never responded in the way I needed or hoped for.

Wah, wah, poor me.

“Why don’t we get this over with?” The words came out bitchier than intended, but I was so damn tired of the lies, the half-truths, and excuses of protecting me. “What did you want to discuss?”

Dad didn’t look surprised at my outburst. Instead, he released a long breath and scrubbed his face with his palms.

“It’s come to my attention that you’re aware of some … things, and I’m embarrassed that you had to find out from someone else.”

Aware of some things… That statement was a loaded machine gun with a heavy hand on the trigger.

I remained silent, not trusting that any break in his concentration wouldn’t stop the conversation from happening all together. I willed my face to maintain a neutral, open mask, hoping to hell my strong lack of filter wouldn’t betray me.

Sure enough, a few time-expanding seconds later, Dad told his story. The true version of it.

“I grew up in Cascade Falls. Just outside of it, actually, on the old Thompson Road. I bounced from foster home to foster home from the time I was nine. My father was a deadbeat, and my mother was an addict, and child services removed me four times before deciding to get me out of there permanently. My foster homes weren’t much better—I had my fair share of abuse, so I stayed with Emmett mostly, when his mother would let me. Native American families didn’t have the same rights in the system, and they weren’t legally allowed to foster me, let alone adopt me, so I’d just run away and escape there whenever I could. It was because of them I stayed on the straight and narrow to even hope to go to university. They probably saved my life.”

My heart hurt, thinking of any child in that situation. My parents were absent, but they weren’t bad people. A chink appeared in my long-time frustration with them. Maybe Dad just didn’t know how to be a good parent.

“We should have told you we had a history here. I thought because we had the freedom of no family ties, and with my dark cloud of an upbringing, that it would be better for you to think this place was a fresh start for all of us.”

Like a five-year-old would have cared about whether Daddy grew up down the street. I could understand the foster system was a complicated machine to explain to a small child, but we could have had this conversation light years before now.

“When you were a teenager, I had hoped to come clean.” Dad continued, as if reading my mind. “And then everything happened between you and the Baker boy, and it wasn’t the right time or place. And I was feeling guilty enough about what that boy did to you as it was. I didn’t want to admit that we had lied to you on top of it.”

My brain stuttered. “Why would you feel guilty? It wasn’t your fault.”

I could have said Mom could have toned down her sexual rights vendetta and kept me out of national newspapers—thathadbeen her fault—but that wasn’t the point of today’s talk. It would only fall on deaf ears, anyway.

Oddly, my older look-alike kept quiet. Her hand lightly stroked Dad’s arm as he regaled his tale. Her lips were flat and her eyes were tight, as if this was painful for her, too.

“Wyatt Baker was a dick, just like his son.” The venom in Dad’s tone took me aback.

---