Page 110 of All We Need

I want to protest whenBoothlets go of my hand until he rubs my back in reassuring circles.

Martin’s silence irritates me, whichIknow is unfair—which irritates me further.

“Harvey’s mom, do you speak to her?”

“Not in over thirty years,” he replies solemnly.

My heart drops.

“Do you know the best way to contactHarvey?”

His regret simmers andIalready know his response. “It’sbeen so long.I’msorry.”Thelast two words are barely above a whisper.

“There’s no record of aHarveyWillisafter his graduation from a high school inWisconsin.Isthat where they live?”

Again, nothing.

My skin grows flushed. “Doyou know if he’s married?Hasother children?”

He shakes his head and he slumps further into himself.Witheach question and no answer, we both grow more irate.

Realization hits me in the chest like a sledgehammer.

He doesn’t know where they live.Heknows nothing about his ex-wife or son.Heknowsnothing.

All of this, for nothing?

I up and left my apartment, my job, bought a restaurant on a whim, and spent weeks in a small town in the middle of nowhere.Andfor what?Thisis nothing like the meetup with my birth mother.Somehowit’s worse.Igave up nothing then.Now, so much is on the line.

Subtly,Boothtaps the side of his leg with his index finger.Myeyes follow that tiny movement.Myemotions don’t control me.Iam in control.Ifthis were a meeting with a prospective investment and it wasn’t going smoothly,Iwould shut it down.

Which is whatIneed to do here.

“Obviously, this was a waste of time.Iapologize for bothering you.”Myvoice is sharp enough to cut a diamond.

“Aly,”Boothwhispers softly asIwipe my sweaty palms down my pants.

Monotone words halt me.

“He might have taken his mother’s maiden name.”Martinscrubs a thin hand down his face. “ThereasonIdon’t know his or his mother’s whereabouts is becauseInever looked for them, as per her request, andIwanted to respect her wishes.”

My stomach churns.Whatreason would his wife have for never wanting to see him again?Thankfully, he stops my mind from going to the worst places.

“I was absent.Workobsessed.”Thisis the mostI’vegotten all evening, and it doesn’t come easily.Hisjaw is tight, eyes hard. “Sheasked me to spend more time with her andHarvey, andIignored her.Providingmy family with a big house”—he gestures around us—“toys, nice clothes was more important.Whenshe slowly withdrew,Ididn’t fight.Iworked longer hours and buried my head in the sand.Irealized too late that her threat about leaving me wasn’t empty.”

Indignation tickles my throat.

The remorse etched inMartin’sface tells me he’s punished himself enough over the years.IfIthought he was uncomfortable before, it’s nothing compared to his rigid posture and distraught expression now.

His candor doesn’t change the outcome.

“I’ll try.”Hiseyelids close, heavy with emotion before opening again. “I’lltry to reach them.Please…please give me some time.It’sthe leastIcan do.”

Time isn’t somethingIhave much of.That’snot to say my search ends whenIleaveSuttonBay, but canIdo this without the safe, supportive arms of the man next to me?

For some unknown reason, that question bothers me.

I did well alone.LongbeforeBoothcame along.

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