Page 67 of Forgotten Dreams

“I agree one hundred percent.” I swallow. “But ever since she started looking for them, she’s been threatened.”

“What do you mean she’s been threatened?” My father’s voice comes out sharp, very much a dad voice, like “you better tell me this right now, or else.” So I fill them in on everything, and I mean everything. I don’t keep anything from them. From the talks with Bruce to her fucking whiteboard and tracing her ancestry, I lay it all out for them, including just storming out on her.

“Oh, honey,” my mother whispers when I finally stop talking, “you were one hundred percent”—I wait for it—“wrong.”

“What?” I say, shocked.

“You are wrong, honey,” she repeats, then looks at my father. “He got that from you.”

“But she’s hell-bent on putting herself in danger,” I try to defend myself.

“She’s not trying to put herself in danger.” My mother quickly defends her. “She has no control on how others deal with things. The only thing she can control is how she is dealing with this.”

“But,” my father interrupts, “he’s just protecting her.”

“By storming out of the house and leaving her alone?” My mother rolls her eyes and shakes her head. “Come on, Caleb, put yourself in her shoes.” I listen to her. “She has no idea who she is. You don’t know what it feels like waking up in the morning and wondering who you are.”

“She knows exactly who she is. She’s—” I think of a word to do her justice, but there’s only one word I can think of. “She’s everything.”

“You can’t ask her to choose between finding out the truth about herself and you.” My father sighs.

“I don’t want to make her choose.”

“But you do, you just told her that.” I close my eyes. “Telling her it’s over isn’t you being supportive.”

“I don’t want her to get hurt!” I roar out. “The thought of her being hurt is just too fucking much.”

“And there it lies,” my mother declares, “he’s in love with her, and this is how he acts.” I stare at her in shock.

“In his defense, I don’t think he knew he was in love with her.” My father argues my side as if I’m not sitting here.

“I just want her safe,” I whisper. “I want her to have everything she wants. I just want her to do it by not putting herself in danger.”

“So you don’t leave her.” My mother hits the counter in front of her. “You stand beside her and brace for whatever comes her way, holding her up. You don’t leave her to be knocked down with no way to get up.” She pushes away from the counter. “I thought I raised you better.” She shakes her head. “You get off your stubborn ass and go see her?—”

“I think you need to decide,” my father cuts in by inching forward, “if you want to be the one helping hold her up. If you don’t, then walk away.” I grit my teeth. “But if you do, get ready to brace the fucking storm that is going to come to her.”

“What if I can’t protect her?” I ask the question that scares me the most. “What if I do all this, and I can’t protect her from this and then I lose her?”

“What if you don’t?” my father retorts. “What if you can protect her and you don’t lose her?” He smiles sadly. “It’s up to you to decide what you want to do. But be honest with both of you. Tell her how you feel and how scared you are.” He trails off. “Now, I’ll let you go because you have some thinking to do. You call us tomorrow, yeah?”

“I will.” I nod. “Thank you, guys.”

“It’s what we are here for,” my father says. “Love you, son.”

“I mildly like you right now, I’ll know more tomorrow when you call us back,” Mom snaps and then hangs up on me.

I turn to the side, looking at the stack of papers, already knowing what my answer is. Also knowing I have to be sure before I go to her, because my father was right. I’m scared something is going to happen to her, and I’m also scared I won’t survive it.

Chapter 29

Sierra

I pick up the last box in the garage with living room written on it before turning and walking up the two stairs back to the mudroom. I go through the family room, which is still empty since I haven’t even started to decorate it yet, toward the living room in the front, which I’ve now named my reading room instead of the living room.

Placing it down among all the other boxes, I try not to let my mind drift to the fight Caleb and I had a couple of hours ago. I’m ignoring how mad I am that he just doesn’t get it. I start to open the box when I hear a car door slam shut. My eyes go to the front door at the same time my heart speeds up, going a mile a minute. My breathing starts to come out in pants as I hear the footsteps on the steps.

My eyes fixate on the door, hoping it’s going to open and he’s going to be standing there. Hoping it’s him and he’ll come in and hug me and I’ll feel safe. Every single second feels like an eternity. Every single second the hope that it’s him goes higher and higher. Until it crashes and burns when the hand comes up and knocks at the front door.

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