Page 89 of Can't Get Over You
In a lot of ways, yes. But he couldn’t help worrying… “What happened with Mrs. Atherton is the norm for me. What if Cody’d been there and seen the way she treated me?”
“I would’ve immediately shot her down. And I’d explain small-minded, grudge-holders to him.”
“My champion.” He kissed her cheek. “But I guarantee I’m going to get a lot more of that while I’m in town, and that means Cody will, too. He’s just starting out in school. I don’t want him to get branded as the bad kid.” He brought her handto his mouth and kissed her palm. “That was the whole point in keeping my distance from you.”
“You keep saying that, but I’m not buying it. I think you’re afraid of losing me.”
“What do you mean?”
“Jude, you lost yourmom.You might not remember much about her, but you had her for the first six years of your life, and then, she was gone. And not only that, but your dad up and moved you from the only life you knew.”
“That was a long time ago,” he said, even though it rang true.
“I’m not a psychologist, but I’d think such an abrupt change would deeply impact a kid.”
“I had Ava.” Though it sounded hollow even to him.
“And thank goodness for that, but did anyone ever help you through your loss? Did you see a therapist?”
“No. I don’t remember talking about any of it.”
“You were ripped out of your safe, comfortable world, and no one helped you process the loss. Why would you want a wife and kids when you learned it could all be taken away from you?”
“I had a good life.” Oddly, his voice sounded faraway—like he was listening to himself through a wall. “A good family.”
“Sure, but there’s a six-year-old boy inside you who’s still waiting for his mom to come home.”
He’d crashed his bike before. An elk leaped onto Gallatin Road right in front of him. He’d veered sharply, narrowly avoiding the animal. But that same jarring, electric fear rang through him at that moment. “I never thought of it like that.”
“And then, right after she died, your dad moved you, right?”
“Yeah, he needed a job with benefits right away. He applied to anything he could find, and when he got a last-minute interview in San Francisco, he packed us up and hit the road.”
“How’d he wind up in Calamity, of all places?”
“He ran out of money.”
“What do you mean? I’m not seeing the connection.”
“He had a car full of hungry, tired kids, so he stopped at the Hole in the Wall diner to feed us but couldn’t pay the bill. I guess the club president was there and saw the whole thing go down. He paid and then asked if my dad had a place to stay that night. And with four kids—one of them a newborn—he knew he wasn’t going to make it to California, so he stayed. They set him up with room and board, childcare, clothes for the kids…everything. They took care of him.”
“That’s amazing. I never knew any of that. Do you have pictures of your mom?”
“Not a single one. From what I understand, they lived in student housing. They didn’t have much of anything, to begin with, but my dad took what he could fit in the minivan and hit the road.”
“Have you looked her up online?”
“There are hundreds of Mary McKennas, and I don’t think she had much family.”
“I guess he must’ve really loved her.”
“My dad?” Funny, but he’d never really thought about it.
“Yeah, I mean, in all these years, he’s never remarried.”
“Oh, yeah. Like I said, we’re just not built like that.”
“There you go again. But you know what? I see you, Jude McKenna.” She pointed two fingers at her eyes and then at his. “You can say it all you want, but your dad was built like that once, right? He was married and had four children. It’s more likely that, after such a big loss, he isn’t willing to open his heart again. I hope you don’t let that happen to you.”
