Page 73 of Broken Secrets
“Would you be willing to have lunch with me today? Just the two of us?” He fidgets with his coffee mug. “I know we’ve spent time together with Emma and your family, but I’d like a chance to talk with you alone. To get to know you without an audience.”
The request catches me off guard, but in a good way. “I’d like that.”
“Emma’s okay with it. She actually suggested it; said we needed some father-daughter bonding time.” He smiles slightly. “Though she doesn’t want to be alone at the Airbnb all afternoon, so Robert offered to let her hang out here until we get back.”
“Robert’s good at taking care of people.”
“He seems like a solid guy. You’re lucky to have him.”
There’s no bitterness in his voice when he says it, which surprises me. If I were in his position, knowing another man had raised my daughter for twelve years, I think I’d struggle with jealousy or resentment.
“You don’t mind? That Robert has been more of a father to me than…” I trail off, realizing how that sounds.
“Than I have?” Jeremy finishes gently. “Olivia, I’m grateful to Robert. He was there for you when I couldn’t be, and from what I can see, he did a damn good job. You’re confident, kind, intelligent, everything a father could want his daughter to be. If Robert helped shape you into the person you are, then I owe him a debt I can never repay.”
The generosity in his response makes my chest tight. I’ve spent so many years wondering if my biological father would approve of who I’ve become, and here he is, thanking my stepfather for the job he did raising me.
“So lunch?” Jeremy asks. “There’s a seafood place on the pier that looks nice. We could walk around afterward, maybe you could show me some of your favorite places in town.”
“I’d love that.”
“Okay, well, I will come by around noon with Emma. See you then?”
“Can’t wait.”
We’re settled at a table overlooking the harbor at Manny’s Seafood Shack, a local institution that’s been serving fish and chips to tourists and locals for thirty years. Jeremy ordered the salmon, I went with fish tacos, and we’re sharing an order of sweet potato fries that’s large enough to feed a small family.
“This is incredible,” Jeremy says, taking another bite of his fish. “Emma and I don’t get seafood this fresh in Michigan.”
“One of the perks of living on the coast. Though I probably take it for granted most of the time.”
“Tell me about growing up here. What was it like?”
I tell him about learning to swim in the ocean when I was five, about building sandcastles with Mom and Robert on weekend mornings. I describe my elementary school, which is three blocks from the beach, and how we used to have outdoor classes when the weather was perfect.
Jeremy listens with the kind of focused attention that makes me feel like every detail matters to him. He asks follow-up questions about my teachers, my friends, the soccer teams I played on as I got older. He wants to know about my favorite birthday parties, my worst injuries, the books I loved reading.
“I have about a million questions,” he admits, stealing another sweet potato fry. “Eighteen years’ worth of questions about your life, your personality, your experiences. I know I can’t catch up on everything at once, but I want to know as much as you’re willing to share.”
“I have questions too,” I say, gathering my courage. “About you and Mom. About what really happened.”
Jeremy’s expression grows more serious, but he nods. “Ask me anything.”
“How did the affair start?”
He’s quiet for a moment, choosing his words carefully. “Your mom and I got married young—too young, probably. We thought we were ready for adult responsibilities, but we were still kids ourselves. By the time you were conceived, we’d been married for five years and we were struggling.”
“Struggling how?”
“Money, mostly. I was working for an electrical contractor, doing residential jobs, but the pay wasn’t great. Your mom was working part-time at a gallery while trying to build her art career, but that wasn’t bringing in much either. Eventually she stopped and stayed home. We were behind on bills, fighting about bills, stressed about everything.”
“And Lilly?”
“Lilly was your mom’s best friend from high school.” He pushes his food around on his plate. “She started coming around more often, offering to help with things, being supportive when your mom and I were arguing.”
I can already see where this is going, but I need to hear him say it.
“She was there when your mom and I were fighting. She listened when I complained about our problems. She made me feel like I wasn’t failing at everything.” He looks up at me. “That’s not an excuse, it’s just what happened. I was weak and stupid and I made the worst possible choice.”
