Chapter 20

twenty

MARK

Monday happened to be my day off, and I was grateful for it.

After Candace marched away from me yesterday, I’d avoided everyone, skipped the Christmas party, and made the slow trek to the parking lot alone.

Twenty-four hours later, and I still wasn’t ready to talk to Candace or face well-meaning sympathy from the Judds.

Sleep hadn’t come easy last night. I missed Candace in bed beside me—her soft warmth, her lavender scent that lingered faintly on the pillow, even her sleepy mumblings—but I was still twisted up over what had happened. I didn’t know how to handle missing someone, loving them, and being angry at them all at the same time.

Rather than sleep, I’d replayed the events of the day over and over in my mind. Each time, my memories snagged on something new and painful. The way Hannah had gone from miserable to inconvenienced at Candace’s appearance. How suspicion had slowly entered the reverend’s features. The little shoes with sparkly butterflies Lyndsey had on her tiny feet. How defeated Candace had looked when she’d wiped her angry tears away.

Now, the afternoon sun was shining, and I was sitting out on the steps of my back deck drinking a beer in the cold. My gaze found the raised beds near the fence line. I had a polytunnel protecting my baby lettuces. They were nearly ready for harvesting after a long growing season sheltered by the plastic sheeting over half hoops.

A few minutes and several sips later, the cat wandered across the grass and toward the porch.

“You’re early for dinner,” I said.

His winter coat was in. The gray fur looked full and thick on his large frame. Yellow eyes scanned me briefly as he mounted the stairs.

With a sigh, I set my beer bottle down beside me, preparing to stand and get the beast his dinner. But before I could rise, the cat walked up to me, as casual as could be, and climbed into my lap. He placed one tentative paw on the thigh closest to him and then gracefully crossed to the other leg before sitting down like we did this all the time.

Alarmed, I left my arms and hands out to the side and froze, pretty sure I was going to get mauled any minute, but the cat simply looked out over the yard, sitting happy and content.

“What is happening right now?” I said quietly.

A moment later, a sound reached my ears. I tilted my head as I registered the steady thrumming coming from the vicinity of my lap. The damn thing was purring. I’d been feeding him for over two years. He’d barely wandered into the house, and I had a scar on my hand that had been his panicked handiwork. And now, the little shit was purring.

Swallowing, I cautiously moved my right hand. Slowly, I brought it close to his head. After a delicate sniff, the cat shocked the hell out of me by rubbing his face beneath my palm. I held my fingers gingerly as the cat worked to basically pet himself using my hand. Eventually, I extended a finger and crooked it beneath his chin. The purring rumbled louder in the quiet afternoon, and I felt a hesitant smile turn the corners of my lips. I didn’t dare speak again lest the sound disrupt whatever tentative peace we’d brokered.

I couldn’t wait to tell Candace. She’d been desperate to tame this furry beast, always talking to him while he ate his supper and bringing over cat toys to tempt him inside. She’d been convinced I needed a pet to take care of. A sudden ache had the smile slipping off my face .

I sighed and the cat looked up. His rusty meow wobbled from the vibrations of his purr. Maybe Candace had been right. Maybe this cat was rehabilitated and ready to try again.

After another few minutes of cautious petting, he stepped off my lap and went over to the water bowl I refilled daily. I rose and opened the back sliding door, leaving it open while I went in to prepare his dinner.

The cat followed, and when I placed the now-full dish of cat food on the kitchen floor, he walked over casually and started eating. I watched for long minutes as he consumed the offerings and then swiped a rough pink tongue over the side of his paw to clean his face. When he was finished, he wandered into the living room, like it was totally normal, and curled up on the couch.

I stood dumbfounded on the threshold as he closed his eyes and appeared to go to sleep.

“What brought all this on, huh?” He blinked sleepy yellow eyes my way and then ignored me, repositioning and curling more fully on his side. “What made you decide you could trust me all of a sudden?”

The cat didn’t answer.

I didn’t have much time to mull it over. A knock sounded at my front door, and I wondered, irrationally, if it was Candace.

Suddenly, the distance I’d craved last night and all day today abandoned me. I wanted it to be her. I wanted to hold her and apologize for the way things had gone down yesterday. I wanted to tell her I loved her too. I didn’t want to go another minute without setting things right.

With time and a bit of distance, I could see where Candace was coming from. The righteous indignation on my behalf. The anger and worry she’d been unable to contain. If the tables had been turned, I would have hated watching anyone hurt or demean her the same way. Hadn’t I inserted myself a time or two already? With her family, her sister, at the damn farmers’ market when someone called her Candy instead of the name she preferred?

I couldn’t imagine standing by while someone took advantage of her or tore her down, broke her heart, upended her life, and made her out to be the villain. So, yeah, maybe Candace hadn’t gone about it the right way, but I could see that she’d stood up for me because she cared. And that meant something .

But it wasn’t Candace at my door. It was a vision from my past and the least likely person I could imagine darkening my doorstep.

“Reverend,” I greeted, and then stood back. “How can I help you?”

“Can I come in for a moment? Have a word?”

I pulled the door open wider in answer. Some ingrained part of me who’d always sought his approval felt the same urge now. I’d been the grateful child, the helpful neighbor, the charity case, and the respectful son-in-law, so there were lots of people-pleasing parts to choose from. Nerves and nostalgia battled for dominance, but mostly I just felt sad that I’d devoted so much of my life to someone who’d cast me aside without a backward glance.

Reverend Price didn’t bother removing his jacket. Instead, he surveyed the living room briefly, noting the cat on the sofa, before sitting in one of the club chairs by the window. I wondered if, in that momentary glance, he remembered helping me refinish the floorboards after Hannah and I first moved in, or the time he watched Lyndsey take her first steps beside the coffee table in the center of the room.

I wiped my palms down the front of my jeans and sat in the chair opposite.

“Mark, I want to apologize.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on his thighs—a departure from his typically ruthless posture. This was his counseling pose, the bearing of an everyday man connecting with sinners. “Hannah relayed the truth of what happened—back in college. Her mother and I are grateful for what you did for our daughter and our grandchild. Decker, also, was unaware that you weren’t Lyndsey’s biological father. He shares our gratitude.”

At my blank look, Reverend Price clarified, “Hannah’s husband. He’s a good person and a wonderful father to Lyndsey. He loves her very much.”

I nodded. I’d only registered the unknown man at the farm the previous day in his proximity to Lyndsey, and then I hadn’t thought of him again. But I was glad Hannah had someone decent in her life. I was even more grateful that Lyndsey had a solid, loving presence—a father she deserved. From the look of things, their family was growing, and I didn’t begrudge them that either. I wanted Lyndsey to have a wonderful life with parents who adored her.

“It was wrong of Hannah to lie, but she made a mistake and has asked us and the Lord for forgiveness. ”

I noticed the reverend didn’t say that Hannah had been wrong in assuming they’d disown her for showing up pregnant out of wedlock at twenty years old. I guessed if my love was conditional and hypocritical, I wouldn’t advertise it either.

He also failed to indicate whether Hannah would be asking me for forgiveness. He was here in his daughter’s place, after all.

I resisted the urge to shake my head, realizing suddenly how much anger and resentment I still carried. The same emotions I’d forced down for years. Mark the reliable. Mark the safety net. Mark the pushover, the scapegoat, the doormat, the fall guy.

Candace had been right. Hannah was selfish and self-serving. Even now, she was playing the victim. Her father was here apologizing. Sure as hell wasn’t her.

The reverend clasped his hands loosely together. I had to give him credit, he held my gaze, unflinching and direct as always. “I can’t imagine how difficult that must have been for you, when Hannah left and took Lyndsey with her. You were always such a devoted husband and father in the short time you were married. I think we were all surprised and confused by the news of your separation. We were disappointed, of course.”

The steady cadence of his voice—instructional and unwavering, never raised—brought me back to our conversations as an adolescent. The same man who’d known me since I was a shy, withdrawn twelve-year-old...and had never once invited me to call him by his given name.

“If you’d like me to speak to Hannah and Decker about granting you time to see Lyndsey, I would be willing to do so.”

My gaze sharpened at the offer. It was a carrot dangling at the end of a string, a cruel suggestion in an attempt to assuage his own guilt.

But at what cost? Upheaval for Lyndsey? Trauma for me? Hannah was undoubtedly selfish, but she was also right. That little girl didn’t remember me, and having a weird uncle show up at her birthday parties would only confuse her. It would keep the pieces of my broken heart jagged. Lyndsey was never mine, and she never would be. I was grateful for the time I got to spend with her, a very short year of my life .

It wasn’t all Hannah’s fault. When she left, I should have been braver and fought harder for the part of my family I did love. But I’d been too busy being a martyr and taking the fall.

I hadn’t spoken since we’d sat down. I realized I didn’t owe the reverend anything. I didn’t need to reassure him, alleviate his guilt, or accept whatever too-little, too-late apology he was peddling. The Prices had no problem disregarding me over the years.

But that wasn’t the sort of person I wanted to be. Revenge and vindication weren’t the standards I lived by.

“I appreciate the offer,” I finally replied. “But I don’t want to confuse Lyndsey or try to make a place for myself in her life when it would only serve my own purpose. She has a father now, and that”—I cleared the emotion from my voice—“was all I ever wanted for her in the first place.”

“You’re a good man, Mark.”

That’s what it looks like when a real man takes care of his family.

I didn’t point out that it was that standard for masculinity that he’d thrown in my face yesterday, back when he thought I was a deadbeat.

When I remained quiet, Reverend Price stood. He didn’t hold out a hand to shake or offer any more platitudes, but he did hold my gaze and assert, “There won’t be any further problems from my flock. I’ll see to that.”

Problems . What a way to describe harassment and cruelty. Flock , too, seemed too tame for the kinds of people he guided from the pulpit.

I rose and nodded before making my way to the door.

The man left as quietly as he came. He’d never been the type for dramatics, just quiet resolve and unyielding expectation. And he wasn’t a part of my life anymore.

Perhaps there had been a time when the Prices were my family. But their love and affection always had a price tag.

I thought of Amy Judd and her kind face and knowing smile. Nick on the back of a tractor, a supportive slap on the back. A seat at their table and a welcome at the farmhouse whenever I wanted it. Holidays, birthdays, and Tupperware slipped into my hand at the end of the night. No questions or judgment about my failed marriage. Joan gripping my shoulder and threatening revenge on judgy neighbors. Brady and a trivia night text message for as long as I could remember.

For years I’d had a prime example of how acceptance worked in a loving family. No qualifiers, no hoops to jump through. The Judds worked together and loved together and supported one another every step of the way, whether it be a home-cooked meal, or tough love and a blanket on the back porch. It was support that spanned time and space. It was a welcome home and a surprise pickup from the airport after seven years away. Their kind of love was limitless and unconditional.

I just hadn’t realized I’d been included in it all along.

As I stood in the center of my living room and contemplated the family I’d been blessed with, I felt cool air blow in from the back door. I’d left it cracked for the cat in case he had buyer’s remorse and panicked, thinking he’d been trapped inside.

My gaze cut to the couch, sure the long-haired beast would be long gone, but there he was, still curled up on the soft cushion, as if he’d always been there—like that particular spot was already his.

A moment later, I felt my phone vibrate in my pocket. I smiled down at the text message on the screen before casting another glance over to the sleeping feline.

With the device clutched in my hand, I thought it might be time for me to be brave too. It wasn’t too late to change your plans, to live a new sort of life, one that was bigger and louder than what the voice in your head told you that you deserved.

So I typed out three letters and hit send before I could change my mind.

Trailview Brewing was packed that night.

People crowded around wooden picnic tables, locals and leafers alike. Tourists might not be in Kirby Falls for the autumn leaves, but they were content to travel, seeking the small-town holiday experience just as readily. With Christmas only two weeks away and plenty of events planned between now and then, the leafers wouldn’t let up until after the new year.

I slipped through the crowd on my way to the bar as old, lingering anxiety made itself known. I caught myself scanning faces and bracing for impact. Then I told myself to fight my fears and fight for the life I wanted—one that was open and free and whatever I wanted it to be.

I forced a slow inhale and kept walking to place my order.

With the cold weather, the brewery had lowered the sides of the clear canopy enclosure and cranked the heaters up. I wouldn’t need the heavyweight winter jacket I wore once I got settled.

With a glass of Trailview’s brown ale in one hand, I skirted the edge of the trivia host’s table and looked for Brady among the masses.

He found me first, standing on the bench like a drama queen and spreading his arms wide. “Mark Mercer, as I live and breathe.”

I rolled my eyes and headed toward him.

He’d climbed down by the time I reached his table, but he was still grinning as I took a seat across from him.

“How the hell are you?” he asked. Then I watched the immature-frat-boy persona fall away and read real concern in his eyes. He’d witnessed everything that had gone down at Grandpappy’s yesterday too.

“I’m okay,” I replied honestly. But hopefully soon there’d be the potential for more than that.

I clinked my glass to his and took a sip before greeting the two other men at the table. Cole Abernathy was on my left and Jase Wilcox sat across from him. They’d both been friends with Brady since elementary school, and I’d been around them plenty in the years I’d been working for the Judds.

“Good to see you,” the man nearly everyone called Abby said. “And thanks for coming out to Flyers’s opening a couple of months back. You took off before we got a chance to talk.”

“No problem. It was great. I hope business is good. ”

While Abby gave me an update on his newest venture, I thought back to that October evening with Candace, legs folded beneath a too-small table, our knees pressed together. The way I’d wanted her—her time and attention and love—but I’d forced all those complicated feelings aside, held myself back, and tried my best to be her friend instead. I’d been scared to wish for more, too afraid of losing her before I even had her.

Maybe love and loss would always be tethered together in my mind. Two sides of the same coin. I hadn’t experienced one without the other. But I didn’t want my relationship with Candace to come down to a coin toss.

“You ready, Mercer?” Brady asked, pulling me out of my thoughts and holding out his pint.

As the intro music for Trivia Night began, I let myself sink into the experience—one I’d avoided for so long. The simplicity of it. The novelty. The community.

“Yeah,” I replied. Then I clinked my glass to his again and gave myself permission to have fun.

There was room for more in my life. I’d made it small on purpose. And I’d kept it that way to ensure my safety. But I could take up space. I could grow, and I didn’t have to do it alone.

I had a life I loved—or the potential for one. It was time I started living it.