Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“I found out later that my father forced my mother to leave. He convinced her that he could give me a better life. She didn’t believe him, but then he threatened both of our lives, and, according to Grandma, he meant it. Knowing what I know about him now, yes, he meant it.”
I swallow. It doesn’t help the nausea.
“My mother felt she had no choice. She figured the best thing to do was disappear and make me a ward of the state. She thought that would protect me.” Mom shakes her head. “I never had the heart to tell her what actually happened. Not everything, anyway.”
“You okay, baby?” Dad squeezes Mom’s hand.
“I’m fine. I need to get this out as much as Ava needs to hear it.”
I don’t realize I’m squeezing what’s left of the cookie until I see the crumbs on top of my salad. Peanut-butter-cookie salad. Great.
“You’re aware of how your father and I met.”
I nod.
“If not for my father and his mother, we wouldn’t have met, and he and I have had a wonderful life together. We were blessed with you and Gina, and… That’s how I’ve come to think of all of this, Ava. As a blessing in disguise. But when I tell you…”
“When you tell me what?”
“She’s strong, Ruby,” Dad says. “She can handle it. She handled my story with the strength of a thousand warriors.”
I gulp. I’m not sure I do justice to Dad’s words, but I nod. “I’m okay, Mom.”
Mom nods and then meets my gaze, her blue eyes full of determination. “When I was fifteen, Ava, my father tried to rape me.”
Chapter Forty
Brendan
“What is that?” Lamone asks, eyeing the paper in my hand.
“It’s…” Am I at liberty to say? He certainly has the right to know his heritage, but Lauren and Jack seem like nice people, and we’re in their home.
Lauren takes the paper from me and hands it to Pat. “Here. This is your business. If you’re wondering, you are a Steel. And you are my son. I gave you up after I had you.”
Lamone’s eyes grow wide. “So it’s true. But who is William Steel?”
“As far as we know,” Dad says, “he was the half brother of Brad Steel. His father was George Steel, Brad’s father.”
“Who was his mother?” Lamone asks.
“Not Mackenzie Steel, who was his wife,” I say. “And we don’t know. William was apparently the result of an extramarital affair between George Steel and another woman. Mackenzie Steel only had one child. She wasn’t able to give George more children.”
“How do you know all this?” Dad asks me.
“Dale told me the whole story. He asked his dad and his uncle.”
“It’s…nice to meet you,” Pat says to Lauren. “I would have come sooner, but I had a hard time tracking you down.”
“My mother went out of her way to make sure you couldn’t find me when you were younger. I’m sorry about that.”
Pat nods. “Thank you…you know. For giving me life and all that.”
Lauren nods. “I’m sorry I couldn’t keep you.”
“I understand. I mean, I’m going to try to. But I need to know. Who is my father?”
I look to Dad.
He nods slightly and stands. “Brendan and I should be going.” He pulls out his wallet and hands Jack a card. “My cell phone number is on there. Call me when you want Brendan and me to do the DNA tests.”
Jack takes the card. “I will. Thanks. Both of you.”
Once we’re out of the house, I turn to Dad. “My God. I don’t like Lamone, but damn. He’s about to be told his father could be one of three men—and they’re all rapists. No one deserves that.”
Chapter Forty-One
Ava
God. Those two bites of cookie were a bad idea.
“Ava,” Dad says. “Are you okay?”
“How can you ask me that?” I gulp down the bile creeping up my throat as I push the plate of food across the table. “Mom…”
“It’s okay,” she says.
“Ruby…”
“Ryan, I’m fine. None of that is my life now, but she has to know. That’s the only way she’ll understand everything.”
“But—”
“I don’t know any other way to tell the story, Ryan.”
And then she begins, and I listen.
And I learn more about my mother than I ever wanted to know.
“See you later,” I said to my father, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a cup of coffee. I’d left him a plate of dinner that was currently heating in the microwave.
“Where are you off to?” The harsh fluorescent lighting in the kitchen illuminated his features—was he angry, or simply mistrustful?—in an eerie way.
“Just meeting a friend for a milkshake. I’ll be home before dark.”
I’d had dinner alone. Theo was rarely home for dinner, and I had learned to fend for myself while living with my mother. She had worked three jobs to keep us afloat, and I’d been doing my own cooking since I was eight years old. Real cooking because the processed meals were more expensive than buying actual meat and vegetables. I’d been shopping and cooking for what seemed like most of my life.