Author: Kristan Higgins

“BeverLee,” I whispered, because my throat was locked. “Bev…you’ve been more of a mother to me than my own mother ever was.” Her eyes widened. “You didn’t have to love me, and God knows I didn’t give you much to love, but you did. You’ve always been there for me, always taken care of me, and I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to see it. And I want you to know that even if you and Dad get a divorce…” I broke off and squeezed her hand harder. “I will always be your daughter.” Because this woman was my real mother. For twenty years now, she’d loved me despite myself, and that was what real mothers did. That was what unconditional love meant.

Bev’s mouth opened in shock. “Oh, baby,” she whispered. “Oh, my baby, I love you, too.”

Then we were hugging, Bev’s massive chest oddly comforting, the smell of Jhirmack Extra Hold and Virginia Slims the smell of home. She wept and stroked my hair, and I let her, and discovered that it felt pretty damn wonderful.

AN HOUR LATER, AFTER a cup of tea and a quart of tears, I hugged BeverLee once more. It was a little awkward, all this physical affection…but it was worth it. I could get used to it. I wanted to get used to it.

With a promise to call tomorrow, I went out the back to my father’s workshop, a place that smelled of wood and oiled power tools. He was talking to Willa in a low voice, arms folded, face serious. I felt a little pang of envy—Dad had always gotten on better with Willa. She was, of course, much more likable than yours truly, but still.

At the sight of his biological child, Dad broke off, and both of them looked at me.

“Can I have a word?” I asked.

“With me?” Dad asked.

“Um…actually, with both of you,” I said, taking a breath. “Okay. Um, Willa. Listen.” I bit my lip. “I’m not going to handle your divorce this time. In fact, uh, I don’t mean to sound too harsh here, but I can’t really bail you out on anything anymore. You’re twenty-seven, not seventeen. No more loans, no more credit cards. And I’ll just…shut up on the advice front, how’s that? You never take it anyway.”

“Well, I—” Willa began.

“Actually, one more bit of advice,” I interrupted. “Commit to something. Whether it’s Christopher or a job or a place or school…stick to it, Wills. You don’t want to end up just drifting around like milkweed seed, with a bunch of stupid relationships behind you and a whole lot of nothing in front of you. That’s what my mother did, and now she’s a waitress in South Dakota, with nothing and no one. You don’t want that, Willa. Trust me.”

There was a heavy silence. My father had frozen at the mention of my mother. Willa just looked at me for a long second. Then she smiled.

“Funny you should say that,” she said. “Chris and I are back together. He’s gonna work for Dad. So…we’re moving here.”

My mouth opened. “Really? What about the… Thumbie?”

She shrugged. “I called him that day…the day Nick showed up. He’s not going to give up on his inventing, but he sees the upside of regular work, too.”

“Oh. Well, that’s…great. Good for you, Willa.”

She raised a silky eyebrow. “Maybe I don’t need your advice quite as much as you think.”

I took a breath, then nodded. “Maybe not. Which is a really good thing, Willa. Sorry if I sounded like a pompous ass.”

“Why would today be any different?” she asked, mugging to our dad.

“Very funny. Cut me some slack,” I muttered. “I’ve had a rough week.”

With that, Willa bounded over and wrapped her arms around me. “So I hear. If you want to talk, I’m around.” She smooched my cheek. “Thanks for all the loans and advice and free divorces. I hope I’ll never need any again.”

“Ditto,” I said.

“Gotta run! Thanks, Dad!” Willa blew him a kiss, which he dutifully pretended to catch, and bounded out the door, leaving my father and me alone, twenty feet of wood and machinery between us, the smell of sawdust thick in the air. Rain pattered on the tin roof and the wind gusted outside.

“Crazy weather, huh?” I said, though it was nothing more than a typical rainstorm. “Yeah.”

The silence stretched between us. Now or never, Harper. “I saw Linda last week,” I said.

“So you said. How was that?”

“It wasn’t good, Dad. Not good.” I took a deep breath. “She pretended not to recognize me, and I let her.”

Dad looked at the floor and said nothing.

“Dad,” I said slowly, “listen. I—I always blamed you for not keeping Mom happy enough to stay, or not fighting to get her back when she left. And I hated that you married BeverLee and just stuck her in my life.”

Dad nodded in acknowledgment, his eyes still on the sawdust-covered floor.

“I want to thank you for that now.”

He looked up.

“My mother is obviously a self-centered, shallow, heartless person. And BeverLee is not.”

“No,” he said. The wind gusted, rattling a shop window.

“I’ve never asked you for much, have I, Dad?” I asked gently. “Never asked for money, went through college and law school on scholarships and student loans. Never lived with you after college, never asked for advice.”

“No,” he agreed. “You’ve never asked for a thing.” A flash of regret crossed his perpetually neutral face.

“I’m asking for something now, Daddy. Don’t leave BeverLee. Get some counseling and figure things out. You’ve got twenty years invested here, and Dad…She loves you. And she…believes in you. I don’t think it gets better than that.”

He didn’t move or say anything for a long moment. “You know BeverLee’s fifteen years younger than I am, of course,” he said slowly. I nodded.

He paused, weighing his next words. “Harper, I had a heart attack in July.”

My knees gave a dangerous buckle. “What?” I squeaked.

He shrugged. “Doctor said it was minor. But it got me thinking about…the future. I don’t want Bev to have to take care of me.”

“She doesn’t know, Dad?”

He shook his head. “I told her I was fishing with Phil Santos.”

“Dad…” My voice cracked. If my father died…

“I don’t want her saddled with a sickly old man.”

“She loves you, Dad! If she got sick, would you feel saddled with her?”

“Of course not. But…well. I see your point.” He didn’t say any more. “Still. She deserves someone who can keep up with her. Not a sick old man.”

“Are you doing okay now?” I asked.

“Oh, I guess. I take a pill every day. My cholesterol’s way down. It’s just…you look at your life and wonder what you can do for your family. Seemed like cutting Bev loose was the right thing. If I’m gonna die in the next year or so…”

“God, you men. You’re all so melodramatic,” I said, though my legs were still shaking at the thought of my dad being sick. “If you take care of yourself, you’ll outlive us all. But Dad, cutting Bev loose is not the right thing to do! Nor is keeping your children out of the loop!”

He gave a half shrug. “Well. You’re probably right.”

“So will you talk to Bev?” I asked. “Because I’m not keeping this a secret from her, Dad.”

He nodded once. “Yeah. I’ll talk to her. Been dragging my feet on moving out. Guess that says something.”

“It says you love her and don’t want a divorce.”

He looked at me and raised an eyebrow. “Your day to fix lives?” he asked, a hint of humor in his voice.

“Everyone’s except mine, I guess,” I said. We looked at each other a long minute.

“Harper, I…You know…well, here it is. I know I haven’t been the best father.” He sighed. “With Willa, it’s easy…she…She’s always making mistakes or needs something I can help her with…money, a place to live, whatever. But you…you never needed anything.” He paused. “Except a mother. A real mother, that is. The truth was, I was glad when Linda left. I was afraid she’d ruin you.”

“Is that why you married BeverLee? To give me a mother?”

“That was part of it. A big part.”

God. The past was never what it seemed to be. “Dad,” I said after another few beats, “can I ask you something?”

“Is there any stopping you?”

I grinned a little at that. Dad, making a joke. To me. “Well…no. But I always wondered about something. Did Mom name me after Harper Lee?”

“Who’s that?”

“She wrote To Kill A Mockingbird.”

Dad frowned. “Far as I know, you were named after some fashion magazine.”

Oh, crikey. Harper’s Bazaar. Well, hell. I guess that made more sense. And for some reason, it was oddly comforting—my mother had never had hidden depths.

“Can I ask you something else, Dad?” I asked.

“Go ahead.”

“Well…” This one was harder. “Dad, if I’d asked for advice all those years ago, what would you have said about me marrying Nick?”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, just looked at me as if judging whether or not I wanted the truth. “I guess I would’ve said I thought that boy was the best thing that ever happened to you.”

My heart clenched. “Really?” I whispered.

“Yes.”

“You never said anything. I wasn’t even sure you approved.”

Dad gave a half shrug and looked at the floor once more. “Actions were supposed to speak louder than words,” he replied gruffly. “I let him marry you, didn’t I? Wasn’t about to give my daughter to just anyone.”

Then my father looked up, held out his arms, hesitantly, self-consciously. “Come on,” he said. “Give your old man a hug.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

ON FRIDAY EVENING, I left the office around four and went home to pack.

That took all of fifteen minutes. To stall a little longer, I went to my computer and checked my list.

1. Make plane reservation. (I’d done that already, as well as confirmed it. Twice.)

2. Make hotel reservation. (Also confirmed twice.)

3. Pack. (Just finished.)

4. Write speech. (Done, if highly unsatisfactory and far too long.)

5. Deliver speech. (Not done.)

6. Get Nick back. (Not done.)

“Crotch,” I whispered, suppressing a dry heave of terror. Because here was the thing. I may have resolved that I didn’t have to be stunted any longer…I may have opened my heart to BeverLee…may have had a little better understanding of my father…but I had no idea if Nick would give me another chance. I can’t do this anymore, he said just before he got into the cab.

Ah, hindsight. All those times back then, when I’d pushed him away just enough to try to save that most essential part of myself, to wall him out of my heart in case he left me, to preserve myself from damage…I’d hurt myself, and I’d hurt Nick, too. BeverLee was right. I was so terrified of people leaving me that I never let them in.

Add to this fact, I didn’t even know if Nick was on American soil…I seemed to remember a trip to Dubai (or London, or Seattle) on his calendar. I was too cowardly to call his office and ask for his schedule (not that anyone would give it to me, of course), and far, far too nervous to call him. No. Better if I appeared on his doorstep. If he closed the door, I could always yell up at the windows until the police came.

Theo had clutched a fist to his heart when I’d asked for the time, but when he heard my mission, a rather appealing light came into his eyes. “Take all the time you need,” he said, twinkling. “I’m a sucker for true love. I’ve been married four times, after all.”