Page 93

I was astonished. But maybe I shouldn’t have been. Maybe this trip—her seeing me clearly falling for Cassandra—had been the truth both of us needed.

It wasn’t until I was in the boarding area for a new, rebooked flight to Heathrow—arriving only half a day later than originally planned—that I pulled my phone out again. I’d only done it to pull up my boarding pass, but stopped short when I saw the text from my dad.

It had been awhile since he’d sent one of these. Since he’d heard I was working on a hotel, if I recalled correctly.

BRIAN:Heard Goldman’s sniffing around that bookshop. You snooze, you lose.

At first, all I wanted to do was tell him off, once and for all. That was the thing about coming through catharsis—my tolerance for any of the old weights that used to hold me down was gone. I wanted to brag about the Rolling Hills, to tell him I was halfway done fixing what he couldn’t at his own places.

But that wasn’t right. It was a hit that wouldn’t last and I’d be no better off than I was before.

I thought of what Cassandra had said, about how scared people bring others down. And I thought of what my mom had said about forgiveness.

After a moment, that old, ancient anger fizzled to rain. I sat for a while, mourning that anger that had fired me for so long. It may not have been right, but it had gotten me through. And somehow, through all of that, through its hardened, bitter core, I’d found love.

Over the speakers, they were calling a flight that might have been mine.

I hadn’t contemplated forgiveness—I didn’t think I was there. I didn’t want to give it to him. But maybe, like Mom had said, it wasn’t for him. Maybe it was for me, and the little boy in that little league game. Maybe if I forgave Dad, that sun shower could be mine, too.

I typed the words in, hitting send before I could change my mind.

BLAKE:I forgive you, Dad.

For a moment, there was nothing.

Somewhere outside myself, I heard the announcement. “This is a final boarding call…”

Then three dots popped up on the screen.

BRIAN:What the hell for?

This time, I didn’t hesitate.

BLAKE:For everything, Dad. Don’t text me again. Maybe we can talk in a while.

I hit send before as I strode to the counter. Then I turned everything off.

20

CASSANDRA

THREE MONTHS LATER

“I thinkI got the ‘Irish Potato’ gene,” I said to Chelsea as we ran along the Quince River trail. It was later than we usually got out—eight o’clock—and already humid.

But Chelsea had actually shown up for our run today, so I wasn’t complaining.

Things had gotten a bit better with her since the springtime. She’d gotten a boyfriend, some guy called John, who was perfectly nice, if not a little bland. I didn’t think it was going to last between them, but at least he’d tamped down her partying over the summer.

“We have the same genes,” she said from behind me.

“But you don’t go all pink when you work out,” I said.

“Sure I do. I just don’t gothatpink.”

“Exactly,” I said. “I’m an Irish potato.”

As she came up beside me, I squinted like I was inspecting her. “Okay, you’re kind of pink, too.”