Page 51

We walk quietly, the splash of our feet in the ocean and the cries of the seagulls the only sound for a minute or two.
I don’t want to push her to talk, but equally she’s opened up a little. I just don’t want her to regret it.
Eventually, though, she says, “That’s why we left Dunedin.”
“Because he went to prison?”
“Yeah.”
“Do you want to tell me what he did?” I ask softly. Of course there are thousands of reasons a man might be sent to prison. Tax evasion, not paying fines, theft…
“He killed someone,” she says.
I stare at her, shocked.
She gives me a quick glance, then drops her gaze. “I shouldn’t have told you that,” she whispers.
I blink, then frown. “Why?”
She stops walking. The breeze has grown stronger, and it whips her hair across her face. She puts a hand on the top of her hat to stop it blowing away. “Because it’ll change how you see me.”
“Of course it won’t,” I say. And I mean it… except she’s right, partly. Our view of other people is a collage of our knowledge of and experiences with them, and every picture we add to the board changes that view ever so slightly. I don’t consider Hallie responsible for her father’s actions—of course I don’t—but now, in my eyes, she’s not just a young woman with divorced parents. She’s a girl whose father took someone else’s life. You don’t have to attribute any emotion to it for it to be a stark fact.
“I’d like to go back now,” she whispers.
“Hallie…”
She turns and starts walking back to the hotel.
I stare after her for a moment, then fall into step beside her. She takes off her hat, presumably because she’s afraid of losing it to the wind, and carries it. She walks quickly, with her head lowered, her hair snapping around her head.
I don’t say anything for a moment. It’s impossible not to wonder who her father killed. I want to ask her, but it’s clear that she regrets telling me, and doesn’t want to talk about it.
My heart goes out to her. Life’s too short for all these regrets.
“Hallie…” I place a hand on her arm.
She moves it away and continues walking.
“Hallie.” I hold her arm this time. She tries to yank it away, but I grip it so she can’t, and we stop walking.
“Let go,” she snaps, wrestling with me.
I release her, and we face each other. The water washes up the sand and draws small stones back over our feet, but we don’t look down.
“It’s okay,” I tell her.
Her eyes shine with unshed tears. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I know. You don’t have to. I won’t ask questions, and we never have to mention it again if you don’t want to.”
A tear spills over her lashes, and she dashes it away, looking out across the ocean. She heaves a big sigh. “I’m sorry. The letter said he wants to see me, that’s all, and I really don’t want to visit him.”
“Then don’t. You don’t owe him anything.”
Her gaze comes back to me then. “Not even because he’s my father?”
“People demand too much of each other because they share the same DNA. Relationships are about respect, honor, and love, not blood. Many people are closer to their friends than their family, and there’s nothing wrong with that. If a member of your family treats you badly, there’s no reason for you to feel bound to them. You’re an adult now, and he has no hold over you anymore. If you don’t want to see him, you don’t have to.”