I didn’t want them to know I’d lost him all over again. I’d done a decent job of dodging them all day, and my plan was to keep up the trend tonight. Actually, keeping up the ruse until I was lifting off and flying in the opposite direction of this place would have been nice. I knew better than to hope for that though. I’d learned the hard way what happened to a person when they put their faith in hope.
I was busy picking at my version of a ‘20s dress—a simple cotton sundress that Charlotte had informed me was not anything close to resembling the era before thrusting a different gown, heavy with beads and contempt, at me . . . which was why I was wearing the cotton dress.
I noticed the shadow moving in my direction, but I assumed it was one of the catering company’s staff needing to step into the kitchen for a fresh tray of caviar and crackers. That was when I noticed the orange glow of a cigar. For some reason, that pulsing orange glow was one of the few good memories I had of home and my family.
“What are you doing camped out back here, Clara Belle? Everyone’s looking for you.” My dad’s voice filled the night around me.
“Hiding,” I answered, because if I’d ever been able to admit the truth to anyone in my family, it had been my dad. More because he could see through a lie before it had been aired than because of his aptitude in understanding and compassion.
“Hiding from what?” When he moved closer, enough of the light streaming outside from the kitchen cast onto him. In true Abbott style, he was dressed to impress with his pinstriped, double-breasted suit and cap shoes.
“Hiding from everyone,” I said, twisting the toe of my shoe into the ground. “And everything.”
“Hiding only delays the inevitable. It sure doesn’t make it go away. Better to just confront whatever it is you’re hiding from and get it over with.”
“Does that wisdom apply to me wanting to stab a cocktail fork into the groom-to-be’s right eye, then his left, before burying it in his throat?” I hadn’t really intended to verbalize my dark fantasies, but I was tired of the whole lip-service thing.
Instead of shaking his head like I was being emotional and immature, or grunting in tired disapproval, my dad moved closer and took a seat beside me on the second-to-bottom step. I scooted over to give him space, and I pretended I wasn’t surprised my dad was sitting beside me—willingly—on the back steps of the staff entrance.
“Where’s Boone?” he asked, shifting around on the step like he couldn’t get comfortable.
I shouldn’t tell him the truth. I should keep up with the lie. I was tired of both.
“Gone. I think we’re over. Again.”
Dad was quiet for a moment, silently working on his cigar. “When something doesn’t work out the first time, there’s not much hope it’s going to work out a second time.” He stared out in the night in front of us like he could see things I couldn’t. “You’re still you, and he’s still him. People don’t change, Clara Belle. Not because they don’t want to, but because they can’t. Boone is who he is, and you are who you are. I would have warned you not to make the same mistake twice if I’d known you were even considering letting Boone Cavanaugh into your life again. Or if I thought you might actually listen to me . . .”
I ignored his last comment, knowing he was right. I did have a bad disposition when it came to listening to anything my parents tried telling me. “Yeah, but I think the whole reason we didn’t work out the first time was because of a lie. The same lie that’s coming between us now.”
Dad shifted on the stair. “What lie?”
I was about to shake my head and wave in a forget-it kind of way before encouraging him to go enjoy the party, but I felt the truth rise up in my throat. It was done being bottled up. “Ford told Boone we were sleeping together and implied in not so many words that the baby could have been either of theirs.”
Dad’s face pulled up into a wince, probably because we didn’t talk about the baby. I was as guilty of keeping that topic under lock and key as they were. I hadn’t said anything about it since that summer I’d left, and it was clear from the look on his face that he thought he’d never hear about it again.
“I’m sure Ford had the best intentions when he told Boone that.” His voice was too controlled, too even. “Ford’s always cared about you, Clara Belle, and while what he did might have been the wrong way to go about it, you can’t fault him for trying to do what was in your best interest.”
I felt anger boil in my veins. I shouldn’t have expected my dad to side with me, but I sure hadn’t been prepared for him defending Ford. “He told Boone that I was sleeping with him.” I twisted on the stair, facing him. Dad didn’t move; he just kept staring out into the night like a movie reel was flashing before his eyes. “How can you say that Ford telling my boyfriend something like that when I’d just found out I was pregnant was in my best interests?”
Dad took another long pull on his cigar before blowing out a series of smoke rings. “You and Boone Cavanaugh were never going to wind up together. You both knew that, right along with the rest of us. Ford just happened to be the one to step in and bite the bullet.”