“Sometimes people don’t need a motivation.”
“There’s always a motivation.” I shook my head. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned in history, there is always a reason for an action. It might not be a good reason, but one always exists.”
“I suppose you’re right.” He nodded in agreement.
“Here, read this.” I handed him the notepad. “These are the clues I can remember. I only have to add my dad’s letter to that list.” I paused. “And any other notes you have.”
“Don’t be mad at me, Bianca.” He sighed as he held the notepad in his hand. “I didn’t know if I could trust you.”
“Yet you expected me to trust you from the beginning?” I knew I should just let go of it, but I couldn’t stop myself from moaning on.
“I don’t know what I expected.” He shrugged his shoulders. “Certainly not this, none of this.”
“I know.” I took a deep breath and squeezed his upper arm. “I’m sorry. I’m going to try and stop bringing up the past as it relates to us.”
“Thank you.” He leaned over and kissed my forehead.
“So what do you think?” I asked as he read my notes.
“I think you have a good memory.” He looked at me with a new light in his eyes. “And not just for obscure movie references.”
“Don’t hate me because I’m fabulous.” I grinned and he laughed.
“The day we met at the coffee shop? That wasn’t an accident.” He opened his box. “There was a letter sent to me that told me to go to the coffee shop every day until I saw the woman in the photo, and then I was to sit at the table with her.”
“And do what?” I frowned.
“It didn’t say.” He sighed.
“So you just went because a note told you to go?”
“It told me to go if I wanted to find out the truth about my mother’s death.”
“How did your mother die?”
“She killed herself.” His expression changed and I felt my skin grow cold.
“I’m so sorry.” I looked away from him. Had my mother driven his mother to her death?
“It’s not your fault.” He grabbed my hands. “It was my father’s fault. I never should have put the blame on anyone else. He was responsible for her death. He’s the one that should have paid. Him and him alone.”
“I just can’t believe my mother would have cheated.” My voice cracked in dismay. “It breaks my heart. My dad must have been heartbroken.”
“That’s why it’s best to never let one person mean so much to you that you don’t know how to cope if they betray you.”
“That’s a sad way to live.” I gazed at him with sorrowful eyes. How could I have his heart if his heart wasn’t there to give?
“It’s the best way to live.” He shrugged. “You won’t ever carry around the burden of a broken heart.”
“Your mother was really devastated, wasn’t she?” I sighed. “Do you think she had anything to do with my mother’s death?”
“Are you asking me if I think our mother’s deaths are connected?” he said quietly, his eyes bleak.
“No, I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’m asking.” I shook my head and looked away in shame. How could I ask him that? And how could he answer?
“It’s a fair question.” He collapsed onto the couch. “All my life I’ve wondered—why did my mother let my father affect her for so many years? Yes, he abandoned her. Yes, he cheated on her. But she had me. Wasn’t I enough? Was her heartbreak so strong that she couldn’t survive for me? I’ve wanted to know for so many years what drove her to that point. And now here you are and you’ve got the same questions. ‘Why did my mother die?’ Maybe their deaths are connected.” He froze for a moment, his face rigid.
“I guess when you really love someone . . .” I squeezed his hand. “Are you okay, Jakob?”
“The more I think about it, the less sure I am of her heartbreak—or at least the reason for her heartbreak.”
“What do you mean?”
“My father was a jerk. My mother knew he was a jerk. She did everything in her power to make it so I wasn’t dependent on him or his money. She did everything to make me rise above him and to be successful on my own. She never tried to use me to get closer to him. She never pushed me to make contact with him for her own reasons.”